▪️▪️▪️

Focus. Adhira. Focus. You can do this. Calm down.

"Your Majesties, it's been far too long."

My mother steps forward with the ease of someone who's done this a thousand times. Her voice is smooth, confident, as she greets the King and Queen like they're old brunch buddies, not the rulers of Rajsharan.

I, meanwhile, am doing my best impression of a fish—mouth opening and closing, no sound coming out.

What the royal hell is happening right now?

She's exchanging pleasantries with them like it's just another Saturday morning. The Queen sets down her teacup, a warm smile on her face as she stands up to greet my parents.

The Queen of Rajsharan—Shailaja Devgarh, a literal Queen—is standing here, smiling like we're not in a gilded palace where everything sparkles just a little too much. Her dark hair, streaked with silver, is pulled into this effortlessly sophisticated bun, and she's wearing a deep blue sari that shimmers under the lights, embroidered with gold details that match the royal crest. There's a warmth to her that catches me off guard. I expected coldness, some sort of regal chill, but nope, she's... nice?

"Ah, Meera Ji, Adhiraaj Ji! It's wonderful to see you again," the Queen says, pulling my mother into a hug that feels way too casual for royal standards. Her bracelets jingle softly as they pull apart, her smile never fading. "You've been far too busy hiding in Mumbai, haven't you?"

"Oh, you know how it is," my mother responds with a wave of her hand. "The city's chaos doesn't leave much room for royal visits. But I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Who is this woman? Where's the mother who used to nag me about standing up straight and being polite? Right now, she's acting like the Queen is just some old friend she hasn't seen in a while.

I'm frozen, stuck in this weird alternate universe where nothing makes sense. My mother is laughing with a literal Queen, and I'm standing here like a deer in headlights.

Why didn't anyone tell me this is how it was going to be? Where are the stiff formalities, the royal protocol?

Enter the King. He steps forward, and let me just say—if anyone looks like they've stepped straight out of a royal Netflix series, it's him. Rugged, salt-and-pepper beard, relaxed posture, like he's just come back from playing polo or walking through his enormous palace gardens. He's wearing a cream-colored kurta, perfectly tailored but still somehow casual. There's an easy charm about him that completely contradicts the image I had in my head of a stiff, commanding king.

He claps my father on the back like they're old buddies.

"Adhiraaj Ji, how is it that you've still managed to escape all the royal functions and tedious meetings?" the King jokes, grinning like they're sharing some inside joke I'll never understand.

What is happening?

"And you must be Adhira," the Queen says, turning to me with that same warm smile. "We've heard so much about you, dear. It's wonderful to finally meet you in person."

I force myself to snap out of my daze, plastering a polite smile on my face.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesties."

I manage, adding a small bow because, honestly, I have no idea what I'm supposed to do here.

"Oh, none of that 'Your Majesty' business," the Queen waves a hand dismissively, her bracelets jingling again. "We're not that formal here. You can call me Shailaja, and this is my husband, Shikhar. Though I suspect he'd prefer 'Uncle' over any title," she adds with a playful glance at the King.

Uncle. Uncle. Sure, why not? Let's just throw royal protocols out the window while we're at it.

The king nods, grinning. "Titles are for stuffy courtrooms and boring public events. We'll figure out what to call each other after you've met our son. No pressure."

No pressure? Right. Sure.
Totally not pressured. I mean, I'm only about to meet the guy I'm supposed to potentially marry. Super chill.

I sink down onto the edge of a chair, trying to act like I belong here, but honestly, I feel like a complete outsider in this whole scenario. My parents look like they've done this a million times, comfortably chatting with the King and Queen.

And here I am, feeling like I'm in the Twilight Zone.

Mihir would die laughing if he saw me now.

"So, Adhira," Shailaja says, her voice as warm as ever, "I'm sure your parents have told you about our families' history. We go back many years. Your father and Shikhar used to get into all sorts of mischief."

I nearly drop the cup I'm reaching for. "Mischief? My dad?"

