Mature, disturbing, and triggering content ahead. Read at your own risk
I went into 'extra' mode while writing this. If you find yourself questioning your life choices halfway through, just know - I warned you.
This chapter is still in its rough form and has not been fully edited. Expect inconsistencies and unfinished content. Read at your own risk.
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Author's POV
It was Yugveer's first time in a brothel.
Even the air felt different here-thick, warm, and filled with a strange mix of rose oil, incense, and jasmine. Everything about this place was unfamiliar. The laughter of men echoed through the sandstone halls, blending with the distant strains of music and the clinking of anklets. Women passed by in veils, draped in silks, their voices hushed, their eyes bold. It all felt... off. Like a world he wasn't meant to step into.
He had come here because of a foolish dare. His friends-fellow young nobles from the court-had dared one another to visit this forbidden place just outside the city walls. Hidden under long shawls and cloths that concealed their royal lineage, they had sneaked past the guards and slipped into the brothel like commoners. The others had already disappeared into their respective chambers with women they had chosen. But Yugveer? He found himself sitting alone in the room he had been assigned.
The shawl he had wrapped around his face now lay discarded on the floor beside him. The room was dimly lit, a single brass lamp casting soft shadows against the stone walls. A narrow window let in a sliver of moonlight, painting silver lines across the floor. The scent of burning incense sticks and jasmine blossoms floated in the air. Despite the tension inside him, something about it felt strangely peaceful... almost sacred.
He sat on the edge of the cot, its mattress rough beneath the silk of his kurta. His heart pounded with every passing second. He didn't know what to expect. He didn't even know what he was supposed to do. All he could think about was how to leave without anyone noticing.
Then he heard it-the gentle jingle of anklets approaching the door.
His body stiffened. The sound was rhythmic, soft, growing louder with every step. A moment later, the door creaked open.
A figure entered, slowly, gracefully. She moved like a whisper, her form cloaked in shadows. She didn't speak. Instead, she quietly shut the door behind her and stepped forward, her bare feet silent against the stone floor, the anklets on her ankles announcing her presence with each delicate movement.
She came to stand directly before him. It was kumudini.
Yugveer could barely breathe.
As she leaned closer, the flickering candlelight revealed her face-soft, oval-shaped, her skin glowing in the dim light. But it was her eyes that held him captive. Lined with thick kohl, wide and expressive, they seemed to pull him into a world he had never known. She held his gaze for a moment... then slowly lowered hers, as if sensing his discomfort.
Her face came closer, her breath brushing against his ear. His breath hitched. He was frozen. And then, without a word, she kissed his cheek-just once, soft and fleeting.
It was the first time he had ever allowed anyone to touch him like that.
She looked up again, her eyes meeting his once more, and asked in a voice so gentle it almost felt like a prayer:
"First time?"
Her tone was kind. Not mocking, not amused-just soft, understanding.
He managed a whisper, barely audible: "Yes."
She didn't say anything after that. Instead, she moved slowly, gracefully, and sat beside him on the bed. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, unsure of what to do, unsure of what he was feeling.
She reached out and gently held his hands. Her palms were soft, warm, steady. They sat there in silence. No words. Just the soft crackling of the candle, the distant music from beyond the stone walls, and the sound of their breathing.
Five minutes passed, maybe more.
Finally, Yugveer gathered the courage to look at her. Slowly, he turned his head-and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.
The moonlight fell across her face like a blessing from the gods. She was... breathtaking. Her features were soft yet strong, and her skin glowed like polished bronze. Her long hair was neatly braided, a few loose strands framing her face gently. She wore a simple maroon lehenga, free of ornaments or jewellery, yet she looked regal-more divine than any queen he had ever seen in the palace courts.
But it wasn't her face or her attire that captured him most.
It was her eyes.
Those eyes... they held depth. Mystery. Pain. Power. As if they carried a thousand stories, and he was merely a guest in one of them.
Without meaning to, the word slipped from his lips in a hushed whisper.
"Beautiful..."
She raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk appearing on her lips.
"Did you say something?" she asked, her voice calm, almost teasing.
His ears burned. He looked away quickly, but he could still feel her gaze on him, heavy yet comforting.
"For what you have come here for," she said, her tone quiet but certain.
Yugveer swallowed hard, but his throat remained dry. His eyes flickered up to her face and then dropped again, guilt pooling in his chest like ink in water.
He didn't speak. He couldn't.
