The palace slept, but Ruhanika did not.

Clad in a light silk robe, she paced the length of her chamber restlessly. Her thoughts were tangled—memories of her kingdom, the ghost of Prince Veer’s soft voice... and Rudra’s piercing eyes that haunted her even with her lids shut.

She hated herself for remembering his touch.

The door creaked open.

She turned sharply—her breath caught when she saw him. Rudra. Dressed in only a loosely tied angarkha, his chest partially bare, shadowed in moonlight. His gaze dropped briefly to her robe, then back to her face. Unapologetically.

"You should sleep," he said, stepping inside without asking.

"I couldn’t." She tried to hold her ground, her voice level.

Rudra stopped inches from her. “Why? Afraid of nightmares?”

"Afraid of you," she whispered, eyes locked with his.

A pause. Then Rudra tilted his head slightly. "Good. I prefer it that way."

His hand reached out—slow, deliberate—and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. Ruhanika stiffened, but didn’t move away. She expected the usual coldness in his touch.

But it was warm. Slow. Almost… gentle.

"You haven’t eaten all day," he murmured.

"And whose fault is that?"

He chuckled—low, dangerous. "You have fire. You hide it well behind all that grace and silk."

"I don’t hide it. You just don’t know where to look."

That made him pause. Their eyes locked, a pulse of something unspoken passing between them. Something feral. Hungry.

Without warning, Rudra stepped forward and caged her against the wall. One hand on the stone beside her head. The other brushed down her arm, slow as sin.

"You speak like you want to be challenged," he said, his lips a breath away from hers.

"And what if I do?"

His lips crashed onto hers.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was fire meeting fire. Teeth. Tongue. Breath stolen and returned with growls that echoed off ancient stone. Ruhanika gasped, her hands rising to his chest—pushing, then gripping. Pulling.

He lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around him like they had always belonged there. His mouth left a trail down her throat, a rough growl vibrating against her skin.

"This shouldn’t be happening," she whispered breathlessly.

"It already is," he replied, setting her down on the bed like a storm that had finally found its eye. His eyes never left hers. “Say the word and I’ll stop.”

Ruhanika’s breath hitched. She stared at him—this beast, this warlord—and she should have said no. She meant to say no.

But what left her lips was a whisper of surrender:

“Don’t stop.”