A Temptation in bloom

The weight of Ranvijay's words settled heavily on Myra's chest, but there was no time to process it. The night had grown late, and the gathering slowly dispersed, leaving her alone in the grand hall with him.

She took a step back instinctively, but his fingers curled gently around her wrist, halting her retreat.

"You should rest," he said, his tone softer than before. "Tomorrow will be a long day."

Myra's pulse hammered. Rest? How could she possibly sleep knowing that by dawn, she would be leaving behind everything familiar—everything she had been trying to uncover?

"Let me go," she whispered, unwilling to meet his gaze.

His grip loosened, but he didn't step away. "Myra."

The way he said her name sent a shiver through her.

"You can hate me all you want," he murmured. "But don't forget—I am the only one who can protect you."

Her breath hitched, her heart warring between fear and something she refused to name. She didn't need his protection. She needed freedom.

Without another word, she pulled away and hurried toward her chambers. But even as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the kala dhaaga burned against her skin, a constant reminder that she was bound to him now.

.The palace had grown silent, the world outside wrapped in darkness. Myra tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The weight of the kala dhaaga around her ankle burned like an unspoken claim, Ranvijay's words replaying in her mind.

"You were always meant to be here. With me."

She sighed, pushing away the thoughts, but a soft knock on her door made her freeze.

Before she could react, the door creaked open. A familiar silhouette leaned against the frame, broad shoulders casting shadows under the dim golden glow of the bedside lamp.

"You're still awake," Ranvijay's deep voice broke the silence.

Myra sat up, pulling the silk sheet around her. "You're in my room."

His lips curved, his gaze dark. "It's my palace, sweetheart. Every room is mine, including this one."

She sucked in a breath as he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in the dimly lit space. He was dressed casually tonight—just a simple black kurta with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. But even in such simplicity, he looked undeniably powerful.

He stopped near the edge of her bed, his eyes roaming over her. "Did you think I'd let you leave without saying goodnight?"

Her heart stumbled. "I don't need—"

Before she could finish, he reached out, his fingers brushing over her ankle, right where the kala dhaaga rested. Myra's breath hitched at the touch—rough yet devastatingly gentle.

"Does it bother you?" he murmured.

Her throat went dry. "What?"

"This thread," his thumb traced slow, burning circles over her skin. "Or the fact that it's my name tied to you now?"

She clenched the sheets tighter, trying to ignore the way her pulse betrayed her. "It doesn't matter," she whispered. "None of this matters."

Ranvijay leaned in, his face dangerously close, his scent—woodsy, masculine, intoxicating—surrounding her. "Liar," he murmured.

Before she could react, his fingers slid up, grazing her calf in a slow, deliberate caress. Her entire body stiffened, heat crawling up her spine.

"Sleep, Myra," he whispered, his voice rough with something she didn't dare name.

And just like that, he pulled away.

She barely had time to catch her breath before he turned and walked out, leaving behind a whirlwind of emotions she wasn't ready to face.

The morning sun painted the sky in soft hues of gold and pink as the palace prepared for their departure.

Ranvijay stepped outside, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, the fabric straining over his muscular arms. The tailored black vest and fitted trousers completed his look, exuding an effortless dominance that made heads turn. He slipped on his watch, adjusting the silver dial with precision.

He was the picture of control.

Until she walked out.

Myra descended the grand staircase, her soft floral frock flowing elegantly around her legs. The dress was a delicate shade of pastel pink with white floral embroidery, hugging her slender waist before cascading into a graceful flare just above her knees. The sheer sleeves barely concealed the curves of her arms, and the gentle neckline left just enough skin exposed to drive him to the edge.

Ranvijay stilled, his grip tightening around his watch.

Damn.

He had seen her in traditional attire before—ethereal, divine. But this? This was dangerous.

His jaw clenched as she walked toward him, oblivious to the havoc she was wreaking on his self-control.

Myra barely glanced at him as she adjusted the strap of her bag, but the moment she looked up, she caught his expression—dark, intense, smoldering.

Her steps faltered. "What?"

Ranvijay exhaled, trying—failing—to look unaffected. "Where did you get that dress?"

She frowned, glancing down at herself. "Why?"

He took a slow step forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Because if you keep looking like that, sweetheart, this trip might not make it past the palace gates."

Heat rushed to her cheeks. "You're impossible."

His smirk was slow, predatory. "And you're tempting fate."

Before she could retort, he opened the car door for her, his fingers brushing against the small of her back as she stepped inside.

The warmth of his touch lingered.

And as Ranvijay slid into the driver's seat, gripping the wheel a little too tightly, one thing became painfully clear—

This journey to Rajgarh was going to be hell.