Because the truth was-he hadn't come here out of longing or intention. He hadn't come seeking her out of any noble reason. He'd come because of a stupid dare. A reckless challenge thrown at him by his friends in the middle of laughter and pride, in the heat of a moment when refusal would've looked like fear.
This place was forbidden to him. Off-limits.
And she-this girl with quiet grace and gentle strength-was not someone meant to be touched by his games.
He hadn't meant to stay. Just come, look, and leave. That was the plan. But now, standing here with her hands holding his so gently, so unwaveringly... something shifted.
Now, he didn't know what to say.
The air between them was quiet again, but thick-woven with threads of unspoken truths and questions he wasn't ready to answer.
Still, he stayed silent.
And still, she didn't pull away.
She studied him closely, as if sensing the war inside him. Her thumb moved slowly across his knuckles, soothing. She didn't ask again. Didn't press.
Instead, her voice came low, soft, like the beginning of a lullaby.
"People don't always come for the reasons they think," she said, almost more to herself than him. "Sometimes the reason finds them... after they arrive."
That made his gaze lift, just a little. Just enough to meet her eyes-and something in them made his chest tighten again. Understanding. Patience. Not pity.
He didn't deserve her kindness. Not now. Not with the truth caught in his throat like thorns.
But he still held on to her hands like they were the only real thing anchoring him to this moment.
And maybe... they were.
"If you're not ready, it's okay. Just let me know when you are," she said, her voice soft, steady, with no trace of impatience-only quiet grace.
He looked up at her, this time with a faint glint of amusement in his eyes. The corner of his lips curved ever so slightly, though his tone held a curious sharpness.
"Do you like doing all this?" he asked, his voice low, almost teasing-but not cruel. It was the kind of question that came when someone didn't know what else to say. When discomfort turned into clumsy curiosity.
She didn't react immediately. She just looked at him-really looked at him-searching his eyes like she was trying to read between the words.
Then, she shrugged lightly, the gesture more graceful than dismissive.
"Does it matter?"
Yugveer blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in her reply.
She walked toward the table, picked up the brass cup of water, and took a slow sip before continuing, "Some do this because they have no choice. Some because they've accepted it. And some... because they've forgotten what else they could've been."
She set the cup down and turned back to him.
"I haven't forgotten. Not yet."
There was no bitterness in her voice, just a truth she had grown used to carrying.
He stared at her, silent. Something in his chest tightened.
"I never asked to be here," he said finally, voice quieter now. "But I'm not here to mock you."
"I know," she said gently. "You didn't have to say it."
For the first time, the tension between them didn't feel sharp. It felt... human. Fragile, even.
She came and sat beside him again-this time, not reaching for his hand. The warmth from her earlier touch still lingered on his skin like a whisper he didn't want to forget.
Yugveer glanced at her from the corner of his eye, then turned his head fully, facing her. His heart beat a little faster for reasons he didn't fully understand. Maybe it was her quiet strength... or the way she sat so calmly, unbothered by his silence.
He didn't know why, but he wanted to hold her hand again. Not because he had to. Not because it was expected. But because he needed to feel that steady anchor she had unknowingly become.
More than that, he wanted to look into her eyes-truly look. To read the lines in them, the hidden words she never spoke aloud. To see the girl beneath the calm voice and practiced grace. To know who she was when no one was watching.
But he didn't move. He just sat there, caught in the stillness, while she stared straight ahead, unaware-or perhaps pretending to be.
Silence stretched between them again. Not awkward, not heavy. Just quiet. And in that quiet, Yugveer realized something unsettling.
He wanted to stay.
She came and again sat beside him-but not close enough to touch. Her hands stayed folded in her lap, and though he didn't reach out, something in him longed to. He wanted to hold her hand, to look into her eyes, to understand what lay behind them. But he kept his distance, unsure why-maybe respect, maybe hesitation. Still, her presence calmed something restless inside him.
"Do you want to talk?" she asked gently, turning her head just a little toward him.
"About what?" he replied, his voice low but curious.
"Anything," she said, her tone soft like a question, but with a hint of hope.
"You start," he said after a moment, his lips curving in a faint smile.
She thought for a second, then asked, "What do you do?"
"I work in the palace," he replied smoothly, the lie slipping out before he could stop it.
Her eyes lit up instantly at the word palace-a kind of innocent wonder glimmered there.
"What's it like?" she asked, leaning in a little. "The palace?"
"You've never been there?" he asked, surprised.
She shook her head. "Only seen its golden domes from the rooftops. We're not allowed near. I always thought it must look like the stories."
