The sun rose lazily over the sandstone walls of Suryagarh Fort, spilling golden light across the vast royal bedchamber. Morning stretched like a velvet yawn through silken curtains, warm and fragrant, heavy with the scent of roses, sandalwood, and the lingering musk of passion.
Ruhanika stirred beneath the soft, rumpled sheets. Her bare skin hummed with sensitivity—every inch of her body still alive from the fire of the night before. The ache between her thighs was sweet and maddening, a memory etched into muscle and soul. She stretched slowly, like a feline waking after a night of hunting, and blinked open her eyes.
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