The conversation finally ended.

Rajveer stood with a satisfied sigh, adjusting his shawl. Ranjeet and Advika rose, bowing politely. Amma kissed his hand, and they all walked him to the palace gate, where oil lamps glowed like stars against sandstone.

"Thank you for coming, bhaiya," Amma said gently.

"And thank you for the tea, beta," Rajveer told Advika, smiling warmly.
"A perfect bride."

"Goodnight, Uncle."

They watched him disappear into the courtyard shadows.

Back inside the palace, the warm golden lights flickered over the walls. A breeze passed through the jharokha. The room felt different now. Empty. Expectant.

Amma yawned, stretching her arms with a smirk only a mother could get away with.

"Alright, kids," she said. "I'm going to sleep. No talking about war or taxes now. Just... rest."

"Goodnight, Amma," Advika said softly.

"Sleep well, Ma," Ranjeet murmured.

Amma smirked at them one last time and disappeared into her chamber.

A few seconds later, the last maid bowed and left, closing the carved wooden doors behind her.

Silence.

Just the two of them.

Advika turned without thinking, gathering the empty tea cups from the tray, her fingers light and careful.

And then—

A hand wrapped around her wrist.

Firm. Hot. Possessive.

Ranjeet.

He stepped behind her, close enough that she could feel his breath warm against her neck.

"Don't touch that," he said.

His voice was no longer casual.

It was low.

Gravelled.

Unhinged.

She blinked, heartbeat spiking.

"I was just—"

"You've done enough," he growled.

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear. His hand slid from her wrist to her waist—right where the chain was hidden beneath the dupatta of her sari.

And then—

His fingers brushed it.

Felt the delicate gold.

Confirmation.

"Gods, you really wore it," he whispered.
"You sat beside me for an hour—teasing me. Looking innocent. Saying nothing. And the whole time this—this thing was wrapped around your waist."

She inhaled sharply.

"Amma said it was tradition—"

"Amma gave me a curse."

His fingers gripped the chain now through the fabric, tugging lightly.

Her breath hitched.

"You know what you've done to me?" he whispered.
"I've been hard since you bent down with the chai tray. I couldn't think. Couldn't speak. Couldn't move without adjusting myself like a damn teenager under the table."

"You didn't look affected," she whispered, voice trembling.

"I was dying."

His mouth was at her ear now. Lips ghosting over her skin, warm and dangerous.

"Do you know what I wanted to do? When I saw that chain glinting under your sari?"

She didn't answer.

Couldn't.

So he whispered—

Filthy. Raw.

"I wanted to take you right there. On the rug. Between the scrolls and tea cups. I wanted to lift that sari and see how deep it sits. I wanted to lick the gold right off your skin."

Her knees nearly buckled.

He pressed closer. Hard. Solid.

"I would've thanked Amma with my mouth full of you."

She gasped.

He turned her by the waist, slow and sure, until her back was to the wall, the tray forgotten on the floor.

His hand slipped around to the small of her back.

"Say it," he murmured.
"Tell me you wore it for me."

"I—" she stuttered. "I wore it for you."

"That's right," he growled.

His hands were at her hips now, fingers brushing over the pleats of her sari.

"And now I'm going to make sure you never wear it for anyone else."

He took her into his arms and headed upstairs towards there room.

The moment the doors closed, Ranjeet didn't speak.

Didn't ask.

Didn't wait.

He just turned, staring at her, like she wasn't real.

And Advika, standing at the center of their room, wrapped in six yards of soft silk, her braid over one shoulder, and that thin, delicate gold chain hugging her waist—visible now, just peeking beneath the fall of her pallu—

She suddenly felt bare.

He stalked forward.

Slow. Controlled.

Predator in silk.

"You knew what you were doing," he said quietly.

"It was just—"

"Don't lie."

He stepped behind her. His fingers reached forward and gently pushed her pallu off her shoulder, letting it slide down her arm.

The moment it fell—

He groaned.

Low. Hungry. Wrecked.

The kamarbandh glinted at her waist, golden and soft, fitted like it had been cast from her own skin.

He dropped to his knees.

No hesitation.

His hands slid around her hips, palms flattening against her belly.

And then—

His mouth met her skin.

Not rushed.

Reverent.

He kissed the line of her stomach—right beneath the chain, then between the gold, letting his lips linger over the soft dip just above her navel.

"You don't even know what you're doing to me," he whispered.
"You wore this thing and then walked around like you weren't murdering me in silence."

His tongue flicked just below her navel, tracing her skin while the chain shifted softly with each breath.

She whimpered.

Hands tightening in his hair.

"Commander—"

"No. Don't talk," he whispered.
"Just feel."

He kissed her again.

Then bit. Softly. Just above the waistband of her petticoat.

A mark bloomed there. Then another.

And another.

Each kiss slower, each lower, each hotter.

His hands stayed at her waist, thumbs pressing gently into the hollows above her hips, fingertips brushing the gold.

"I'm going to mark every place this chain touches," he growled.

