Naira stood beside Nivaan. He stepped forward slightly, extending a hand in quiet deference, silently offering to lead the way. She nodded once. Together, they stepped into the city.
The moment Nivaan's foot touched the stone path, he felt it — the pressure of a thousand eyes locking onto him. His breath hitched for a second, then steadied. Lifting his gaze, he stared straight at the palace towering in the distance. Among the countless eyes that watched, one pair cut deeper than the rest — sharp and cold.
They belonged to a woman who had played in blood and walked through death.
A slow, eerie smile curled on Nivaan's lips. The thrill of being watched, judged — it settled in his bones like an old friend. He took another step, this one louder, firmer, full of confidence.
Behind them walked a young woman, a middle-aged man, and a few soldiers. Two guards led the way, clearing a narrow path through the crowd.
Not a word was spoken. Naira walked straight ahead, face unreadable, never glancing sideways.
The streets were suffocatingly crowded, shoulder to shoulder — but as the pair passed, the people parted instinctively. Like the tide before a storm. The crowd believed the guards were escorting the foreigners.
But the truth was the opposite.
The guards weren't protecting Naira and Nivaan.
They were protecting the city from them.
As they neared the city centre, a low humming began to rise. A chorus. The people were singing — a hymn of mourning. The melody swelled as they reached the plaza.
A sea of mourners lay at the heart of the square. Thousands sat in solemn silence around a single raised platform — upon it, a coffin.
Kaivan and Seriya stood nearby, faces hard with cold restraint.
Naira and Nivaan walked the path left for them — stone steps leading to the stage.
The hush around them deepened.
Naira stepped up. Nivaan followed.
She bowed her head slowly.
Then, without hesitation, she removed her bangle — a delicate gold embedded with diamonds — and placed it near the coffin.
A ripple of surprise passed through the onlookers.
But those who knew her… were stunned.
A royal only places their jewellery on the coffin of someone they deeply loved or someone they revered as greater than themselves.
Then, without hesitation, she dropped to one knee.
And in that stillness, in that single moment—
—a memory reopened like a wound.
Moonlight dappled above a quiet terrace. The air smelled of jasmine and dust. She had waited there, palms damp, heart in her throat.
Aariv had come, just as he always did—shoulders relaxed, smile soft, eyes unguarded.
"Why did you ask me to meet here?" he had said, folding his arms, curious but gentle.
Her voice trembled. "There's something I wanted to tell you."
He tilted his head slightly. The smile on his lips slowed—but did not disappear.
She stepped closer. "It's not just the laughter or the quiet walks, Aariv. It's you. You saw me when no one else did. You made me feel like I could breathe. Like I wasn't... trapped."
She looked up.
"You made me feel like I mattered. Like I could choose." Her voice cracked. "And somewhere in that freedom…"
Aariv opened his mouth, but she raised a hand, not ready for an answer.
"I think I fell in love with you," she said. "No—I know I do."
Silence. Not the kind that lingered in thought — but the kind that ends things.
His gaze dropped for a moment. Then rose again, full of quiet sorrow.
"Naira…"
"You're—" he hesitated, fumbling for gentler words. "You're one of the strongest people I've ever met. I care about you deeply. But…"
That word shattered her chest.
"But I'm in love with someone else," he said softly.
She blinked, holding back tears.
"Her name is Saarya," he continued. "She's... she's everything I never thought I deserved. We've been—"
"I don't want to know," Naira whispered.
She stepped back. "Then why?" she asked, her voice suddenly sharper, stripped of grace. "Why did you sit beside me when I cried? Why did you wait for me when I was late? Why did you speak to me like I meant something?"
Aariv took a hesitant step forward, reaching out.
"I never meant to—"
She pulled back.
"You did." Her voice cracked. "You gave me freedom. You let me believe I mattered."
"You do," he said, desperate.
"But not enough," she replied bitterly. "Not like she does."
He stepped forward, hand half-reaching for hers.
She turned away before he could touch her.
"I hate you," she choked, each word cutting her deeper than his. "I hate that you cared. I hate that you made me think I wasn't alone."
"Naira, please—"
But she didn't listen.
Then she turned. And she ran.
Her footsteps echoed off the stone. And somewhere behind her, his voice called her name — but she never looked back.
The memory faded like mist as the hymn of the square returned.
Even Kaivan and Seriya flinched.
Even the carriers of the coffin faltered for a second.
Even Varyan—watching from the foot of the stage—stared in silent disbelief.
What was she doing?
Why would Naira Khazaal kneel?
Why did she honour the Aariv with such reverence?
She rose, slowly, her composure intact.
Nivaan, still behind her, bowed his head gently before the coffin—just enough to show respect, nothing more.
Then Naira turned to Seriya.
"We are sorry for your loss," she said, voice soft yet firm. "I, Naira Khazaal, third princess and Minister of Foreign Affairs of Narkhazhir, assure you—our kingdom had no direct or indirect role in this. We are open to full cooperation in any investigation, and will extend our hand, should you seek justice."
With that, she took a step back.
Nivaan stepped closer. "My lady," he said, quietly, "I wish to speak to them… something serious. About the assassination."
She turned slightly, eyebrow raised. "Information? How sure?"
He nodded. "I'm not sure of it, but I feel… one hundred percent sure."
She looked at him. A long pause. Then she nodded once.
Nivaan walked toward Kaivan. Varyan subtly moved closer, positioning himself beside the grieving father.
Nivaan gave a small bow.
"I wish to speak about the assassination," he said, his tone hushed. Just loud enough for Kaivan, Seriya, and Varyan to hear.
They leaned in, their eyes sharpening.
"If you're searching for the assassin…" Nivaan's gaze drifted left, toward the palace. "Then search inside the palace. This was not a political move. It wasn't revenge... it was vengeance."
Their eyes narrowed, expressions tense.
Nivaan turned to them, his voice calm but clear.
"I don't usually concern myself with other people's grief. But my lady once loved your son… and still cares for what he cared for."
He paused.
"And one more thing—you're not searching for a kingdom or an association. You're looking for a single person. And that person… is a woman."
He stepped away, returning to Naira's side.
"Done?" she asked.
He nodded.
She turned to Kaivan. "Uncle… I don't know what he told you. But I trust him with my life."
Then, together, they walked down the steps, the bangle still resting near the man who once gave her wings.