Chapter 2: Power, Blood, and Desire

Compared to Arjun’s tall, muscular frame, Priya looked almost laughably small. A desert beast needing a trembling little white rabbit to protect him. Her saree was slightly askew, her braid unraveling—a sign of how quickly she had come, heedless of appearances, heart before propriety. After Priya appeared, the comments exploded with praise for her, while unanimously calling me a vicious, doomed villainess.

I lowered my eyes, glancing at the blood on my whip—unfazed. There was a strange beauty in that smear of red, like the tilak priests mark on my forehead during temple visits. Priya’s voice echoed, "Didi, I beg you to let him go."

For a moment, the dungeon air shifted. I remembered a Holi long ago—Priya, small and fierce, scooping up stray puppies from the palace grounds, shielding them from scolding cooks with a stubborn tilt of her chin. Even then, she was always the one who protected the helpless, no matter the cost. The memory flickered, but I pushed it aside. Tonight, there was no room for kindness.

Priya’s plea trembled through the silence, the guards exchanging worried glances as if unsure whom to obey. "No matter what it costs, I’ll pay it for him."

Priya stood before me, her soft voice trembling, but she grit her teeth and stubbornly insisted. Her small hands balled into fists, she looked every bit the righteous heroine from a mythic katha. Behind her, Arjun’s amber eyes were locked on me, fierce and bloodthirsty. In his eyes, there was only me—a war yet to be fought. Suddenly, I laughed, the sound sharp as glass against the stone.

Priya’s little face went pale. Just like the comments said: I’m the villainess doomed to a terrible end, giving her the perfect chance to play the saint. If I’m going to die, let’s all die together. "Tonight, I haven’t picked a man to serve me."

I circled around Priya, my anklets ringing with each slow step. Stepped on Arjun’s tense, dusky thigh, not caring about his wounds. He flinched but met my gaze head-on, refusing to yield an inch. My fingers slowly tightened the iron chain at his neck, dragging him to my feet. The iron was cold, the moment burning.

"This man-servant suits my taste."

The words tasted of power and doom, each syllable ringing through the dungeon. "He’ll serve me tonight."

Priya froze, her pupils shrinking, her voice sharp: "No! Didi, choose someone else—you can’t touch him!" Her desperation echoed off the walls, but I had already made my choice.

I lifted Arjun’s chin, feeling his rough, burning breath brush past my ear beneath the muzzle. The heat of it sent a shiver through me, one I refused to show. "A lowly man-servant—if I want him, I’ll have him. Who are you to object?"

She stood rooted, her lips trembling, but I ignored her. "Someone, clean him up and send him to my palace."

3

The comments wailed, as if the whole mohalla had gathered to witness my downfall:

[Retreat! Retreat! The sweet baby heroine hasn’t even built up feelings with the hero yet, and the villainess is about to get there first—turning love into hate.]

[Am I the only one wondering if the hero can still perform after all that whipping?]

[He totally can! Didn’t you see? The villainess whipped him and he shuddered, even arched his back. These little wounds are just rewards for him—he loves it.]

I glanced awkwardly at the whip in my hand, suddenly aware of how heavy it felt. My usually stoic face grew inexplicably warm. A faint flush crept up my cheeks—like the time I was caught daydreaming during puja by my grandmother. This whip is too dangerous to keep around. Maybe Amma was right—some things are better left untouched.

[Arrey, this is too good—villainess didi’s forceful love, you’re the boss here!]

[This twisted couple is so shippable, what do I do?]

In the palace chamber—

The faint aroma of rose attar lingered in the air, mixing with the iron tang of blood. Arjun had been cleaned and brought over. The scent of sandalwood soap still clung to his skin, mingling with the iron tang of his wounds. Afraid he’d hurt me, they left the muzzle on his face. Both hands were chained, and he knelt at the foot of my bed. He hadn’t had water or food all day. The soundscape of the city—vendors shouting, auto horns blaring, the distant beat of a dhol—filtered in through the latticed windows.