"You'll bruise me."

"Good."

He bit gently at her side now, dragging his teeth along the edge of the chain, letting her feel just how close his mouth was to every place she trembled.

"I want you to think of this moment," he said, "every time you wear a sari. Every time you tie this chain around your waist. I want you to feel my mouth in every link."

She gasped.

Pressed her thighs together.

And he smiled against her skin.

Still kneeling.

Still starving.

"Because this," he whispered, "is how a commander breaks."

And then—

He kissed just above the chain, hand sliding to her spine.

"And how a queen is worshipped."

The room had shifted.

Not in sound. Not in light.

But in breath.

In the quiet between kisses and confessions.

Advika stood trembling in her sari, the kamarbandh still at her waist, her skin flushed where Ranjeet had kissed and marked her — her navel, her side, the line of her waist all tingling with heat and need.

He looked up at her now — still kneeling.

Eyes dark.

Breath unsteady.

"Lie down," he said softly.

She did.

Not with fear.

With trust.

She stepped back slowly, then turned and lowered herself onto the bed, the mattress sinking beneath her. She lay back, sari still intact but shifted — folds parted just enough to show the gleam of gold at her waist, the flush across her stomach, the wild rhythm of her breath.

Ranjeet climbed over her on his knees, slow and reverent, hands planted beside her hips.

His mouth was at her ear now.

"I want to see you," he whispered.
"Properly. All of you."

She blinked up at him, heart pounding so hard she thought the kamarbandh might hear it.

"Your blouse," he murmured. "Can I...?"

His fingers brushed the edge where cloth met collarbone.

"May I take it off, Chotu?"

Her lips parted.

No words at first.

Just a nod.

Then—

"Yes."

So soft he almost didn't catch it.

But he did.

And he smiled.

Not the teasing smile from earlier.

A different one.

Worship. Awe.

He leaned in and kissed the top curve of her breast over the blouse, slow and full.

Then his hands moved.

One behind her back.

The other at the clasp.

Every string he opened was a vow.

One.

Two.

Three.

And then—

He peeled it away, slow and careful, never breaking her gaze.

Her chest rose and fell beneath him, bare now, vulnerable and soft and beautiful.

His hands came first.

Warm palms gently cupping her.

No squeeze. No rush.

Just reverence.

He held her like she was holy.

Then—

His mouth.

He lowered his head, kissed her right between her breasts, then the side of one, his lips soft and open.

She gasped, arching toward him as his tongue flicked over her skin, then circled her nipple — light, slow, maddening.

"You're trembling," he whispered.

"You're... doing that," she breathed.

He smiled against her skin, then kissed harder.

Then sucked.

Gently. Deeply.

She cried out — her fingers flying into his hair, her legs shifting beneath him.

"Ahhh....Commander—"

"I'll be gentle," he promised.

He moved to the other side.

Did the same.

Kissed. Sucked. Marked.

And all the while, his hand stroked her waist, the chain clinking faintly under his touch.

"You taste like warmth," he whispered.
"Like surrender. Like mine."

She was gasping now, back arching, chest heaving with every stroke of his tongue.

And Ranjeet?

He kissed a line down her sternum.

Then lower.

Following the gold.

"I'm not done yet," he whispered.

"What else?" she breathed.

"Everything, Chotu. Tonight... I'm going to make you forget how to stand."

Ranjeet kissed her one last time just above her navel, where the last trace of the kamarbandh shimmered against her flushed skin.

Then he leaned up slowly, bracing himself on his elbows above her, breathing hard.

She looked at him — eyes dazed, lips trembling.

"Commander...?"

He shook his head gently.

Pressed a kiss to her collarbone.

"Not tonight."

She blinked.

"Why?"

"Because I want to take it slow," he whispered.
"I want to make you crave it next time."

"I already do," she whispered back.

He chuckled softly, the sound deep in his chest.

"Exactly."

He pulled the sheet over her bare skin — but didn't reach for her blouse. Didn't hand her the petticoat. Didn't let her sari cover anything again.

Just the chain stayed on.

And his hands.

One sliding up to her waist.

The other curling behind her neck as he gently tugged her to him.

"Sleep here," he murmured, voice all gravel and heat now smoothed into honey.
"Like this."

"But I'm not—"

"Dressed?" he finished for her, smirking.
"Exactly."

"What..."

"I spent an hour kissing every inch of you, Chotu. Do you really think I'll let fabric touch your skin before I do again?"

Her blush deepened.

But she let him pull her close.

Bare.

Warm.

Branded.

He wrapped his arm tight around her waist, palm spread over her back, body curled behind hers like protection and temptation.

His breath brushed her ear.

"You're mine now. Just like this."

"And tomorrow?" she whispered.

He smiled against her shoulder.

"Tomorrow, I make you beg."

She buried her face in his chest.

And he held her there—

Naked. Safe. Wanted.

Until sleep took them both.

Wrapped in gold, breath, and the quiet hum of everything yet to come.