The morning sun painted the palace domes in warm gold, but the heart of the Suryavanshi household was steeped in a storm of silence and suspicion.
Shikha stood by the jharokha overlooking the inner courtyard, her silk dupatta fluttering in the breeze. Her eyes were alert, her thoughts sharper than the blade hidden beneath the polished surface of her voice. She had spent the entire night in quiet thought, replaying Mahendra’s damning words from the terrace.
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