Morning light spilled gently over the courtyard, catching the dew that clung to the tulsi leaves. I liked mornings like this — quiet, unhurried, when the palace still breathed in silence and the maids hadn’t begun their chatter yet. My hands were wet with the chill of the water pot as I tended to the plants near the corridor. The scent of wet soil always brought me peace — something about it reminded me of simpler times, far from marble walls and royal orders.

Once I was done, I wiped my hands with my pallu and walked toward the kitchen. The faint aroma of flour and ghee drifted from inside — comforting, familiar. When I entered, I saw Saanvi sitting on the low wooden stool, sleeves rolled up, kneading dough with quiet focus. Her hair was loosely tied, a few strands sticking to her cheek, and her eyes looked tired but calm.