I have faced wars, faced countless swords and arrows, and carried the blood of enemies on my hands without a tremor in my heart. But never in my life had I known a battle as unrelenting as this one—the battle of waiting, of watching her lie still, of fearing each breath might be her last.

A month had passed since we returned to the palace. The war was behind us, the flames of vengeance extinguished with Vikram’s death, and yet, within my chamber, a war still raged—silent, merciless, endless.