The Return

Her pov

Somehow, I managed to slip back into my chamber unseen, following a narrow, hidden passage known only to a handful within the palace walls. The stone corridor, dim and cool, still held the scent of damp earth, clinging faintly to me as though the forest itself refused to let go.

It had taken all my courage to escape today—of all days.

The day a prince from a neighbouring kingdom had arrived. The day alliances were to be spoken of in careful, measured words. The alliance for which I have worked for weeks.

But after this alliance I may not get time for such things. The thought lingered as I stepped into my chamber, closing the concealed entrance behind me with practiced ease. The familiar stillness of the room wrapped around me, warm and quiet, in sharp contrast to the chaos of the jungle still echoing in my bones.

My gaze fell to the bed.

A figure lay there, completely covered from head to toe beneath a blanket.

A soft smile tugged at my lips.

“Gauri…”

She had taken my place—again. Loyal to a fault, reckless in a way only someone who truly cared could afford to be. Not just my attendant… but the only friend I had ever truly known within these palace walls.

Quietly, I walked closer and tapped her lightly.

She tightened her grip on the blanket at once, as if bracing against discovery.

A small laugh escaped me. “It’s me.”

For a moment, nothing moved. Then slowly, cautiously, the blanket lowered just enough for her to peek out. The instant recognition lit her face—and in the next breath, she threw the blanket aside and pulled me into a tight embrace.

“You took so long!” she whispered urgently. “I thought today we would get caught for sure.”

Her arms tightened for a heartbeat longer before she pulled back, her expression shifting dramatically into feigned anger.

“And where were you?” she demanded, placing her hands on her hips. “What took you this long?”

I caught her by the shoulders, still smiling, though exhaustion was beginning to creep into my limbs. “Relax. I’ll tell you everything—”

Before I could finish, a sudden sneeze burst out of me—right onto her face.

She recoiled instantly. “Hey! What are you doing?!”

She was wiping her face with the edge of her dupatta with a face that showed irritation or disgust I assume.

I barely had time to recover before another sneeze followed, sharper than the first.

Of course.
The daldal. The waterfall. The chaos of it all—it was bound to catch up with me.

A dull ache had already begun to settle into my body, my throat turning sore, my limbs heavy as though the forest had seeped into my very bones.

Gauri, now thoroughly unimpressed, wiped her face and narrowed her eyes at me—only to pause mid-glare as she truly looked.

At me. At my clothes. Still wet. Still streaked with mud. Still carrying the story I had not yet told.

Her expression shifted, concern replacing irritation.

“What happened?”

For a moment, the chamber faded. And I was back there— The pull of the daldal dragging me down. The rush of cold water. His hand gripping mine, pulling me out. And then… the temple.

The words. The claim.

His wife.

The memory lingered longer than it should have.

“Speak up,” Gauri’s voice cut through my thoughts, grounding me once more. I blinked, then smiled faintly, brushing it all aside—for now. “I’ll tell you everything,” I said softly. “But first… let me change.”

I turned toward the bathing chamber, my steps heavier now, the chill settling deeper into my bones with every passing moment.

Behind me, Gauri moved swiftly, already gathering fresh clothes from the carved wooden chest, her efficiency as instinctive as breathing.

Just before I stepped inside, I paused, my fingers brushing against the stone arch of the doorway.

“Gauri,” I said, glancing back at her, my voice softer than before, “arrange something warm for me… I’m feeling cold. I think I might fall ill.”

Her movements stilled for a fraction of a second before she nodded, concern flickering across her face. “I’ll take care of it.”

I didn’t wait longer. The moment I stepped inside, the warmth of the bath enveloped me, steam curling gently through the air. I let it sink into my skin, washing away the mud, the damp, the forest—but not the memory. That clung stubbornly, far deeper than the dirt ever could.

The daldal. The rushing water. His hand. His voice.

I stayed longer than I should have. Perhaps because I knew the moment I stepped out, the world I had briefly escaped would be waiting for me again.

When I finally emerged, wrapped in fresh garments, my damp hair falling loosely down my back, the chamber felt… different.

My eyes searched for Gauri.

She wasn’t there.

Instead— My younger brother stood near the center of the room.

Vimoksha

He stood with his arms loosely at his sides, his posture deceptively relaxed, yet his gaze—sharp, unwavering—was fixed entirely on me.

For a brief moment, I stilled. Then, as naturally as I could manage, I walked toward him, forcing my expression into calm neutrality, as though I had not just returned from the jungle, soaked in mud and secrets.

“Where were you?” he asked.

The question came without preamble.

Before I could shape an answer, another sneeze betrayed me.

I turned slightly away, but it was too late.

His eyes narrowed. And then a sneeze, again. Perfect.

“I was here,” I replied, steadying my voice. “In my chamber. I told you, I’m not feeling well.”

He didn’t respond immediately.

Instead, his gaze shifted—slowly, deliberately.

To the floor.

I followed it.

Faint streaks of dried mud marked the marble, betraying every step I had taken since entering.

Oh.

That.

