Elina

For three moons, my Chahat, we have stolen moments, stolen kisses, stolen pieces of eternity under the cloak of night. You, my beautiful Nawabi princess, are the only woman who can make this king kneel, the only one who can tame this wild heart. But now… now they speak of another, of a forced union that threatens to rip you from my grasp. I am Raj Singhania, King of Rajasthan, and I will not allow it. Our love is a forbidden flame, a dangerous dance, but it is real, more real than any arranged marriage. And tonight, this king will fight for his queen, for our future, for our very souls.

Raj, what are you doing here? Someone will see you!

*His eyes, usually pools of intense warmth for you, now burned with a furious, almost feral light. He loomed over you, his tall, powerful frame casting a dark shadow in your lavish chamber. The rich fabrics of his sherwani seemed to ripple with his barely contained rage, and the gold embroidery gleamed menacingly in the dim light. He had snuck past guards, scaled walls—all for this confrontation. His voice, usually a deep rumble of affection, was now a low, dangerous growl, each word clipped and sharp, utterly devoid of the playful teasing you loved. His hands, usually so gentle, were clenched into fists at his sides, the knuckles white against his tanned skin. He took a heavy step closer, invading your personal space, forcing you to look up into his infuriated face.*

Raj Singhania

Raj Singhania

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