The king chuckles, giving me a conspiratorial wink. "Don't let the business suits fool you. He was quite the troublemaker. Why, there was that one time—"

Shailaja slaps his arm lightly, cutting him off with a playful glare. "Don't you dare fill her head with stories. We're here to talk about the present, not embarrass old friends."

"So, Adhira," Shailaja continues, pouring me a fresh cup of tea, "I know you must be wondering why we're meeting like this—casually, before any formalities. We've always believed relationships, even arranged ones, should start with genuine conversations."

"This isn't what I expected," I admit, "I thought there'd be more... rules. Protocols."

King laughs again. "Oh, there are plenty of rules. Don't worry about that. But we can bend a few when necessary."

Bend a few? What is this, a royal prank show?

"We're just people, Adhira," the Queen says gently, her voice warm. "People who happen to live in a very large house."

If the King and Queen are going to be this laid-back, maybe this whole royal engagement thing won't be as unbearable as I thought. Though one burning question still nags at the back of my mind: If this is how they're breaking the ice, just how 'unexpected' is the prince going to be?

My phone buzzes insistently in my handbag, cutting through the easygoing atmosphere like a knife.

I freeze, my eyes widening as the vibrations pulse through the room. Oh, fantastic. Just execute me now.

I glance at the Queen, half-expecting her to frown, but she just raises an eyebrow, looking more curious than annoyed.

"I... I'm so sorry," I stammer, fumbling to silence the damn thing. My mind runs wild with worst-case scenarios—interrupting a royal meeting for a phone call? That's a first. Will they throw me in the dungeon?

Shailaja waves a hand dismissively, her smile never faltering. "Don't worry, dear. It must be important if it's ringing too much. Go on, answer it. We don't bite."

Grateful for the escape, I nod quickly. "Excuse me," I murmur before standing. I notice one of the palace staff discreetly following behind me. Probably to make sure I don't accidentally wander into the royal vaults or topple an antique vase.

Stepping outside, the cool air is a welcome relief, and the scent of jasmine and roses instantly hits me. I take a deep breath and finally answer the call.

"Muskan, this better be good."

"Good?" Her voice is loud, frantic even. "I called to save you! How's it going? Did they offer you a glass slipper yet, or are you still trying to figure out which fork to use?"

I roll my eyes. "Actually, they're surprisingly chill. I just found out our parents are basically besties. So, no pressure, right?"

"Oh, wow. You're screwed," she says, barely suppressing a laugh. "Have you met the prince yet? Is he hot? Oh, please tell me he's hot. He better be hot, or I swear—"

"No sign of him yet," I mutter, glancing around like he might suddenly appear out of thin air. "If he doesn't show up soon, I'm throwing my imaginary glass slippers at him. Does he not know what time is? Who's late to their own engagement introduction? Ugh, this is ridiculous."

Muskan's chuckle echoes through the line. "Okay, Miss Punctual, stop pacing. You're in a royal palace, not your cubicle. You might not want to be fooling around where they could probably sentence you to life in a tower."

I groan, dragging a hand down my face. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Of course I am! It's not every day my best friend has a royal setup, potential marriage, and a prince who's MIA. I'm living vicariously through you, babe."

"Great. Glad to know my impending royal meltdown is entertaining."

I aimlessly wander as I talk, weaving through the manicured gardens until a wide double door catches my eye. The carvings on it are intricate, depicting scenes of nature, wisdom, and... books? Intrigued, I push it open without a second thought.

And immediately, I'm in love.

"Oh. My. God." I stop mid-conversation, looking around with wide eyes. "Muskan, you will not believe where I am right now."

"Are you in heaven?"

"Close enough." I lower my voice to a reverent whisper. "I'm in the library."

"The library?" Muskan repeats, confused. "Adhira, are you even supposed to be there?"

I pause, realizing that technically, no one said I could wander in here. "Uh... maybe? Probably not." A grin spreads across my face. "But I'm not leaving anytime soon."