When water droplets slid down his cheek, he couldn’t help but swallow, his tongue licking his lips. He looked up at me, always looking down from above. The defiance in his eyes hadn’t dimmed; if anything, it burned brighter. Arjun’s gaze darkened, and he turned his face away. Even his dusky skin couldn’t hide the strange flush creeping up his face. When he looked back, Arjun raised his sword-like brows. His amber, rebellious eyes were full of contempt and mockery.

He sneered, his voice low and hoarse: "Kya hua, Rajkumari ji? All your royal strength finished, or what?"

"Why haven’t you made a move? Are you afraid of me?"

"Afraid I’ll find a chance to take revenge and kill you?"

[She’s not afraid you’ll kill her, she’s afraid you’ll finish her off in bed.]

I stood up, grabbed the chain on Arjun’s wrists, and yanked hard. The sharp sound of metal against skin echoed through the room. With no support, he crashed onto the soft carpet. The wound on his chest tore open again. Blood stained the carpet’s pattern a deep red, a ghastly contrast to the intricate paisley—an expensive rug from Kashmir, now ruined.

I stepped on his back, my voice cold and regal: "This is the proper posture for a lowly servant addressing a princess."

Arjun’s face paled, his chest trembling, yet he actually laughed: "Kya hua, Rajkumari ji? All your royal strength finished, or what?"

"That’s all the strength you’ve got? That’s the best you can do?"

[LMAO, hurry up and let him enjoy it already, he can barely hold back.]

[Villainess didi, stop hitting him, you’re basically rewarding him—slap him and he’ll probably lick your hand…]

[Vicious villainess, get lost already. Why are you all shipping this? Can’t you see the hero is bleeding out?]

[The villainess is bullying and humiliating him now, but just wait—when the hero leads his army, he’ll raze your whole city. I want to prepay to see her downfall.]

He’ll destroy my country, even raze the city. The smile on my lips turned icy. The air felt heavier, as if monsoon clouds had settled in the chamber. I bent down, one hand gripping Arjun’s veined neck, the other removing his muzzle. The clink of the metal sounded like a temple bell before a storm. A wary sneer flashed in his dark, bloodshot eyes.

"Eldest Princess, what new humiliation have you come up with?"

"Whatever you do to me, I’ll remember…"

"Then you’d better remember." I looked down at him, laughing coldly. My fingers pressed against his parched lips, cracked from thirst. When I saw his lips begin to bleed—

I lowered my head. The sound of my own heartbeat thundered in my ears, louder than any war drum. In Arjun’s trembling pupils, I kissed him. The taste of blood, salt, and something dangerously alive lingered. The comments exploded:

[She just kissed him like that—how are they supposed to be enemies now?]

[Villainess didi, you’re a pro at taming wild dogs—a slap and a kiss, you’ve got the hero hooked. How will he ever look at the delicate heroine again?]

[The villainess is so shameless, I’m furious! She’s always fooling around with men—how is she worthy to kiss the hero? Hurry up and let her die!]

Let the bards write their songs—I’d rather be remembered as a monster than forgotten as a coward.

I looked up and gave a provocative smile in the direction of those words, as if all the aunties and uncles in the world could not shame me now. I’m already the ultimate villainess—why should I spare the hero or heroine? Only when I see them bleed and cry will I be satisfied. The palace may crumble, the city may burn, but tonight, my desire ruled.

Grabbing the chain on Arjun’s wrists, I deepened the kiss, leaving no room for resistance. A long time later—

I rose lazily, admiring his look of hatred mixed with dilated pupils and ragged breaths. "That’s enough…" I chuckled softly, the sound curling around us like incense smoke after a havan. Chin raised: "Lie on the bed—and serve me."

As I gave my command, the distant echo of an azaan drifted in from the city, mingling with the clang of a temple bell somewhere far away—fate and inevitability woven through the night.

Outside, the city held its breath. Inside, only one of us would survive the night.