The war room inside the palace wasn't marked by blood, but by red pins and blinking screens.
It was midnight again.
Rain tapped against the arched windows like restless fingers. The scent of old wood, gun oil, and simmering tension filled the chamber.
Ranvijay stood at the head of a long table, sleeves rolled up, black shirt clinging to his frame. His fingers were stained with ink and stress. His jaw hadn't relaxed in hours.
Shiv leaned over the digital map, brows drawn tight. "Last signal traced from the East highway cam. Two kilometers outside the forest perimeter."
Ranvijay's eyes didn't move. "And after that?"
Shiv clicked a few keys. The screen flickered.
"Nothing. He went dark. No registered number, no vehicle seen leaving. But someone wiped the camera feeds between 1:15 to 1:32 AM. Only someone who knew exactly how long we'd take to catch up."
Ranvijay's fist slammed the table.
"He's still close," Shiv said quickly. "He won't run. You know why."
Ranvijay exhaled through gritted teeth, voice low. "Because he thinks she's his."
He turned away, hands gripping the edge of the window as thunder rolled outside. "I want a double-layered security line around the palace. No one comes near the royal wing without clearance from me or you."
"It's already in place. I've added facial recon to the outer gates. Even if he changes appearance, the system will flag him."
Ranvijay nodded once.
Shiv watched him in silence for a moment before saying carefully, "Bhai… you should rest. Even for an hour."
"I don't need rest," Ranvijay growled, turning back. His eyes were burning—dark, sharp, sleepless. "I need him in chains."
Shiv didn't flinch. "And you will. But if Myra wakes up and finds you collapsed—"
"She won't," Ranvijay snapped, then paused, quieter now. "She can't see me break."
A silence settled between the two men.
Then Ranvijay walked back to the map. He placed a finger on a narrow cluster of forest trails.
"This is where I'll catch him next. Mark my words, Shiv… next time, I won't leave him breathing."
Shiv didn't argue.
He just replied with quiet certainty, "Then I'll be right beside you."
Their eyes met—unspoken understanding between two men who had crossed enough fire to know: this wasn't over.
Ranvijay straightened, his voice clipped but cold.
"Alert the guard units. Change shift rotation to 3 hours. Tell them—this kingdom doesn't bleed again."
Shiv nodded and walked off, already dialing into the system.
And as Ranvijay stared once more at the red dot on the map—the last known trace of Aditya—he muttered under his breath, "You tried to steal a queen from her king…"
"…now pray I never find you."
------------------
The palace rooftop was wrapped in moonlight.
Soft winds danced around pillars and brushed past hanging lanterns that glowed like floating fireflies. Far beneath, the world was asleep. But up here—above it all—was a hush only hearts could hear.
Myra stood near the edge, arms folded around herself, eyes lifted toward the sky.
She hadn't meant to come up here. But something pulled her—the need for air, for stillness. For distance from the gazes and whispered questions.
She didn't hear his footsteps.
But she felt him.
Ranvijay stopped a few feet behind her. He didn't speak. Didn't move closer.
Then—
He saw her.
Myra.
Standing barefoot, in a soft cream kurta and shawl, her hair unbraided, catching the wind like ink in motion. The moonlight brushed against her face, delicate and pale, casting shadows beneath her eyes that still held the echo of fear and sleeplessness.
She looked fragile.
Too fragile to be standing.
His chest tightened.
He walked toward her, slow, steady. "Sweetheart" he called gently
She turned, startled. "I—I just needed a little air. I'm fine, really."
He didn't answer her words.
Instead, with one sharp glance that held a hundred emotions, he moved forward and swept her up into his arms before she could protest.
"Ran—!"
"Don't argue," he said softly but firmly, his voice a deep promise beneath the stars. "You don't get to stand on your own when I'm here."
She blinked, flustered, her fingers instinctively clutching the front of his shirt. "I was just—"
"Just recovering from being taken away from me," he said, meeting her eyes.
He walked over to the cushioned swing nestled under a golden arch and slowly sat down with her in his lap, adjusting her carefully until she was comfortable. She tried to shift, but he didn't let her. Instead, his arm circled her waist, grounding her.
"Sit still," he said, softer now, like velvet laced with steel. "You being safe doesn't mean I'm done being afraid."
Myra's lips parted. Her eyes moved from his face to the moonlit sky, unable to respond—not because she didn't have words, but because none felt big enough to match the look in his eyes.
She didn't speak.
She just… stayed.
There was a silence then. But not empty. Not heavy.
The moon cast silver along her jaw, down her collarbone, highlighting the bruises that still hadn't faded. But she sat strong. Back straight. Chin raised.
"I'm not as fragile as you think," she said, softer now.
"I never thought you were fragile," he replied. "I just can't bear the thought of losing you again."
Silence.
She turned finally. The wind played with a strand of her hair, tossing it across her face.
"You didn't lose me," she said. "I… came back."
His eyes didn't blink. "No, Myra. I went through hell to pull you out."
Her breath caught.
He moved his face forward, just once. Close enough for her to feel the warmth rolling off him. That dark shirt, the storm in his eyes, the unspoken chaos in his soul—he was trying to stay composed.
But she knew the war hadn't ended for him.
"Why do you do it?" she asked. "Why go so far?"
He looked at her like she was both question and answer.
"Because I'm only alive when you are."
That silenced her.
"I know you haven't forgiven me," he said, his voice almost too raw. "For marrying you like that. For forcing you into this world. I wouldn't either."
Her lashes lowered.
"But if I could go back," he added, stepping closer, "I'd do it again. Because without that moment, you wouldn't be mine to protect."
His hand hovered in the air, unsure. Then he dropped it.
Myra swallowed hard. "I'm not yours, Ranvijay."
He didn't argue. Just looked at her, like he already knew.
"You said I was light," she whispered. "But you treat me like I'll disappear if you blink."
He stepped closer again, almost toe-to-toe now.
"No," he whispered, "I treat you like you're the only reason I opened my eyes in the first place."
The words wrapped around her like silk. Too much. Too intimate.
She turned away.
But he reached out—this time gently—and caught her wrist.
She froze.
He brought her hand to his chest, just over his heart.
"Do you feel it?" he asked.
The thud under her palm was uneven. Hard. Beating like it remembered things before her mind ever did.
"That's yours, Myra," he said. "Even if you never want it… it'll always be yours."
She couldn't breathe.
A gust of wind passed between them.
Then, slowly, she whispered, "I don't know how to feel safe around you… and yet you're the only one I look for when I'm afraid."
His expression cracked—just for a second.
"Then let that be enough for now."
He released her hand.
They both sat there, under stars that had watched over centuries of kings and queens, wars and lovers.
And in that moment, neither said I love you.
But both of them heard it.