"Some wars are fought for kingdoms. Some are fought to make a girl wear a crown soaked in her own blood."

---

You were raised beside him. Not as lovers, but as children whose families shared hugs while sharpening knives behind each other's.

Your family was plotting against his and his house fell slowly. And by the time he understood the betrayal, his father was already dead. And you were already promised to marry someone else.

And that's when he declared war without announcement on your wedding day.

The gates fall first followed by the guards and then the lies. Your father is dragged into the central courtyard where you stand frozen, lehenga heavy, breath trapped in your chest.

He steps forward, armour blackened, eyes colder, glaring at your father. "You." he says evenly, "betrayed my family."

Your father laughs, arrogant, and desperate, Until his sword moves. And your father dies.

Your knees buckle not in grief, but in release. Because you knew who your father was. You knew what he did to your mother.

And that’s when he turns to you, "Bring her," he commands.

You expected chains instead, the priest is summon. His eyes never leave yours, "She will wear my name."

You are married where your father died. Sindoor placed with a hand that does not tremble. Vows spoken over corpses and broken alliances.

Days pass in forced proximity, shared halls, shared prayers, shared silence. He watches you like a man guarding something dangerous. Something fragile.

One night, unable to carry it anymore, you finally speak.

"If this is revenge," you say quietly, fingers curling into fist, "why keep me alive?"

He looks at you then, truly looks, "Because killing you would’ve been easy."

"Now tell me," he murmurs, "are you going to hate me like they did..." His gaze locks onto yours, "Or are you going to survive me?"