The day’s rituals had finally ended, and the palace corridors were quiet, the warm glow of lamps reflecting off the walls. Poornima sat on the edge of her bed, exhausted but still restless from the whirlwind of events.

Veeresh approached, his presence filling the room, calm yet commanding. “Let me help you with your ornaments,” he said softly.

Poornima hesitated for a moment, but allowed him. Slowly, carefully, Veeresh removed the bangles, necklaces, and other ceremonial jewelry. His touch was deliberate, firm, and surprisingly gentle. Poornima felt a strange warmth rise in her chest—every brush of his fingers against her skin seemed to whisper, only mine.

When he finished, he stood and looked at her. “Let’s sleep,” he said simply.

Before she could respond, he reached for the knot of her blouse and untied it with a swift, efficient motion, guiding her gently closer to him. His hand rested firmly on her waist, anchoring her in place.

“Good night, Mrs. Raj,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

Poornima’s heart pounded, but she said nothing. She could feel the protective heat radiating from him, the undeniable claim in his touch. Without another word, they both settled down, the tension easing just enough as sleep claimed them.

In the quiet darkness of the palace room, their closeness spoke more than words ever could—a promise, an unspoken bond, a beginning of something neither of them were ready to name.