Nayantara pov:
The morning sun filtered softly through the carved stone jalis of Chandra Mahal. I stood before the brass mirror, carefully fastening a pair of delicate silver earrings and setting a thin string of pearls around my neck. Nothing heavy. Nothing grand. But I refused to look weak. I refused to let the court or the world see a broken woman draped in defeat. I was still the Queen.


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