Myra's pulse was erratic, a wild rhythm against the silence that wrapped around them. Ranvijay was too close, too consuming, and the way his thumb brushed her cheek, slow and deliberate, sent a shiver down her spine.
"You're shaking," he murmured, his voice almost a whisper, his breath mingling with hers.
"I'm not." Her voice betrayed her, coming out softer than she intended.
A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. "Liar."
His hand slid from her cheek to the side of her neck, fingers resting lightly on her racing pulse. Myra stiffened, her breath catching, but she didn't move away. She couldn't.
"You act like you hate me," he continued, his tone dark, almost amused. "But you let me hold you like this." His fingers trailed down, skimming her damp shoulder. "You let me touch you."
Myra's fingers curled into the towel she was still clutching. "You don't listen when I tell you to stop."
"Because you never really mean it." His voice was low, dangerously smooth.
She exhaled sharply, frustration flickering through her storm of emotions. "Ranvijay—"
He cut her off, tilting her chin up. "Tell me to let you go, Myra. Look me in the eyes and say it, and I swear I will."
"Let go, Ranvijay."
Her voice was firm this time, not weak or hesitant. Myra lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes burning with something raw—anger, defiance, and something else she didn't want to name.
Ranvijay's jaw tightened. His fingers, still resting against her damp skin, twitched as if refusing to obey.
"You're hurt," he said, his voice quieter now, strained. "You need me."
"I don't," she snapped, pushing against his chest. "I can take care of myself. I don't need you hovering over me like I'm some fragile thing."
Ranvijay didn't move immediately, his grip still firm around her wrists, his body caging her in. A muscle in his jaw ticked as his gaze darkened. "You think I can just stand there and watch you get hurt? Watch someone throw boiling tea on you while you do nothing?" His voice dipped lower, rougher. "You expect me to be calm about that?"
"Yes," she shot back. "Because I am calm. I don't need you fighting every battle for me, Ranvijay!"
His grip slackened slightly, enough for her to pull away. The moment she did, she stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself as if she needed distance to breathe.
Ranvijay exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. His patience was wearing thin—she could see it in the storm behind his eyes. "You think I don't know what you're doing, Myra?" he said, his voice dangerously low.
She stiffened. "What?"
"You push me away because you're scared of how much you feel. You fight me because it's easier than admitting that you don't hate me."
She laughed, but it was hollow. "You think too highly of yourself, Your Highness."
A smirk ghosted over his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe. But I also know that if I hadn't walked in when I did, you wouldn't have fought back. You would have just taken whatever she threw at you, wouldn't you?"
Her fingers curled into her palms. "It doesn't matter."
"It does to me," he said darkly.
Silence stretched between them, thick with tension, with things unsaid. Myra's chest ached—not from the burn, but from the weight of his words.
She turned away, gripping the edge of the sink to steady herself. "Just go, Ranvijay."
He didn't move.
"Go," she repeated, softer this time.
For a long moment, she thought he wouldn't listen. But then she heard him sigh, a heavy, reluctant sound, before he finally stepped back.
"Fine," he murmured. "I'll give you space."
But before he left, his fingers caught her chin, tilting her face up to him one last time. His touch was featherlight, but his voice was anything but soft.
"But don't ever expect me to stop protecting you, Myra." His gaze burned into hers, his promise unwavering. "Not now. Not ever."
Then he let go. And this time, he really did walk away.
----------------------
The palace was quieter than usual that morning. The tension from last night still clung to the air like an unshaken storm, and Myra could feel the weight of it as she stepped out of her room.
Her skin still stung faintly from the burn, but it wasn't the pain that kept her up last night—it was Ranvijay. His words, his touch, his unwavering presence.
She exhaled sharply, shaking the thoughts away. She couldn't afford to get lost in him. Not when there were bigger things at play.
As she descended the grand staircase, she noticed Shiv leaning against one of the pillars, lazily twirling a keyring around his finger. His usual carefree expression was absent today.
"You're up early," she said, approaching him.
Shiv's gaze flickered to her, and something unreadable passed through his eyes before he shrugged. "Didn't sleep much. Too much chaos in the air."
Myra hesitated. "Ranvijay?"
Shiv chuckled, but there was little amusement in it. "He's been... restless." He glanced around, lowering his voice. "Ever since last night, he's been making calls. Tracking people. I think he's planning something, Myra."
Her stomach tightened. "Planning what?"
"That's what I don't know," Shiv admitted. "But he's furious. And when Ranvijay is furious, things tend to break."
A shiver ran down Myra's spine. She knew that. She had seen that.
She glanced toward the hallway leading to Ranvijay's study. She could feel his presence there, like a storm brewing behind closed doors.
A part of her wanted to walk away. But another part—the part that had begun questioning, searching—knew she needed to find out the truth.
Taking a breath, she squared her shoulders and started toward the door.
This time, she wasn't going to run. She was going to find answers.