A warning in the shadows

Myra's breath was shallow as she stared into Ranvijay's dark eyes, her body frozen under his touch. His words—possessive and absolute—sent a chill down her spine. The defiance in her heart screamed at her to fight, to push him away, but her body betrayed her.

"I don't belong to you," she whispered again, though the conviction in her voice wavered.

Ranvijay's smirk deepened, but it wasn't amusement—it was something darker, something resolute. His fingers trailed down from her cheek to her jaw, his grip gentle yet firm.

"Then tell me," he murmured, his lips dangerously close to her ear. "Why do you tremble when I touch you?"

Heat rushed to her cheeks, but she quickly turned her face away, breaking free from his hold. "Because I fear you," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable. He exhaled sharply and pulled away slightly, though his arm still rested around her waist, keeping her close.

"I don't want your fear, Myra." His voice had dropped to a softer, almost vulnerable tone.

"Then let me go," she pleaded.

His jaw clenched. "I can't."

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken emotions. Myra clenched her fists, trying to gather her courage. She couldn't let him control her like this. She had to fight, even if she felt trapped in a battle she couldn't win.

Taking a shaky breath, she pushed against his chest with all the strength she had left. "You may have forced me into this marriage, Ranvijay, but you will never have my heart."

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips, but his eyes—his deep, haunting eyes—held something raw beneath their usual coldness. "I don't need your heart, Myra," he said, his voice dangerously low. "I just need you safe."

Safe? Myra's brows furrowed in confusion, but before she could question him, he pulled away entirely and sat up, running a hand through his hair.

"Get ready," he said, his voice returning to its usual commanding tone. "We're going to the temple."

She blinked, caught off guard. "Temple?"

He stood up, adjusting the cuff of his kurta. "It's tradition for newlyweds to visit the temple together. And I won't give those vultures outside any excuse to question our marriage."

Her stomach twisted at the thought. Every step she took beside him in public felt like another chain locking around her.

"But I don't want to go," she muttered, gripping the bedsheet tightly.

Ranvijay's sharp gaze snapped to hers. "It wasn't a request, Myra."

She swallowed hard, knowing she had no choice.

As he turned toward the door, his voice softened just slightly. "Wear something red. It suits you."

And with that, he left, leaving Myra alone with her racing heart and a storm of emotions she couldn't control.

The black SUV pulled up at the temple entrance, its presence commanding attention. Even before Myra stepped out, she could hear the murmurs of the gathered crowd—royal watchers, curious onlookers, and, of course, the ever-present paparazzi.

Flashes went off the moment the door opened.

She hesitated, her fingers clenching around the heavy folds of her red lehenga. The morning sun made the golden embroidery shimmer, but she felt nothing but cold.

Ranvijay stepped out first, his presence effortlessly dominating. Dressed in an ivory sherwani with intricate gold detailing, he looked every bit the powerful prince the world saw him as. Unshaken. Unbothered.

Unlike her.

His hand extended toward her. A silent command.

Her pulse quickened, but she had no choice. Placing her fingers lightly in his, she let him help her out of the car. His grip was firm, possessive, his thumb brushing against her skin for the briefest second before he let go.

The temple steps loomed before her, ancient and unyielding, much like the fate she had been forced into.

Inside, the scent of incense and marigolds filled the air. The temple was quieter, but the tension between them was deafening.

The priest greeted them, his voice warm. "A newlywed couple's first prayer together is a sacred blessing."

Myra barely heard him. Her heart pounded as she reached for the silver platter with the lit diya and flowers. Just as her fingers brushed the cool metal, Ranvijay's hand covered hers.

She stiffened.

"Together," he murmured, his voice low.

The word sent a shiver through her.

They moved forward, placing the offering at the idol's feet. Myra closed her eyes, her lips moving in a silent plea.

Please… give me a way out of this.

As the priest began chanting mantras, he reached for a sacred red thread, preparing to tie it around their wrists. "This thread will protect your bond from evil eyes," he said with reverence.

Ranvijay extended his wrist without hesitation. Myra, however, hesitated.

A moment too long.

