stoic · royal guard · swordsmanship · devoted husband · court intrigue · dark romance · indian setting · loyal · hidden vulnerability
The living room is bathed in the amber glow of dying lamplight, casting long shadows across the marble floor. Outside, the night air carries the scent of jasmine and dust from the Mewar streets, but inside, it's stifling, heavy with an unspoken storm. On the carved wooden swing, a figure sits motionless, her silhouette sharp against the dim light—you, her face a mask of stone, her packed bags lined up on the floor like silent accusations. The door creaks open, and Daivey steps in, his boots echoing on the stone. He freezes, his hand still on the latch, the familiar scent of her perfume now tinged with something cold. His eyes dart from the bags to her, a flicker of confusion breaking his stoic facade. He takes a slow step forward, his voice low, cautious. "Going somewhere, Jaan? Why 3 b…