The moon had long since passed its zenith, casting long, skeletal shadows through the silent palace corridors. The acrid scent of smoke still clung to the air, a ghost of the evening's terror. But for Princes Aaditya and Devansh, the real storm was not outside-it was the quiet tempest raging within their own hearts.
They stood in a secluded alcove, the world around them hushed. Aaditya turned, the usual fire in his crimson eyes replaced with something deeper, more knowing.
"Devansh," he started, his voice low and hushed, a hum that seemed to drink in the silence around them. "The Raga Megh Malhar. you called the rain with Vani. You saved my mother. You saved us all."
Devansh's breath hitched. He had hoped the chaos had concealed his actions. "You. how could you have seen?
"When I carried my mother from the ruins," Aaditya said, stepping closer, his gaze unwavering, "my eyes found you first. In the shadows, your form was outlined by a subtle, silver light. Your fingers moved, and the sky answered. It was no coincidence. It was a miracle."
Devansh's grip on the case of the veena went white-knuckled. The guarded secret lay bare before the person whose opinion weighed above all. "You won't. you cannot tell anyone. They would—"
"Never," Aaditya cut him off, the word a solemn vow. His hand came up, not to grasp, but to lay gently on the case between them, as if taking an oath on the instrument itself. "Your truth is safe with me. Always."
The silence was shattered by the approach of booted feet. A guard bowed low. "My Princes. A swift rider from Chandrapuri has arrived. Maharaja Rohit insists that Prince Devansh returns by tomorrow's first light."
The air went cold. The guard was gone; the silence was heavier than any stone.
In an instant, Aaditya's face, which had been so open a moment before, closed tight, like the gate of a fortress. Saying nothing, he let the pain that flickered in the bottom of his flaming eyes speak more eloquently than any lament. With a curt nod, he wheeled and moved away; the shadows of the corridor swallowed his receding figure.
---
Sleep was a traitor that night, offering no refuge. Devansh found himself being pulled back to the rooftop, the scene of their earlier, easier camaraderie. But he was not alone.
At the parapet stood Aaditya, his silhouette stark against the star-dusted sky. He looked less like a prince and more like a lonely sentinel guarding a forgotten frontier.
"Aaditya?" Devansh's voice was soft, hardly breaking the stillness.
Aaditya started to turn. The mask of the stoic prince fell away, revealing just raw, unguarded sadness. "Devansh. I could ask you the same."
"The night. it feels too heavy for sleep," Devansh offered, coming to stand beside him.
"A shared burden, then," Aaditya said, returning his gaze to the horizon.
The silence between them was different now, thick with everything they couldn't say. It was Aaditya who finally broke it; his voice was barely a whisper.
"So. You leave at dawn?
Devansh nodded, the simple motion feeling like betrayal. "The rider was clear. My presence is required in Chandrapuri." He hesitated, then added, the name feeling both foreign and intimate on his tongue, "Adi."
Aaditya turned, a slow, genuine smile touching his lips, chasing away some of the shadows. "Adi?" he repeated, the nickname like a shared secret. "I like it." Just as quickly, the smile was gone. "And when shall we cross paths again?"
"I do not know," Devansh admitted, the truth a bitter draught. "But the gates of Chandrapuri will always be open to you, Adi."
"And the Sun of Suryapuri shall forever shine for you," pledged Aaditya; his voice had thickened with emotion.
The space between them vibrated with magnetic pull, the universe of unspoken feelings hanging in the air. Words seemed superfluous, clumsy things that would only shatter the fragile understanding being woven in the moonlight.
"Come," Aaditya finally said, his voice rough with a feeling he dared not name. "The night grows old. We should rest."
A single, long look passed between them—a silent promise, a heartfelt farewell. Then they turned and walked to their separate rooms, the gulf of a few yards feeling like an impassable chasm.
These individual differences in female preferences are major determinants of variability within the mating system.
Back in the solitude of his chamber, Devansh's heart felt like a physical weight. He lifted Vani from its case; the familiar wood did little to comfort him tonight. His fingers brushed a string.
Tan.
The note that came forth was not the clear tone it usually was. It was mournful, reverberating with a lonely ache that seemed to echo the hollow space in his chest.
He stared at the instrument. As the sorrow welled up within him, a soft, ethereal glow began to emanate from the strings-not the brilliant silver of summoned rain, but a faint, pulsing blue, like a heart that beats in quiet despair. It was a light that responded not to command, but to pure, unfiltered emotion.
"What is this connection?" Devansh whispered into the empty room. "What are you becoming?"
Suddenly, a chill swept through the room, although the window was shut. The silken curtains by the window swayed as if caressed by an unseen hand. Devansh's head snapped up; his senses were screaming. He felt a presence, a watching silence that was colder, more deliberate than the night air.
He sprang to the window, leaning out into the gardens, bathed in moonlight. Nothing stirred. Yet, like a cold phantom finger, the sensation of being watched lingered, pressing against the nape of his neck.
He turned back to Vani. The strings still pulsed with the soft, sorrowful blue light, a silent testimony to a heart in turmoil and a mystery deepening.
Chapter End Note: A farewell clings around them-a pang more essential than any curse. Aaditya knows the veena's secret, binding them closer even as they are torn asunder. And Vani is changing now, too; its magic entwining with the deepest emotions of its master. But they do not suffer alone. A cold, observant presence lingers in the shadows, a silent witness to their parting. The dawn brings not just a journey home, but the beginning of a separation that feels like a tear in the very fabric of their souls. The question, really, is, what will that tear unleash?