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The night felt heavier than usual, the stillness almost suffocating as only the faint rustling of leaves and occasional chirp of crickets interrupted the silence. Anya sat curled up on the cold marble floor of the balcony, the smooth texture of her sari sleeve muffling her quiet sobs. The words of Princess Bhanumati lingered in her mind like a bitter echo, refusing to fade.

"Soon enough, we’ll be sharing a husband."

Her chest ached at the memory, the sharp pain of loneliness clenching around her heart. She had never felt more distant from Duryodhan than she did tonight. Even though they shared a room, it was as if an invisible wall had risen between them. She missed her real family also Dwarka fiercely—its warmth, her brothers’ banter, the soft teasing of Subhadra. But Hastinapur? It was cold. Too grand, too empty. She was surrounded by so much wealth, but none of it could fill the void inside her.

With a sniff, Anya lifted her head from her knees, wiping at her tear-streaked face. That’s when she noticed it—a thin cut on her foot, a small trail of blood staining the marble.

"Oh great," she muttered under her breath, glaring at the tiny wound. "Perfect. Bleeding feet to go with my bleeding heart. Just my luck." Her attempt at sarcasm was weak, and a dry, humorless laugh escaped her lips. She shook her head, feeling a ridiculous sense of irony.

---

Duryodhan’s POV

The weight of the day sat heavily on Duryodhan’s shoulders. Endless discussions of politics and alliances with Karn had drained him, not to mention Bhanumati’s persistent presence during the talks. Her beauty and intellect were undeniable, and her strategic mind was an asset in negotiations, but Duryodhan’s thoughts had been elsewhere.

The moment he returned to his chambers, Shakuni had been waiting, swirling a goblet of wine, his ever-present smirk glued to his face.

"Ah, my dear nephew," Shakuni began smoothly, his voice dripping with manipulation. "You’ve seen how graceful and intelligent Princess Bhanumati is. She would make an excellent queen for Hastinapur."

Duryodhan’s brows knitted in annoyance. "A queen for Hastinapur?" His tone sharpened. "I thought this alliance was purely political."

Shakuni chuckled, eyes gleaming with a sly confidence. "Nephew, what better way to secure an alliance than through marriage? Bhanumati is no ordinary princess—she’s the key to solidifying Kalinga’s loyalty."

The mere suggestion of marriage churned Duryodhan’s stomach, his thoughts instantly flashing to Anya. Her laughter, her playful teasing, the way she made him feel lighter even on the heaviest days. The idea of betraying her with another marriage gnawed at him, filling him with a sense of dread.

"No," he replied, his voice firm. "I won’t marry her."

Shakuni raised a brow, his smirk faltering just slightly. "This isn’t about your personal feelings. It’s about duty."

"I don’t care," Duryodhan snapped, his hands clenched into fists. "Anya is my wife. I won’t betray her like that."

The conversation ended there. Without another word, Duryodhan stormed out, his heart pounding with a mix of anger and guilt.

---

When Duryodhan returned to his chambers, the room was eerily quiet. Lamps cast soft shadows against the walls, their warm glow doing little to chase away the coldness that seemed to have settled into the space. Anya wasn’t in bed. His heart tightened as he scanned the room, only to spot the balcony door ajar, a cool breeze drifting in.

As he stepped closer, his breath caught in his throat. Anya was huddled on the floor, her form small and vulnerable. She was crying.

"Anya?" His voice was soft, filled with concern. But she didn’t respond, her face hidden against her knees. That’s when his eyes fell on her foot—blood. A thin trail of crimson snaked down her skin from a small cut.

In a heartbeat, he was kneeling beside her. "Anya!" His voice was thick with worry as he gently grasped her arm. "Why didn’t you call for me?"

Anya sniffled, lifting her head just slightly. Her face was tear-streaked, her eyes puffy from crying. "I didn’t want to bother you," she mumbled, her voice trembling. "I know you’re busy…with your other princesses and all." Her words were bitter, laced with an edge of sarcasm, though the sadness in her eyes was unmistakable.

Duryodhan’s heart ached at the sight of her, the guilt of earlier pressing harder on his chest. Without another word, he scooped her up effortlessly, cradling her in his arms as he carried her back inside. "Bother me?" he echoed, his voice raw with emotion. "Anya, you could never be a bother."

Anya blinked up at him, her eyes still swimming with tears. "Oh really? Because I feel like I’m just here to decorate your palace while you handle your 'important' affairs." Her pout deepened, but there was a hint of playfulness behind her sorrow.

Duryodhan let out a soft sigh, setting her down carefully on the bed. "I’m sorry," he murmured, his hand brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "I shouldn’t have ignored you earlier."

"Well, you did," she replied with a sniff, crossing her arms stubbornly. "I could’ve been kidnapped by some random prince, or worse—married off to someone else, and you wouldn’t even notice!"

A small chuckle escaped Duryodhan’s lips despite the heavy atmosphere. "Anya…" He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "Trust me, I would notice. You’re my world."

Anya’s expression softened just a little, though she still mumbled, "Bhanumati doesn’t seem to think so. She said you’ll marry her for the alliance with Kalinga. That you’d choose her over me because, you know, 'political reasons.'" She sniffled again, her voice barely above a whisper.

Duryodhan’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with anger. "She said that?"

Anya nodded, her lips trembling. "She said I don’t belong here. That I’m not fit to be your queen."

Duryodhan’s entire demeanor shifted, his protective instincts flaring up. "I’ll have her sent back to Kalinga immediately," he said darkly, his voice filled with a dangerous edge. "She’ll never step foot in Hastinapur again if she dares insult you."

Anya’s eyes widened at his intensity, but a small grin  tugged at the corners of her lips. "You’d really do that?"

"I’d do anything for you," he replied, his hand cupping her chin gently, tilting her face toward his. "No one comes between us. No one."

Anya let out a shaky breath, her heart fluttering at his words. But she couldn’t resist a playful quip. "You’re not just saying that to keep me from throwing a fit, right?"

Duryodhan smirked, his gaze softening as he leaned closer. "Would it work?"

Anya finally giggled, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pulled him closer. "Maybe," she teased. "But don’t think this means you’re off the hook, husband."

Duryodhan’s lips brushed hers softly, the warmth of the moment chasing away the lingering doubts. His arms wrapped around her tightly, holding her as if he never wanted to let go. "I’ll make sure you never doubt it again," he whispered against her lips, his breath warm and soothing.

Anya smiled, her heart swelling with a mixture of love and relief as she melted into his embrace. For now, in his arms, the weight of her doubts began to lift, replaced by the undeniable bond they shared.