He looked at her, studying her glowing expression. "It does. More, actually. Long halls, painted with stars and gods. Marble floors that echo when you walk. And light-so much light. It comes through stained glass windows and falls like rainbows on everything."
She smiled at that, imagining it. "It sounds like magic."
"It feels like... pressure," he said without thinking, then quickly added, "but it's beautiful, yes."
She tilted her head. "Why pressure?"
He looked at her, paused, then gave a crooked smile. "I thought we were just talking about 'anything.' Not everything."
She smiled too, the first real one he'd seen on her. "Then I'll ask everything. Slowly."
He chuckled under his breath. "Fair enough."
A quiet pause settled between them-not awkward, just soft. Like they both wanted to know more, but didn't want to rush.
"Can you tell me more about the palace and people. King and queen." Yugveer smiled.
Yugveer smiled, the kind that lingered a second longer than it needed to. There was something endearing in her curiosity-pure, almost childlike, untouched by the heavy truths he carried. He leaned back a little, resting his weight on his palms behind him, looking up at the wooden beams of the ceiling as if picturing it all.
"The palace," he began slowly, "is a world in itself. So big, you could get lost and still not be found for hours. There are gardens that stretch like carpets of green, fountains that sing, and halls with floors so polished they reflect your face like water."
She listened as if the words were painting stars in her mind.
"And the king?" she asked, gently.
Yugveer's smile dimmed a little, but he kept his voice steady. "The king is powerful. Wise, most say. But he's also... distant. Like a mountain-strong and still, but far. You respect him from afar, but you don't try to get close."
She nodded, her lashes lowering a little in thought. "And the queen?"
His tone softened. "She's different. She walks like poetry. Everyone in the court listens when she speaks. She's... kind. Fierce in her silence, if that makes sense."
"It does," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "She sounds beautiful."
"She is. But not just outside." He turned to look at her, noticing how her face glowed in the flicker of the nearby lamp. "You'd like her."
She met his eyes, surprised. "You think so?"
"I do. She's like you... calm, but you feel things deeply."
A light blush rose to her cheeks, but she didn't look away this time. "You don't even know me," she whispered.
Yugveer tilted his head. "Maybe not. But I'd like to."
She smiled, faint but real. "And what about the prince?" she asked, tilting her head, intrigued. "What is he like?"
Yugveer's brows lifted slightly, caught off guard by the question. For a heartbeat, he didn't know how to respond-after all, he was the prince. But she didn't know that. Not yet.
"Well," he said slowly, hiding a small smile, "there are three princes in the palace. Veerendra, Aryan, and..."
He paused.
"...Yugveer," she finished for him, the name rolling softly off her tongue, unfamiliar and delicate.
He nodded, watching her carefully. "Yes. The eldest, Veerendra-he's the one born to rule. Disciplined, serious, and always thinking about the kingdom. People say he carries the weight of the crown even before it's placed on his head."
She listened, eyes fixed on his face, soaking in every word.
"Aryan," he continued, "is the youngest. Mischievous, clever, always chasing something-whether it's knowledge or trouble. But his heart... it's big. He laughs loud, and when he loves, he loves louder."
"And the middle one?" she asked softly.
Yugveer looked away for a moment, his voice quieter when he spoke again. "Yugveer is... different. He doesn't speak much in court. Keeps to himself. People say he's moody, distant. But there are stories too-that he's brave, loyal, and..." he hesitated, "lonely."
She tilted her head, sensing something shift in his tone. "Why lonely?"
"Maybe," he said, choosing his words carefully, "because he walks in two worlds. One that expects him to be perfect, and one that reminds him he's human."
A silence stretched between them again, thoughtful this time.
She lowered her gaze to her hands. "He sounds... like someone I'd like to meet."
Yugveer smiled, more to himself this time. "Maybe you already have."
She looked up, puzzled.
But he didn't explain. Not yet.
"I mean, I hope you meet him someday," Yugveer said, his voice gentle, almost thoughtful, as he watched her closely.
She let out a soft laugh-not mocking, but full of something quieter, sadder. "It sounds like a dream that'll never come true," she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes drifting away from his.
Her words lingered in the air, heavier than they should've been. Yugveer's smile faltered, and his expression softened with something deeper-regret, maybe, or quiet guilt.
He looked at her then, really looked-at the girl in front of him who spoke of princes like they were stars in the sky, far away and unreachable. Someone who had accepted that some doors would never open for her, simply because of who she was.
