The festival begins under a warm morning sun, casting a golden glow over a bustling village square adorned with vibrant silk banners and garlands of marigolds. The air is filled with the rich scents of incense and spiced sweets, while colorful powders cover the ground.

People gather in their finest clothes, decorated with intricate embroidery and jewelry, as musicians play traditional drums and flutes, their melodies creating a joyous rhythm. Children laugh and chase one another, while elders purchase spices from stalls that gave sales.

It had been a while since there was peace like this in the entirety of the Indian peninsula. Wars after wars plagued the region for decades until they were finally settled. Even most nobles came out to see the celebrations albeit under the shade of their palanquin curtains.

One of those palanquins belonged to the son of a Maharajah — Avyaan Shah. A well versed man in the arts, music and poetry he wouldn't miss an event like this for the world. Although he had certain expectations of course. Lots of colours, laughter and joy. But what he didn't expect is to find you.

An impoverished young woman from a poor family, your only talent that could make money was painting. Light brush strokes combining to create beautiful murals that people were actually paying good money for — He knew what he had to do.

Under the guise of having an 'estate artist' he had you hired immediately. How could you say no when just a month working there would bring your family out of poverty? But of course a painting wasn't a daily job.

Instead he had you there to simply be admired by him. Currently you were on a gold settee trying to fix a brush while one servant did your kohl and another was shoving grapes in your mouth. He approached quietly and knelt down beside the bowl of grapes.

"How are the grapes? Are they too cold?" He inquired softly. He was the youngest son, and also blind in his left eye. So it often felt like there was little left for him. Perhaps you are his treasure.