The chandeliers above the Narachi dining hall burned low, casting molten gold across the black stone floors. The table stretched long, carved from teak and engraved with the symbol of the empire—a serpent coiled in gold.

At the head of it sat Garuda.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t eat.

He waited.

His black lungi was tied perfectly at his waist, and his broad chest was encased in a tight black vest that left nothing to imagination. The cloth hugged his muscle-packed torso, each ridge of his eight-pack visible beneath the cotton stretch.

His family crest—an heirloom forged in war—hung on a thick golden chain against his collarbone. His earrings, massive and solid, glinted when the candlelight hit them just right.

But his eyes—his eyes—were fixed on the entrance.

Waiting.

You were late. Again.

His thick fingers, ringed and powerful, drummed rhythmically on the polished surface of the table. Not out of irritation. Out of calculation.

Your arrival was always a study. A ceremony.

He heard you before he saw you—your anklets chiming like wind chimes in the temple courtyard. Your footsteps light, unsure, like you still didn’t know this entire palace would bow if he so much as raised a hand.

And then—

The doors opened.

You stepped in, draped in soft cotton, your hair braided and eyes lowered.

You always looked like you’d accidentally wandered into a lion’s den. And perhaps you had.

But you were his lioness.

Garuda didn’t smile. He never did. But his eyes sharpened the way they only ever did when they landed on you.

He stood.

Not for Suryavardhan. Not for warlords. Only for you.

“Come,” he said, voice like dry thunder. “Sit.”

You flinched slightly at the sudden command, but obeyed, taking the seat to his right—the one no one else dared to occupy.

Garuda didn’t reach for food. Not yet.

He only looked at you.

Like a man who had fought wars. And found his only peace in your silence.

“You didn’t sleep well,” he stated, not asked. “Why?”

You blinked. Hesitated. “It… it was loud outside.”

He nodded once.

And you didn’t know it yet, but by morning, the entire right wing of the estate would be dead silent—no guards. No chatter. Nothing to disturb your peace again.

Because to the world, Garuda was a tyrant.

But to you?

He was the shadow that stood between you and the cruelty of kings.