His gaze dropped to the floor for a second, then returned to her face, and this time, the sadness was unmistakable in his eyes.
"Dreams shouldn't feel that distant," he murmured, almost to himself.
She turned to him, her brows lifting slightly at the weight in his tone. There was something in the way he said it... something that made her chest ache a little.
But she didn't ask. And he didn't explain.
They just sat there, side by side-so close and yet still separated by names unspoken and truths untold.
As the silence between them stretched, the night outside deepened into a quiet hush. A soft yawn escaped Yugveer as he leaned back slightly, his shoulders finally relaxing.
"You should sleep now," she said gently, her voice carrying the same calm that always seemed to ease the storm inside him.
"Yeah," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck, "it's been a tiring day."
She stood up slowly, ready to leave, but his voice stopped her at the door. "Wait... where are you going?"
She turned, a little surprised. "I have no work here anymore," she said simply.
"Then... sleep with me."
She froze.
His eyes widened as he realized how that sounded. "I mean-sleep here. In this room. I didn't mean it like that. I just... I don't want to be alone tonight."
She studied him for a moment, and something in his voice-boyish, sincere, tired-made her nod quietly. She walked to the corner of the room and began pulling out a thin mat and an old cotton sheet.
"What are you doing?" he asked, watching her from the bed.
"Preparing to sleep," she said, not looking at him.
As she laid out the mat and was about to sit down, his voice came again, firmer this time. "Wait."
She looked up.
"You sleep on the bed. I'll take the floor."
Her eyes widened. "What? No! You are our guest, and-"
He raised a hand gently to interrupt. "You are a woman," he said. "And where I come from... women are considered forms of the goddess. How can I rest on a bed and let you sleep on the cold floor? That would be a sin in my eyes."
She stared at him, the sheet still clutched in her fingers. No one had ever said something like that to her before.
"I'm not a goddess," she said softly.
He smiled, not mocking, but kind. "You don't have to be one to be treated like one."
Her throat tightened. All her life, men had looked at her with the same hunger. Treated her like she was something to use. Something for the night. She had been touched without meaning, called beautiful without respect. But this... this was different.
This man hadn't once let his gaze wander where it shouldn't. He didn't want her body. He didn't even want her to leave the room-because he didn't want to be alone, not because he wanted company in his bed.
It felt strange. Unfamiliar. And yet, it felt warm.
"No one's ever said that to me," she whispered.
"Then I'm glad I'm the first."
A silence fell again, soft and comforting.
She rose slowly and walked toward the bed. He took her mat and laid it down for himself on the floor, as if it was the most natural thing to do.
And when she finally lay down, under the dim glow of the lantern, her heart didn't race in fear or panic. It rested-because this time, it wasn't about survival.
It was something else. Something kinder.
Something like... safety.
She curled up on the bed, knees tucked close to her chest, the thin blanket barely offering comfort against the weight in her chest. It still felt strange-wrong, even-to be lying there while he lay on the cold mat below. She wasn't meant for comfort. Not for softness.
This bed wasn't hers. None of it was.
She had been taught that her place was at men's feet, her body their right, her silence their demand. Her worth was measured in how well she pleased, how well she obeyed. That was the only kind of sleep she'd ever known-if it could even be called that.
But tonight... there was no demand. No touch. No hunger in his eyes.
She should've left. Should've gone back to where her whispers wouldn't betray the silence, where women muffled their screams behind clenched teeth and wooden walls. That was her place. Not this bed. Not this safety.
And yet... she stayed.
Because he asked her to. Because he didn't order-he asked. Because for once, someone looked at her like she was more than a body with a name he wouldn't remember.
She turned her head slightly, eyes drifting to where he lay.
The flickering lamplight kissed his face in soft golds and shadows. He looked calm, young-beautiful, even.
And then his words echoed in her mind again.
"You don't have to be a goddess to be treated like one."
Something inside her stirred.
No man had ever spoken to her like that. No man had ever meant it like that.
This wasn't desire that had her attention-it was wonder.
He hadn't touched her, yet he left a mark. A softness in his presence, something gentle in his gaze. This was the first time she had shared a room with a man and not felt fear gnawing at her spine.
Because he was different.
Because he didn't make her feel like prey.
Because, for the first time in her life, she felt safe.
Because he was a man.
A real man.
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And that's the end of this unedited mess!
Warning: You may find mistakes, random twists, or things that don't make sense. Read at your own risk. If you have complaints... well, I'm the editor too! Feel free to laugh, give feedback, or just enjoy the chaos.