A sharp sting pricked her senses.

Someone was watching.

Her gaze flickered to the side—to the temple entrance, where beyond the row of bodyguards, a figure stood half-hidden in the shadows.

She couldn't see his face. Only a faint glimpse of a wrist… and a tattoo.

A snake coiled around a dagger.

Her breath hitched.

Before she could react, Ranvijay's fingers brushed against hers, snapping her back to the present.

"Stay still," he murmured, his grip tightening slightly as the priest tied the thread around their wrists.

She barely heard the rest of the ritual. Her mind was racing.

Who was that man?

And why did she feel as if he wasn't just watching her—

But warning her?

The sacred thread felt like a shackle around Myra's wrist. As the priest completed the ritual, she struggled to keep her breathing steady.

She wanted to turn around. To search for the man with the tattoo.

But she could feel Ranvijay's presence beside her—watchful, possessive. He didn't miss anything. If she reacted now, he would notice. And she wasn't sure if she wanted him to.

"Take blessings from the elders," the priest instructed, stepping back.

Ranvijay inclined his head respectfully before turning to her. He reached for her hand—too casually, too naturally—before she could step away. His palm was warm against hers, his grip unwavering.

"Come," he said simply.

It wasn't a request.

Swallowing, she followed, bowing before the temple elders as they gave their blessings. All the while, her skin prickled with awareness.

Was the man still watching?

When they finally stepped outside, Myra's heart pounded as she subtly glanced toward the temple entrance.

Empty.

Had she imagined it?

She was about to breathe in relief—

Until a folded note fluttered to her feet.

Her breath caught.

Before she could react, Ranvijay's voice cut through the air.

"We're leaving."

Her fingers itched to pick up the note, but she knew she couldn't—not without him seeing. Instead, she forced herself to turn away, her heart hammering.

The drive back was silent.

But Myra wasn't thinking about Ranvijay anymore.

She was thinking about that note.

About the tattoo.

And the nagging feeling that whoever left it…

Was someone who knew something she didn't.

Something danger

Back at the palace, Myra's mind was a storm of thoughts. The note. The tattoo. The man who had been watching.

She had to find a way to read it.

As soon as they stepped inside, she felt Ranvijay's gaze on her. She kept her expression neutral, refusing to let him see the turmoil within.

"You're awfully quiet," he observed, his voice lazy but sharp.

"I'm tired," she replied, brushing past him.

His fingers caught her wrist before she could escape. The same wrist bound by the red sacred thread.

For a second, her pulse stuttered.

Ranvijay tilted his head, studying her. "Tired of what?"

She looked up, meeting his dark gaze. "Everything."

A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. "Then rest, Myra." His grip loosened, but his voice dropped. "Because you won't get to escape."

Her breath hitched, but she turned away quickly, walking toward their chambers.

As soon as she was alone, Myra exhaled shakily, her fingers twitching.

She reached into the folds of her lehenga.

The note was there. She had managed to grab it without him noticing.

Hands trembling, she unfolded the small piece of paper. The handwriting was sharp, hurried.

"You don't know the full truth.

Your mother's death wasn't an accident.

Be careful who you trust."

Myra's entire body froze.

Her mother's death.

She had been told it was an accident. A car crash. She had spent years mourning, believing that fate had been cruel.

But this note—

Her throat tightened.

Who wrote this?

And more importantly… what did they know?

A shadow shifted outside her door.

Her breath caught as she quickly hid the note.

A knock followed. Slow. Deliberate.

"Myra," Ranvijay's voice came through the door. Low, deep, unreadable.

Panic clawed at her chest.

Did he know? Had he seen?

She swallowed hard before replying.

"Yes?"

A pause. Then—

"Open the door."

Her fingers curled into fists.

She wasn't ready. Not yet.

But she had no choice.

Taking a steadying breath, she reached for the handle—

And pulled the door open.

Ranvijay stood there, his gaze sharp, as if he had already sensed that something had changed.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Myra lifted her chin, masking her fear.

"Nothing," she lied.

But as his eyes darkened, she knew—

He didn't believe her.