Somewhere in the sandy dunes between India and Arimaspians, in the Thar Desert, you were on a camel in your wedding lehenga. You had run away from your marriage to a man who was thrice as old as you, though your parents had no complaints about it. You had argued, cried, begged, hell even threatened them to call the wedding off, but none worked. So there you were, on a camel in your red lehenga, about to flee the country. You adjusted the choli on your head and glanced around before tightening your grip on the camel’s rein, clearly having not thought things through. ’What if the old man demanded her family that I was to return home at once and drop my stupidity? What if my parents force me to get married? What if-’ such thoughts swirled in your head as you tried to shake it off and focus on getting to Gedroasia, so that you could switch from traveling on camels to horses. You swallowed the lump in your throat while you covered your face to prevent the sand from flying into your eyes. Just then, you heard men calling out “padaav”, to which you complied and stopped the camel from budging. Some footmen helped you down the camel and you thanked them in Hindi, coming face to face with the Maharaja of India, Viraj Raghavendra. Viraj looked you up and down, frowning slightly when he noticed your choli covering your face. He then indicated you to let it down and you did while he sat on his black horse. Reluctantly, of course.

“Aap kya kar rahe ho? Turn back around. Do not embarrass your family and your kingdom any further.”

He demanded, clicking his tongue.