“And that?” his silence seemed to ask, though his lips had yet to move.

I straightened slightly. “That must have been from the jungle,” I said, too quickly, then corrected myself, “I mean—from Gauri. She must have brought it in.”

The words sounded thinner than I intended.

Unconvincing.

He looked back at me then, and this time there was no attempt to hide the disbelief in his eyes.

Vimoksha took a step closer.

“Out of all days,” he said quietly, each word deliberate, “you chose this day to wander outside?”

I met his gaze.

There was no point pretending with him.

There never had been.

He was only a few moments younger than me, we are twins, yet there were times he saw through me more clearly than anyone else in this palace ever could.

Still, I held my ground.

“Anyway,” I said, lifting my chin slightly, deflecting rather than denying, “being from this kingdom, I didn’t even know until yesterday that there’s a hidden temple of Shiva in the jungle.”

He scoffed.

Not loudly—but enough.

Enough to say he knew. Enough to say he had always known. And, perhaps, enough to say… he knew more than I had just revealed. “You could have gone some other day.”

His words lingered in the air between us, simple on the surface, yet carrying the weight of everything left unsaid.

I did not answer immediately.

Instead, I watched him—really watched him—the faint tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze stayed fixed on me as if waiting, not just for a reply, but for the truth. He knew, of course he knew. He always did. There was very little in this palace that escaped him, and even less when it came to me.

Inwardly, I sighed.

It was not that anyone here would have denied me permission. Least of all him. If I had asked, I would have been escorted with a line of soldiers, guards at every step, the path cleared long before I even set foot outside the gates.

But that was precisely what I had wanted to avoid.

I did not want a procession.

I did not want watchful eyes.

I did not want the temple to become another place marked by duty instead of something… my own.

I opened my mouth to respond, to offer some half-formed explanation—but another sneeze overtook me before I could speak.

Vimoksha’s expression shifted at once.

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head, though this time the disbelief in his eyes was softer, threaded with something far more familiar.

Concern.

“The negotiation you prepared for with so much effort is finally happening,” he said, his voice quieter now, steadier. “And you’ve managed to fall ill today of all days.”

There it was.

The remark, sharp enough to scold—but beneath it, unmistakably, care.

I had known it would be.

He had never been one to soften his words, yet his actions had always spoken in ways his voice did not.

A small, sheepish smile curved at my lips despite myself.

Before I could reply, the chamber door opened gently, and Gauri stepped inside, balancing a brass tray in her hands. Steam rose from a small cup placed at its centre, carrying the strong, familiar scent of herbs.

Kadha.

She paused the moment she noticed Vimoksha.

For the briefest second, her entire posture stiffened, as though caught in the act of something she could not quite name.

Then, quickly lowering her gaze, she said, “Pranam.”

Vimoksha acknowledged her with a slight nod, his eyes lingering on her just a moment longer than necessary—measured, knowing.

Gauri moved forward, placing the tray carefully beside me.

“The prince and the commander have arrived,” she said, her voice steady, though I could sense the urgency beneath it.

Vimoksha turned to me at once.

“I have to go receive them,” he said.

For a moment, his gaze softened again, and before leaving, he reached out and placed his hand gently on my shoulder —a gesture so familiar, so quietly protective, that it stirred something warm despite the chill settling in my body.

“Take rest.”

And then he was gone.

The chamber seemed to exhale in his absence.

I turned to Gauri.

She was already looking at me, her brows drawn together in a frown.

“He knows you were not here,” she said under her breath.

I nodded.

“He always does.”

She let out a slow breath, half exasperation, half resignation. “I don’t understand how.”

Neither did I.

And yet, it had always been this way.

As though nothing I did ever truly escaped him.

I reached for the cup of kadha, wrapping my fingers around its warmth, letting the heat seep into my cold skin. The bitter, earthy aroma rose stronger now, almost comforting in its familiarity.

But before I could bring it to my lips—

The door opened again.

Both of us turned.

A physician entered, her steps measured and composed, her presence carrying the quiet authority of someone accustomed to being called in moments of vulnerability.

She bowed. “Pranam.”

“Pranam,” I replied, lowering the cup slightly, my brows knitting in mild confusion as I glanced at Gauri. “You called her?”

Gauri shook her head at once.

“I didn’t.”

The physician stepped forward then, her expression respectful but firm. “Prince Vimoksha sent me,” she said. “He informed me that you are unwell and asked that I examine you.”

A small, knowing smile tugged at my lips despite myself.

Of course.

Even as he scolded… he had already taken care of what would follow.

“I’m fine,” I said gently, setting the cup back onto the tray. “It’s just a cold. It will settle on its own.”

The physician hesitated, as though weighing whether to insist—but the firmness in my tone must have settled the matter.

She bowed once more.

“As you wish.”

And then she turned and left, her presence fading as quietly as it had arrived.

For a moment, the chamber fell still again.

Only the faint curl of steam rising from the untouched kadha remained, twisting slowly into the air—as though even it waited for me to finally sit still, to finally rest… though my thoughts were far from ready to do the same.