ADHVAY'S POV



It was late. The palace was silent, wrapped in that heavy kind of night where even the air seems to hold its breath. Myra was staying in the next room to mine—security reasons, as I ordered. She had changed into a simple black dress, her hair loose, falling over her shoulders in soft waves. Not the usual disciplined braid. I wasn’t supposed to notice. But I did.

We crossed paths in the corridor when she stepped out to get water. The dim light touched her features, and the moment her eyes met mine, she straightened—back taut, chin lifted.

“Your Highness. Apologies for the disturbance.”

Her voice had that trained calmness. Controlled. Guarded.

“You’re off duty, Myra,” I said, my tone softer than I intended. “Call me Adhvay.”

I waited. Hoping she’d look at me just once.

She did—for a heartbeat.

Then her gaze lowered again. “No, Your Highness. It wouldn’t be appropriate. Even off duty.”

Something in her posture softened for the barest moment… and then she pulled herself back together.

“Then call me Adhvay even when you’re on duty,” I said, letting a smirk tug at my lips.

This time, she looked at me. Really looked.

Her eyes—lined gently with kajal—held a depth that could tear a man apart without a single word. Eyes that could unravel discipline, logic, and sense.

And then she looked away.

No.....

I wanted to see those eyes again.

My gaze traced her face, down to her neck. That’s when I saw it—just below her right ear.

A scar.

Old.

Faded but still stark against her skin.

I hadn’t noticed it earlier.

I was too busy getting lost in her eyes.

What kind of life had she lived to have scars like that at her age?

Before I could think, my hand lifted—brushing her hair gently aside so the scar was visible.

She flinched, surprised, her eyes snapping up to mine.

“What happened here?” I asked quietly. My voice came out softer than I expected.

“I don’t know, Your Highness. I’ve had it since childhood. I don’t remember.”

Her posture locked again, expression sealed.

“Myra,” I said, stepping closer, “call me Adhvay. I’ve told you—I don’t have a problem with it.”

But she saw the movement before I completed it. She stepped back—mirroring my step.

Keeping distance.

“No, Your Highness. It’s alright,” she replied.

My jaw tightened. “What did you call me?”

She froze. Her head barely reached my chest. She looked small—and yet unmoveable.

“Y… Your Highness,” she whispered, her hands clasping behind her back.

“Good,” I said, dropping my voice lower, “because as your Highness—I am ordering you to call me by my name.”

Being a prince had its perks.

Her body went still. She swallowed.

“Yes… Adhvay.”

A slow smile touched my lips.

Winning against her felt… different.

Dangerous.

Addictive.

I had never enjoyed being a prince this much.

_____________________

IT .IS .MADDENING.

I tried to sleep.

The royal bed, layered with the softest silk and feathers, felt useless beneath me.

A throne of comfort that couldn’t silence my mind.

I closed my eyes.

And she appeared.

Her face.

Her eyes.

Those dangerous eyes.

The kind of eyes that don’t just see you—they undo you.

Strip your defenses.

Tear down every wall you spent years building.

I opened my eyes again, staring into the darkness of my chamber.

She was right there.

Just a wall away.

Too close.

Close enough to breathe the same night air.

Close enough that if I stepped outside, I could see her again.

And I wanted to.

Again… and again… and again.

I turned, the vast bed feeling suddenly too large.

I tossed, sat up, laid back down, even tried meditating.

Nothing helped.

My heart thundered in my chest—loud, uncontrollable, almost violent—like it wanted to break free, walk to her room, and kneel before her.

Every time her image crossed my mind, it felt like a storm inside me.

Her eyes were like a royal blade—sharp, elegant, precise.

A weapon made to cut me open without drawing a drop of blood, and still leave me bleeding.

I have faced weapons.

Goons

Threats.

Politicians.

Assassins.

But I have never feared anything the way I fear the pull she has over me.

Because it is not something I can command.

Not something I can conquer.

It is simply there.

Growing.

Expanding.

Rooting into the deepest part of me.

That scar on her neck…

If someone ever struck there with enough force—

She could die.

The thought burned in me.

A sudden, sharp, unexplainable rage.

Unsettled emotions twisted through my chest and head—

dark, heavy, possessive.

I don’t know what kind of fucked up hell she went through.

I don’t know who left that mark on her skin.

But whoever it was — whatever she survived —

she survived alone.

Not anymore.

She is here.

With me.

If anyone ever tries to touch her again—

if anyone even thinks about hurting her—

they will have to go through me,

My Blood, My Blade, My Throne.

She is under my protection.

Mine.

My hands clenched tightly at the thought—

the irony of it.

She is supposed to protect me.

My bodyguard.

My shield.

But no....

No.

I will protect her.

Not just from enemies lurking in the shadows,

not just from the world that has already taken too much from her—

But from the weight she carries alone.

From the silence she hides behind.

From the war she fights with herself every day.

She is a woman—

not a weapon meant to be worn down in my service.

I will not let the world reduce her to that.

I will glorify her.

Guard her.

Stand between her and every storm.

Because Myra is not just someone

assigned to me.

She is the one I cannot stop looking at.

Cannot stop thinking of.

And whether she knows it or not…

She belongs to me.

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