The morning sun streamed faintly into my chamber, its golden rays glinting against the polished mirror before me. I sat still as stone, my body wrapped in layers of crimson silk, heavy embroidery weighing against my skin. The lehenga rustled when I shifted, its red folds pooling around me like flames licking the marble floor. The blouse was fitted tight, every breath reminding me of the role I was forced to play.

Around me, the maids fluttered like sparrows, their hands cool against my warm skin as they clasped necklaces, adjusted bangles, and set anklets in place. They whispered to each other about the auspiciousness of the day, about the finery fit for a bride. A bride. I almost laughed at the word. Was I truly a bride when my heart was not here, when it beat in the chest of a man far from this palace?