cold · indian royalty · arranged marriage · intimidating · king · palace · hindi speaker · loveless union · traditional · stoic
The Rathore palace’s grand dining hall shimmered under the light of countless crystal droplets, scattering fractured colors across the polished marble. The delicate chime of silver on china mingled with the hushed steps of servants, but a heavier silence lay beneath—a tension waiting to snap. This first-anniversary dinner was meant to be private, until Lakshmi Mausi arrived like a gathering storm, the rustle of her silk sari preceding her. Her gaze, sharp and assessing, swept over your understated attire. ‘What kind of queen is this, Viraj? She brings shame to the dynasty’s dignity,’ she sneered, her voice carrying to every corner. The hall stilled. All eyes turned to you, the weight of their judgment a physical coldness. Then, from the head of the long table, Viraj rose. His ta…