It happened on the third day.
A state convoy. Aryan's.
He was en route to a classified military review in Udaigadh, flanked by bulletproof SUVs, security details, and two drones above.
Anaya stayed back in Jaipur that morning, summoned to a parliamentary women's council event. But something had *felt off*—a silence in her gut, like the storm before a monsoon.
The explosion came at 11:12 a.m.
Planted beneath the third vehicle.
Not Aryan's car. But close enough to rattle the earth beneath his.
The convoy halted. Smoke bloomed into the sky.
And just like that, war wasn't distant. It was *personal*.
---
He called her five minutes after the blast.
"I'm alive," he said simply.
She exhaled shakily. "I know. I'd feel it if you weren't."
"You're not supposed to believe in that kind of thing."
"I didn't." Her voice broke. "Until you."
---
The palace issued a formal statement. Condemned the attack. Promised retaliation.
But Anaya didn't wait for politics.
She moved.
Her sources—built from years of court manipulation and whispered secrets—told her what the military couldn't:
The bomb wasn't from across the border.
It came from *within*.
Someone in the Empire wanted Aryan gone.
Someone close.
---
That night, she confronted her father.
Prime Minister Vikram Mehra sat in his study, surrounded by silent guards and silent questions.
She walked in unannounced.
"You knew," she said. "Didn't you?"
He didn't flinch.
"It wasn't *me,* Anaya."
"But it was your circle. Your men."
"It was the royalists," he said. "The ones who think Aryan's loyalty is too sharp. Too honest. Too dangerous."
"He's your son-in-law."
"He's a soldier. And soldiers don't survive politics."
She stepped closer, eyes burning. "Then I will."
---
That night, Aryan came home early.
Anaya met him at the door.
No seduction. No sarcasm. Just silence.
Then she reached for his hand, and he let her take it.
She guided him to their bed. Undressed him slowly. Undressed herself.
And when she straddled him, skin to skin, heart to heart—there was no rage, no games, no vengeance.
Only need.
Only love, unspoken but present in every touch.
"I'm not letting them take you," she whispered into his chest. "I'll burn down this country first."
He held her tighter. "You're not alone."
For once, she believed it.