His pov
I stood there longer than I should have.
Watching the narrow pass swallow her presence.
Mist clung to the trees, to the stones, to everything that had just witnessed what had happened.
She didn’t look back.
Of course she didn’t.
And yet, for a brief, irrational moment, I had expected her to.
When she disappeared entirely—when there was nothing left but the empty curve of the path—I exhaled, slow and quiet, as though something had been held too long without my noticing.
Then I turned.
In the opposite direction. The walk back felt longer than it had earlier. Or perhaps I was simply more aware of it now. Of the damp earth beneath my boots. Of the faint sting along my forearm where the scratches had begun to dry. Of the weight in my muscles—the kind that comes not from battle, but from struggle.
A different kind of exertion.
I had come here for negotiation. For something measured. Predictable. Controlled. A matter of roads, trade, and alliances that would be sealed with careful words and calculated silences. I had planned to observe first. To understand the temperament of this kingdom before stepping into its court.
Instead—
I had found a daldal hidden beneath deceptive ground.
A girl sinking into it. And myself, pulling her out with more desperation than I cared to admit. My lips curved faintly.
And, in that chaos… that followed us in temple. I had called her my wife. A quiet breath left me, almost a laugh.
Ridiculous.
My hand tightened slightly around the robe I was still carrying. The one I had given her. It was damp at the edges, stained faintly from the mess we had both endured—but beneath that, there was still warmth. I stilled.
For a moment longer than necessary. Then I loosened my grip and continued walking.
By the time the rest house came into view, the sky had shifted toward evening. A muted gold filtered through the clouds, catching against the wooden beams and stone walls of the structure. It should have felt grounding.
Familiar. Instead, something in me still felt… elsewhere. I pushed the door open.
Hriday was inside.
Exactly as I expected him to be—and yet, somehow, not at all. Stretched out with casual ease, one arm behind his head, as if the urgency of our presence here meant nothing to him. Commander of our army. My closest ally. The only man who could afford to look that unconcerned—and still miss nothing.
He turned his head at the sound of the door. His expression was neutral for exactly one heartbeat. Then his eyes sharpened. They moved over me—slow, assessing. The mud on my clothes. The dried streaks along my sleeves.
The scratches across my forearm.
He sat up.
“What,” he said, voice even but edged, “happened to you?”
I didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, I walked past him, the familiar weight of his gaze following me, and lowered myself onto the edge of the bed.
The exhaustion settled properly then.
Not overwhelming—but present enough to make stillness feel necessary.
“You went to see the waterfall,” he continued, rising now, stepping closer. “I know that much. The rest—” his eyes flicked to my arm again, “—I don’t.”
I leaned forward slightly, resting my forearms against my knees.
“A girl was drowning,” I said, as if it were nothing more than a passing inconvenience. “I pulled her out.”
Silence followed. The kind of silence which is not disbelief but not acceptance either.
I could feel it—the way he weighed my words, turning them over, searching for what I hadn’t said. Before he could ask, I straightened slightly.
“When are we going to the palace?”
That did it. He looked at me properly now. Not as a friend. As a commander assessing poor judgment.
“I was waiting for you,” he said mockingly.
There was a pause.
He continued, a hint of disbelief slipping through, “How could you wander off like this when we are here for something this important?”
I let the question hang between us for a moment, then glanced away, my voice turning almost indifferent. “So, we go there, sit, and decide whether we want this alliance or not, isn’t that all?”
His lips curved faintly—not quite a smile, more a challenge. “Oh? And we have already decided, have we?”
“Of course we want this,” I replied without hesitation. “What remains is not whether—only the terms and conditions.”
That caught his attention.
He studied me more carefully now. “And how are you so certain?”
I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I reached toward the nearby table, my fingers closing around the rolled parchment that had been placed there earlier. The seal had already been broken, but the weight of its contents remained just as firm.
I held it up slightly.
“This,” I said, unfolding it just enough to glance at the familiar script, “removed that uncertainty the moment it arrived.”
He didn’t interrupt.
So, I continued.
“Every argument we might have made—already addressed.” “Every advantage—acknowledged.” “Every consequence—calculated.”
I looked at him again.
“Whoever wrote this knew exactly how to leave no room for refusal.”
Hriday stepped closer, his gaze shifting briefly to the letter before returning to me.
“You’re impressed.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
I didn’t soften it.
“This kingdom was never our ally,” he said after a moment. “But not our enemy either. And after what happened with the neighbouring state…”
He let the thought hang.
“…an alliance here would stabilize more than just a road.”
I nodded once.
“Exactly.”
Silence settled again—but it was different now. Then— “Take a bath,” he said. I exhaled lightly, letting my shoulders drop.
“I think I’ll sleep instead.”
I had barely shifted my weight when his hand closed around my wrist.
And in the next instant— I was on my feet. Effortless. I glanced at him.
Of course. Hriday had always been stronger. The thought came without warning—
He could have pulled her out of the daldal with half the effort I used.
And suddenly—
I was there again. Mud dragging downward. Her footing slipping.
The sharp, breathless panic in her voice. The moment her hand found mine—and held. Hriday’s voice cut cleanly through the memory.
“Take. A. Bath.”
I blinked once, the present snapping back into place.
“…Fine.”
The water was colder than I expected.
Or perhaps I simply needed it to be.
By the time I stepped out, the weight of the mud was gone—but not the memory of it. I adjusted the fresh fabric over my shoulders as I stepped back into the room.
Hriday hadn’t moved much. He was seated now. The letter in his hands again. Reading. Carefully. I leaned against the doorway, crossing my arms.
“Still reading it?”
“I was thinking,” he said. There was a brief pause. Then he folded the parchment with deliberate precision.
“…nothing worth delaying us for.” A faint smile tugged at my lips. I knew that tone. I knew that pause.
What if it’s a trap?
He wouldn’t say it yet. But he would watch. He always did. We didn’t speak much after that. We didn’t need to.
Moments later, we were outside. The horses were prepared. The sky had deepened into evening, shadows stretching long across the ground. I mounted in one smooth motion, settling into familiarity. Hriday did the same beside me. We began to ride.
The path to the palace stretched ahead—clear, inevitable. A negotiation awaited. An alliance that would bind kingdoms. A letter that had already shaped the outcome before a single word was spoken in court.
And yet— as the wind moved past, carrying the fading scent of rain— my thoughts did not linger on politics. They returned, unbidden— to a narrow pass. To mud-stained hands. To a girl who had looked at me as if the world had shifted— and then walked away without looking back. And despite everything, one thought slipped through before I could stop it: Had she reached home safely?
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