Chapter 6: The Crown Prince’s Devotion

What kind of person is the Crown Prince?

They called him Kabir, the jewel of the dynasty. Even the poets composed verses about his virtues and fair face.

Everyone says the heir is as bright as the moon, with both virtue and good looks.

Old bards would sing: "Chand sa chehra, sher sa dil."

He could read at three, compose essays at five, and though not yet twenty, had long been involved in state affairs.

He presided over debates in the Sabha, his voice calm, his mind sharp as a sword.

The ministers all praised him.

My mother would brag about his intellect to anyone who’d listen, as if she had raised him herself.

So, facing such a Crown Prince—one who stood up for me when I was bullied—I gave him a chance.

For a moment, I let myself imagine a life free of fear, where Kabir might be my shield.

As long as he refused me, I would keep my distance.

It would be the end of it—I could return to silence.

Those filthy, shameful things would never touch him.

He would stay pure, untouched by my mother’s schemes.

But he did not push me away.

His breath shuddered, his hands trembled as they held me. I saw the longing, the pain, the confusion in his eyes.

That night, Mother drugged me with a love potion and threw me into the Eastern Palace.

I barely remembered the journey—her hands on my back, the sweet, cloying taste on my tongue. The next moment, I was in Kabir’s arms, his body tense beneath me.

The next morning, I woke in the Crown Prince’s arms.

Sunlight streaked through the latticed window. I blinked, shame washing over me.

I cried silently for a long time.

My body shook with silent sobs. The old nurse found me curled on the floor.

Not for myself, but for the Crown Prince.

I pressed my face to his shoulder, guilt pressing me down like a heavy blanket.

He was finally dragged into the mire.

He was always too gentle, too trusting. Now he was soiled by my family’s poison.

My life of heavy sin began from here.

I stared at my reflection that night, searching for a trace of the girl I once was, but found only shadows.

Mother seized the Crown Prince’s weakness and reported it to the Maharaj.

Her voice was honeyed, her eyes gleaming with triumph as she told him everything.

To protect me, the Crown Prince took all the blame upon himself.

He knelt in the Sabha, touching his head to the cold marble floor, as the courtiers held their breath.

The Maharaj rebuked him for incest, for violating propriety.

His words cut deeper than any sword. "Sharam nahin aayi? The world will spit on our family!"

Thirty heavy strokes fell upon him, but the Crown Prince uttered not a sound.

His back bore the marks of each blow, but he never cried out, never begged for mercy.

I threw myself over him, taking a few blows for him. I clung to him, shielding him with my frail body, my own skin burning with pain.

I could not speak.

No voice, only tears streaking down my face. My silence screamed louder than words.

But they should have understood my meaning.

I looked at the Maharaj—begging, pleading. Let us go.

If not for the bonds of kin and propriety, perhaps we could have been lovers.

In another life, maybe. But here, we were only victims of palace games.

Kabir’s face was pale, but he insisted on pushing me away.

He wiped my tears, whispering, "Jaan, don’t be scared. I’m here."

“Shreya, don’t be afraid. I will protect you.”

His words were a balm, even as the pain throbbed beneath my skin.

His Highness must have valued the Crown Prince, for in the end, he did not go too far.

He waved his hand, sending us away, but his glare promised this was not the end.

Mother was very satisfied, looking at me with both contempt and pride.

She tilted her chin, sneering. "Ab samajh gayi? You’re finally useful."

Contempt that I did not know my place, daring to fall in love with the heir.

She spat the words at me, eyes blazing.

Satisfied that I had obeyed, becoming her and the Prince of Fortune’s pawn.

Yet her fingers trembled with excitement as she spoke to her allies in the zenana.

Now that everything was out in the open, I refused to return to Mother and simply stayed in the Eastern Palace.

I locked myself away, only letting Kabir in, refusing her every summons.

No matter how the world slandered Kabir and me, I heard none of it.

The gossips in the bazaar, the whispers among the guards—none of it touched me.

I just clung to him, not leaving his side for a moment.

I slept curled against him, afraid to dream, afraid to wake.

I was very afraid—afraid of Mother, of His Highness, of everyone in this palace with hidden agendas.

Even the kindest faces hid knives. I trusted no one but Kabir.

Kabir must have seen my fear, so he always held me.

He stroked my hair, humming old folk songs, his voice soothing.

He told me stories, watched the stars with me.

We would sit on the terrace, wrapped in a shawl, listening to the distant sounds of the city below.

He didn’t feel safe leaving me alone in the Eastern Palace, so even on inspection tours, he took me along.

We would travel in a covered palki, flanked by guards. The world outside was vast, but I felt safe only by his side.

Rajpur was a wonderful place, full of talented people. After arriving there, I managed a few genuine smiles.

The bazaars bustled with colour and laughter. The street vendors called out, offering sweet jalebis and glass bangles.

I heard there was a place in Rajpur called Surya Mahal—the liveliest place of all.

The local girls would gossip about its splendor, its nightly revelry.

Kabir read the words I wrote on paper, holding me with a gentle laugh.

He cradled my note, teasing, "You want to see Surya Mahal? Are you sure?"

“Shreya, do you know what kind of place Surya Mahal is? Do you really want to go?”

His smile was mischievous, eyes twinkling. I pouted, tugging at his sleeve.

I didn’t care what kind of place it was. I tugged on Kabir’s sleeve, acting spoiled, begging him to take me.

I blinked, making puppy eyes, miming a namaste. He finally relented, pinching my cheek.

Kabir finally relented. The dignified Crown Prince, taking a princess to visit a kotha.

Our companions snickered, the guards raised their brows, but no one dared refuse the Crown Prince.