Part 1: Ashes of the Forgotten Prince
POV: The Maharaj's Second Brother
They called him many things now—the fallen prince, the ghost of the court, the shadow that never left. But no one used his name. Names were for the living. For those who still played the game.
He sat where the sun never reached.
A ruined courtyard, overgrown with ivy and silence, tucked behind the disused southern wing. Stone lions guarded the doors with crumbling teeth, and the only sound was the occasional echo of court laughter—drifting down the halls like a memory too stubborn to die.
"Once, they called me brother. Now, they call me nothing. But names are not what make a man dangerous."
He had once walked among them. Once sat beside his brother at the council table. Once whispered strategies over wine and won the people's love without ever needing a crown.
Then came the prophecy.
Then came her.
Sitara.
She didn't know it, but her rise was carved out of the wreckage of his name. The accusations. The exile. The slow, deliberate undoing of everything he had built—not by war, but by whispers.
"They didn't kill me," he thought. "They simply erased me. But ghosts remember what the living forget."
He had watched it all.
He watched from behind lattice windows when the court declared Sitara the rightful heir. He watched the nobles bow with trembling spines and false praise. He watched Lord Viren smile too widely.
That smile—Viren had learned it from him.
"A serpent learns from its master. But even the cleverest snake forgets who sharpened its fangs."
Of course, his cousin had taken his place at the table. Viren had always been the patient one, the quieter serpent. But even serpents forget that fire does not die—it only retreats.
Tonight, the twin moons rose. He could see them through the cracks in the courtyard dome. Pale, silver things. Cold and perfect.
He felt the old fire stir in his chest again.
"When fire and frost are reborn under twin moons…"
The scroll hadn't lied. But it had only told half the story.
Sitara thinks she is the beginning.
She's wrong.
I am still here.
And I remember everything.
Footsteps echoed beyond the courtyard—slow, deliberate.
He did not turn.
"I said I wished to be alone."
A figure emerged from the archway. Hooded. Silent.
"I bring word," the figure said, kneeling. "Lord Anik is dead. Poisoned. At the royal banquet."
For the first time in years, the second brother smiled.
"And Sitara?"
"She took control. Spoke before the court. She's being called 'the flame reborn.'"
The second brother rose slowly, joints stiff from disuse—but his spine straightened like a drawn bow.
"So. The serpent is stirring... but the flame..."
"The flame still burns in me, too."
"Let them cheer," he murmured, stepping into the moonlight. "Let them think the story belongs to her. Every fire consumes something. We will see what she becomes when the palace begins to burn."
He looked up, into the twin moons, eyes sharp with memory. And something else.
Resolve.
"They built their throne on ash," he whispered. "They forgot that ash remembers fire."
Part - 2, Private Courtyard – Moonlight Hour
The palace was quiet, its secrets sleeping beneath the hush of midnight. Only the jasmine-scented breeze stirred as Sitara stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with a playful light. The silver moon fell over her face, casting shadows like feathers along her cheekbones.
Vivaan sat on the edge of the stone bench, the tension in his shoulders betraying a storm he tried to suppress. He sensed her before he saw her smile.
"Did you think I'd let you off the hook so easily?" Sitara said softly, her voice velvet over steel. "You ran away last time."
He blinked, wary. "That's not what happened—"
"But what about now?" she interrupted, one brow arching as she moved toward him with deliberate grace. Her sari whispered with each step, moonlight slipping across her skin.
Vivaan's throat tightened. "Sitara—"
"You got aroused," she teased, circling behind him, "just from me sitting on your lap."
He stiffened. "That's because... you kept moving," he muttered, ears turning pink.
She leaned in, warm breath tickling his ear. "And? My what?"
He hesitated. "Your..."
She tilted her head, voice feigning innocence. "Clothes?"
His hands gripped the bench. "Yes! Your clothes were too revealing, so I—I couldn't control myself."
She chuckled low, circling to face him again, her eyes dancing. "Vivaan, I didn't know a prince could be so undone by a little silk."
He looked away. "I also have some self-control," he said hoarsely. "No matter how much I want to... we shouldn't do anything. Not until we've confirmed what we are. What this is."
Her grin softened into something gentler, something real. She touched his wrist.
"Then stay," she whispered. "Until we know."