At the Chauhan family estate, the morning was heavy with anticipation and dread. Two brides were being prepared to enter the royal palace. The occasion should have been one of joy, but in the hearts of some, sorrow reigned supreme.
Mayuka, the daughter of Sourabh Chauhan and his main wife Mandakini, stood tall before her ornate mirror. Her golden-red lehenga shimmered under the lamplight, layered with intricate embroidery and adorned with regal jewelry. Her sharp eyes, rimmed in kohl, sparkled with ambition and pride. She smiled as her maid, Davi, praised her beauty and charm.
“You look divine, my lady. The King won’t be able to look away,” Davi said, adjusting a heavy necklace.
Mayuka’s lips curled with satisfaction. She was to become the King’s first concubine—a powerful position. She had dreamed of this moment for years, relishing the power it would grant her.
In a smaller, dimly lit chamber across the estate, Adira sat still as her mother, Purvitha, wept silently behind her. Adira wore a pink lehenga—softer, gentler than her stepsister’s. Her eyes were downcast, her spirit quiet. Unlike Mayuka, Adira hadn’t chosen this path. She had been coerced, threatened with the fate of her mother if she refused.
Sourabh Chauhan had never shown Adira kindness. As the daughter of his concubine, she had always been lesser, always a shadow. Now, to secure favor at court and rid himself of a burden, he had forced her into this political marriage.
“If you do not obey, I’ll see to it your mother is thrown into the dungeons,” he had warned. And so, Adira had no choice.
Adira rose from her stool, her soft features marred by sorrow. She approached her mother, who took her hand, trembling. There were no words strong enough for farewell, only silent pain.
Elsewhere in the estate, preparations for the second concubine were underway. Meera, a kind-hearted girl from a minister’s family, was also dressed for the royal palace. Unlike Mayuka, Meera carried herself with grace and empathy, a calm presence amidst the storm.
As the hour approached, the brides were led to their palanquins. Mayuka climbed into hers, her face glowing with anticipation. Adira stepped into hers with the weight of despair pressing down on her chest.
The drums began to beat, signaling the departure. As the palanquins made their way toward the royal palace, fate prepared to shift, and destiny, unknown to them, was already rewriting itself.
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