Chapter 52: 🪭✨44🪭: The real nightmare

Indu had been having sleepless nights for a week now. Ever since she returned from her interaction with Prince Ivaan, rest had become a distant luxury. The shadows of what she had seen clung to her like an unseen shroud, suffocating her with every passing night. She tossed and turned in bed, staring at the moonlight that seeped through the grand silk-draped windows of her chamber. The cold marble floors, the golden chandeliers swaying gently in the night breeze, the scent of fresh mogra flowers arranged meticulously by the maids—none of it brought her solace anymore.

On one hand, she wanted so badly to confide in her sister, Princess Anya. To tell her about the blood, the scream of Vikram that had been cut short, and the chilling gaze of the man she was supposed to marry. But fate had its cruel way of diverting paths. News broke of Prince Nayan—Anya’s fiancé—being in critical condition. The once noble and poised Princess Anya was disturbed from the moment she heard it, pleading to leave for Nanda, his kingdom that was now on the verge of collapse.

Their mother, Queen Shalini, had forbidden it. “You will not step foot in that kingdom!” she had commanded, her voice as unyielding as the throne she sat upon. “Nanda is in turmoil. The people are revolting, the ministers are accusing the new king of treachery. I will not let my daughter walk into that chaos.”

Princess Indu stood behind a silk curtain, listening to the argument unfold between mother and daughter, her hands clenching the folds of her embroidered saree. She knew this was not the time to add to their troubles. To tell them that the new king—the one at the heart of Nanda’s political storm—was a ruthless murderer. That she had seen him take a life without hesitation. That she had watched the blood of an innocent man pool at his feet while his cold eyes bore into her very soul. The memory was seared into her mind, tormenting her in nightmares where she was the one on the receiving end of his merciless blade.

And yet, no matter how much fear clawed at her, she could not stop thinking about the whispers. The conspiracy that lurked beneath the celebrations. People said that Prince Nayan, the former heir of Nanda, had been poisoned by none other than Prince Ivaan and his ministers plan. The thought sent shivers down Princess Indu’s spine. Was he truly capable of such a thing? Her heart screamed yes, but her mind faltered. There was something about Prince Ivaan, something beyond the cold brutality she had witnessed. A glint in his eyes, a flicker of something unspoken in his voice.

But time was cruel. No amount of restless nights, unanswered questions, or turmoil could stop the day from arriving—the day of her wedding.

The entire kingdom of Rana rejoiced as the grand halls were adorned with cascading marigolds and fragrant rose petals. The palace gleamed under golden lamps, and the sound of shehnais filled the air, mingling with the laughter of nobles and the cheers of commoners. The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and incense, as guests from far and wide arrived, eager to witness the union of Princess Indu and Prince Ivaan.

And yet, beneath the facade of joy, Princess Indu felt the weight of chains around her wrists.

Every step towards the entrance was heavy ,it was the tradition to have a sneaked look through a mirror at the Groom while welcoming him to the Kingdom she took another step towards a life she did not want, towards a man whose very presence sent chills down her spine.

She was a vision in red, draped in an opulent lehenga adorned with gold and rubies, every pleat meticulously arranged. Her maang tikka rested elegantly on her forehead, and heavy jhumkas swayed with every anxious breath she took. The henna on her hands was dark, its intricate patterns symbolizing love and prosperity, yet her heart knew nothing of it. Her long, raven-black hair was braided and adorned with tiny jasmine buds, but despite her ethereal beauty, she felt like a prisoner in silk and jewels.

Then, as the gates of the palace opened, he arrived.

Prince Ivaan.

Draped in royal blue and gold, his presence commanded the entire court. The crowd silenced as he stepped forward, his piercing gaze scanning the hall before settling on Princess Indu her pallu covering her face entirely. A smirk played at the corner of his lips, as if he knew her fears, as if he could hear the storm raging within her.

As he approached, he leaned in slightly and whispered, “You look breathtaking, Princess. Though I suspect that is not what troubles you.”

Princess Indu forced herself to meet his gaze through the see through drape clothe . “You are more perceptive than I expected, Prince Ivaan.”

He chuckled lowly. “I make it a habit to know what my bride is thinking.” His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it, something almost sinister.

Princess Indu’s throat went dry. She could not tell if this was her wedding—or her execution.

A sudden hand on her shoulder made her flinch. It was Princess Anya. Her eyes filled with unspoken worry. “Indu, are you alright?” she asked softly.

Before Princess Indu could answer, Prince Ivaan cut in smoothly, “The bride is merely overwhelmed by the grandeur of the occasion.” He extended his hand toward her, his expression unreadable. “Shall we, Princess?”

The real nightmare had only just begun.

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The next chapter coming up by tomorrow 🧑‍💻 or day after tomorrow.