The news spread through Jodhpur Palace like wildfire—Poornima was pregnant. The halls echoed with laughter, servants whispered blessings, and Sharada’s eyes filled with tears of joy as she pressed her daughter-in-law’s hands. Abhimanyu Raj, usually stern, smiled with rare softness, declaring, “The Raj family finally has a new dawn.”

The palace shimmered with celebration that night. Gold lamps glowed in every corridor, sweets were distributed, and music swelled in the courtyards. Veeresh moved through it all like a man floating on clouds, his hand never once leaving Poornima’s. She glowed shyly beside him, her eyes brighter than any jewel in the palace treasury.

But not everyone was pleased.

When the Mewar family arrived, their voices carried a bitterness sharper than swords. Poornima’s father, Rivaj Mewar, sneered openly before the gathered crowd.

“A child from a woman who is not even royal-born,” he spat, his tone mocking. “What bloodline are you proud of, Raj? A disgrace!”

The words cut through the joy like a poisoned arrow. The music faltered, the courtiers turned their heads, and Poornima’s fingers trembled in Veeresh’s grasp. For a moment, silence hung heavy—until Veeresh’s fury broke it.

He stepped forward, his eyes blazing like fire, his voice carrying across the palace walls.

“Enough!” he thundered, the command in his tone silencing every murmur. “She is my wife. My queen. And the mother of my child. Whether royal or not, Poornima is mine—forever and always.”

Gasps rippled through the hall, but Veeresh wasn’t done. He took a step closer to Rivaj, his presence towering like a lion guarding his pride.

“And you…” Veeresh’s words were like a blade, sharp and merciless. “You dare mock her when you couldn’t even embrace your own daughter? What kind of father are you, Rivaj Mewar? You banished her, broke her, and now you insult her? No throne, no crown, no bloodline can erase the truth—you are the worst father a daughter could have asked for.”

Poornima’s eyes widened, tears pooling as her heart twisted between hurt and healing. For years she had borne her father’s rejection in silence. Tonight, someone finally spoke the words she had longed to hear.

Veeresh pulled her against him, protective and unyielding. His voice softened only for her, though still loud enough for all to hear.

“Poornima is more royal than any of you, because she carries strength, dignity, and love greater than your so-called bloodlines. And if anyone—anyone—dares speak against her again, they will answer to me.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Rivaj Mewar’s face burned with humiliation, but he dared not reply. The Raj courtiers broke into applause, Sharada’s eyes shone with pride, and Poornima, for the first time, felt truly claimed—not as a burden, but as a treasure.

That night, when the celebrations resumed, Veeresh leaned to her ear and whispered, “No one will ever break you again, Poornima. Not even fate.”