The space is breathtaking. Bookshelves stretch so high they might as well scrape the ceiling, with ladders attached to them like something straight out of Beauty and the Beast. Sunlight pours in from giant arched windows, and the faint scent of old paper fills the air. It's a bibliophile's dream.

"Adhira, this is not how royal arranged marriage works. You're supposed to meet the prince, not steal books from their collection. If he finds out—"

"Muskan, do I look like a book thief to you?" I retort, keeping my voice low. "Besides, the prince might never find out. He's not even here—" I glance at my watch for dramatic effect. "I mean, it's been almost an hour. If he thinks his time is precious, mine is not exactly something to waste on some smug highness. Who even does he think he is?"

I turn the phone to speaker and wander around like I belong here.

"Okay, calm down, Shakespeare," Muskan says. "At least get to see him before you decide to walk away. What if he's a hottie?"

I snort, pulling a book from the nearest shelf and flipping through it. "Oh, yeah, because a handsome face is exactly what I need to forget that this entire thing is absurd."

"Exactly!" Muskan chirps. "Adhira, you need a royal dick to knock some sense into you. Imagine him sweeping you off your feet—literally—after one of those dramatic kisses where—"

"You think I'm going to kiss the prince the moment I see him?" I roll my eyes, half-laughing, half-horrified. "You think I believe in fairytales?"

Muskan is enjoying this way too much which makes me want to throw her out of my apartment's balcony.

"For all we know, he's probably too busy staring at his reflection in a golden mirror. Why would I even want to meet him? Honestly, the ball's in my court. If he never shows up, I get to walk away. No prince, no stupid idea of an arranged marriage, no—"

A throat clears behind me.

I freeze, the book slipping from my hands as heat floods my face.

Slowly—very slowly—I turn around, bracing myself for some terrifying head librarian ready to kick me out for trespassing. I end the call without waiting for Muskan to say anything stupid.

But it's not a librarian. Oh no.

It's a man. A tall man. Ridiculously tall. With hazel eyes sharp enough to cut glass and a face that looks like it was hand-sculpted by a god having an exceptionally good day.

He's dressed casually—blue shirt, dark jeans— far too casual for a prince—or maybe not casual enough for a palace worker. But the way he carries himself screams importance. Or trouble. Maybe both.

"You're not supposed to be in here," he says, his voice smooth and infuriatingly polite.

Can voices be breathtaking?
This is not good for my peace of mind.

I open my mouth to respond, but words fail me. This never happens. Never. Words? Where are my words?

"I was just... wandering."

He raises an eyebrow, pushing off the doorframe to pick up the book I dropped. He doesn't hand it to me immediately, though. Instead, he glances at the cover. "Wandering into restricted areas, are we? Interesting choice of reading material."

His tone is polite, but there's an edge of humor there, and I can feel the embarrassment rising higher. "I didn't realize this was restricted."

I extend my hand for the book. But he doesn't give it back right away. Instead, he flips it open as though he has every right to peruse my accidental selection.

"So," he says, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, "are you hoping to find some royal secrets in here?"

I snort. "Oh, please. If I wanted secrets, I'd go snooping in their files, not the fiction section."

That earns me a low chuckle, and it's the kind of sound that shouldn't be legal—smooth, deep, and entirely too distracting.

"And what if I told you they do have secrets hidden in here?"

I roll my eyes. "Then I'd say their security is terrible."

"Fair point," he admits, handing me the book at last. But his gaze lingers on me, appraising, as if he's trying to solve a puzzle. "The Royals could declare a death sentence for trespassing."

As if.

Death sentence? For what? Borrowing a book? I doubt they even use this library. Does the Prince himself even have a brain? And he's going to execute me? Me?

"I wasn't trespassing," I snap, though my voice doesn't carry nearly as much authority as I'd like. "I was—" I pause, searching for an excuse that doesn't sound completely ridiculous. "I was just taking a break from being stood up."

"Stood up?"

"Yes," I huff. "By the Prince."

His eyebrow lifts slightly, as if intrigued. Whatever it is, it's annoying.

"Can you believe it?" I continue, throwing my hands up. "First, they summon me here to meet their son, and then he doesn't even bother to show up. Who does that? What kind of an ass—" I pause, remembering my precarious position in the royal palace. Clearing my throat, I finish with exaggerated sweetness, "—does that?"

He tilts his head slightly, his hazel eyes gleaming with barely concealed laughter. "Maybe he had a good reason."

"Oh, I'm sure he did. Probably too busy polishing his crown or admiring himself in the mirror. What a cocky, ignorant, arrogant son of a—" I catch myself just in time, swallowing my words. I quickly plaster on a strained smile. "—king and queen."

That does it. His lips curve, just slightly, into a maddeningly smug smile. "Sounds like you've got him all figured out."

"Oh, don't even get me started. I don't need to meet him to know his type. Privileged, entitled, probably thinks the world revolves around him. Honestly, if he walked in here right now, I'd—"

I straighten, the words dying on my lips as my eyes lock with his.

Oh.

A tiny, annoying voice in the back of my head whispers that his gaze feels a little too royal, a little too princely.

But no. No way. Right?

"Go on," he says smoothly, his tone laced with mischief. "You were saying?"

I blink, my mind scrambling for a response. "Uh... I'd tell him to be punctual. That's all. You know, manners and all that."

"Very noble of you," he says, his lips curving into a maddeningly polite smile.

"Well," I snap, straightening my shoulders. "If you'll excuse me, I'll just—"

He steps aside with a low chuckle, gesturing grandly toward the door. I don't bother to warn him about this incident, if he wants to update the Prince about this? He can - by all means - I am not scared of dungeons.

I mutter a clipped "thank you" and spin on my heel, determined to make a quick and dignified exit. But, of course, the universe has other plans.As I walk past him, my dupatta decides to play traitor. It snags on something—his watch.

Oh, for crying out loud.

"Oh, come on," I mutter under my breath, turning back and trying to untangle the fabric without looking him in the eye. "Why is it always the dupatta? I don't need my own Ekta Kapoor serial moment right now."

He doesn't immediately respond, but I can feel his amusement radiating like a heat wave.

"Here," he says finally, stepping forward. "Allow me."

Before I can protest, his fingers are already at work, deftly freeing the delicate fabric from his watch.

It's quick and efficient, but in the process, his fingers brush against mine—just for a second.

A jolt shoots up my arm, startling me.

Static, I tell myself firmly. That's all it is. Static. Nothing else.

Something about the way he looks at me makes my stomach flip.

No - Adhira.
You would have been dead by now if he were the Prince.

I rush back to the room, my dupatta fluttering behind me like some overdramatic flag of defeat. My parents, along with the King and Queen, didn't realise my presence for a whole minute - but when they did - their smiles are wide and... odd. Too wide.

Something's off.

Their gazes aren't on me. Not really. They're focused somewhere behind me.

I freeze mid-step. My stomach sinks, a horrible realization dawning before I even turn.

I feel him before I see him.

"Ah, here he is!" the Queen announces, her voice brimming with pride and anticipation. "Rishabh."

I turn around, my movements slow, reluctant, as if the universe might grant me a reprieve if I just delay long enough.

No such luck.

Oh, no. Oh, no. This cannot be happening.

Standing in the doorway is him.

Rishabh Singh Devgarh.
The Prince.

My mouth falls open,  and then, before I can stop myself, I blurt out the only thing my frazzled brain can manage:
"Oh, fuck me."

I'm going to kill him. Or myself. Whichever comes first.

The room goes utterly, devastatingly silent.

Then he speaks, his voice silky and entirely too pleased with himself.

"Charmed, I'm sure."

▫️▫️▫️

Hello beautiful readers.
Thank you for the first 200 reads.
The first chapter has received beautiful responses.
I hope you guys love the chapters ahead.

Also - whooooo is Rishabh Singh Devgarh? Why did she react this way?

Stay tuned.