The scent of jasmine clung to the morning air like a memory that wouldn’t let go. From her bedroom window in the old haveli, Aaradhya watched the preparations unfold below — strings of marigold swaying in the breeze, silver platters polished until they gleamed, her mother bustling about with a look of controlled panic.
Inside her chest, her heart beat too fast.
Today, she was to be chosen. Not as a lover. Not as a woman. But as a bride.
A bride for a prince she had never met.
Her fingers clutched the window sill. Distantly, she could hear her mother’s voice rising from the courtyard, “Aaradhya! Wear the pink saree — quickly!”
Pink. The color of innocence. The color they had decided would make her look soft. Gentle. Tame.
But she didn’t feel tame. She felt trapped.
Her reflection in the old mirror across the room stared back at her — a girl with kohl-lined eyes and lips painted like rose petals. But she didn’t recognize that face anymore.
“Aaradhya,” her father’s voice came from the doorway. Steady. Stern. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
She turned slowly.
“I don’t even know him,” she said, her voice trembling.
“He’s Prince Aaryan Singh Rathore,” her father said. “You don’t need to know him. You need to marry him.”
“Why?” Her voice broke. “Because his family wears crowns and ours wears silence?”
His jaw tightened. “Because you are lucky. Because thousands of girls would kill for this match.”
She blinked back angry tears. “Then let them. Let someone else carry this crown.”
He stepped toward her. “This isn’t about love, Aaradhya. It’s about legacy. Heirs. Duty.”
And just like that, her fate was sealed.
The Palace
Hours later, the Rathore Palace rose before her like something from a dream — or a nightmare. Marble domes pierced the sky, and golden peacocks guarded grand archways. Inside, everything gleamed. Chandeliers sparkled like constellations overhead. Even the air smelled richer.
She was made to sit in the royal drawing room, shoulders straight, hands folded in her lap. A thousand eyes watched her, though no one spoke.
And then he entered.
Prince Aaryan.
He didn’t wear a crown. He didn’t need to. Power dripped from his very presence — tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black. No smile. No softness. Just dark, unreadable eyes that settled on her like a command.
She looked up at him — and forgot how to breathe.
His gaze trailed over her face, her folded hands, her silent posture.
He didn’t say “hello.”
He didn’t ask how she felt.
He only asked:
“Have you ever been touched?”
Aaradhya’s breath caught.
She didn’t answer.
His lips curved — just slightly.
“Good.”
The Wedding Night
The royal suite shimmered with gold and silence.
The curtains swayed like whispers. Candlelight flickered along marble walls, casting soft shadows that danced over the bed. The air was thick — with rose petals, sandalwood… and anticipation.
Aaradhya sat still on the edge of the bed, her heart pounding like a trapped drum. The red bridal lehenga felt heavy on her skin, the veil still draped over her face like a curtain of fate. Her bare feet pressed into the cool floor, her fingers knotted tightly in her lap.
And then—
The doors opened.
He stepped in.
Prince Aaryan.
Her husband.
But tonight… not a ruler. Not a stranger. A man. And he looked at her like she was prey wrapped in silk.
He said nothing.
His sherwani jacket was gone. Just a black kurta now, the top few buttons undone, revealing bronze skin and a glimpse of a strong chest. His sleeves were rolled up, veins visible on his forearms. And his eyes — dark, intense, slow-burning — never left her.
“Stand up,” he said.
His voice didn’t shout. It didn’t beg. It just… commanded.
She rose, trembling.
He stepped closer. The scent of him — warm musk and sandalwood — hit her first. Then the heat of his body.
He lifted the veil slowly. Their eyes met.
And in that moment, something shifted.
She wasn’t afraid.
Not of him.
She was afraid of how much she already wanted to feel him.
He reached for her jewelry.
One by one, he removed each piece — gently, almost reverently. Her earrings. Her bangles. The necklace that lay over her chest.
His fingers brushed her skin with each touch, sending shivers through her spine.
“Turn around,” he murmured.
She did.
Her breath hitched when he untied the doris at the back of her blouse, each knot loosened slowly, like he was unraveling her bit by bit. The blouse fell forward, baring her back to the cool air — and his hungry eyes.
His lips touched her nape.
Soft.
Then lower, across her shoulder blade.
She trembled.
“You smell like roses and fear,” he whispered, lips dragging down her spine. “But I want you to feel like fire tonight.”
She gasped as his palms moved around her front, cupping her breasts through the fabric, thumbs teasing until her nipples tightened.
The choli dropped. The skirt followed. Then the petticoat.
And she stood before him — bare. Glowing. Breathless.
“Turn around,” he said again, softly.
She did, covering her chest instinctively.
He stepped closer, took her hands, and lowered them.
“Don’t hide from me,” he said. “You’re mine now. Let me see all of you.”
And she let him.
His eyes roamed — over her full breasts, her soft stomach, the delicate dip between her thighs.
He knelt in front of her.
His hands slid up her thighs. His mouth kissed the inside of her knee. Then higher.
Aaradhya’s breath hitched.
When his lips brushed her core, she gasped — fingers flying to his hair.
He tasted her gently. Teasingly.
His tongue flicked across her folds, slowly circling her clit. She whimpered.
He held her open with strong hands, his tongue delving in deeper. She moaned — louder now — her hips shifting helplessly against his mouth.
She came with a cry — legs trembling, her hands gripping his shoulders to stay upright.
He stood, eyes dark, lips glistening.
“You taste like sin,” he growled, lifting her easily into his arms.
He laid her down on the bed like a secret he planned to keep forever.
Then he undressed.
Each piece of clothing came off slowly. His kurta. His pajama pants.
Until he was bare.
Her eyes widened.
She swallowed.
He moved over her, slowly lowering himself until his skin pressed against hers — heat against heat, chest against chest.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“I… I don’t know.”
“I’ll go slow,” he promised. “But I won’t stop.”
She nodded.
And he kissed her.
This time, it wasn’t slow. It wasn’t patient.
It was deep. Demanding.
His tongue explored her mouth like he needed to memorize it. His hands held her face like she’d vanish. He groaned softly when she kissed him back.
Then—he reached down and guided himself to her entrance.
She tensed.
He kissed her again, softer.
“Breathe. I’ve got you.”
Then, slowly… he entered her.
She cried out. The stretch burned. Her nails dug into his back.
He paused, letting her adjust. Whispered praise into her ear.
“You’re doing so good. So tight. So perfect.”
When he began to move, it was slow — long, deep strokes that touched places she didn’t know existed.
Each thrust pushed her higher.
Her legs wrapped around him. Her moans grew louder.
He looked into her eyes, never looking away.
“You’re mine now,” he growled. “Only mine.”
She shattered beneath him — a cry leaving her throat as her body arched into his.
He came right after, groaning her name, his hands holding her as he spilled deep inside her.
The silence in the royal chamber pulsed with heat.
Aaradhya lay spent against the silk sheets, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her body trembling from the force of her first climax. Her thighs still quivered from how deeply he'd filled her. Her lips were swollen from his kisses. Her skin glistened with a sheen of sweat and scent — his scent.
But it wasn’t over.
Aaryan hadn’t moved from beside her. One of his hands gently traced circles on her bare back, while the other gripped her hip like he owned her — and he did. Completely. Utterly. She had never been touched before. And now she couldn't imagine any other hands on her skin.
He kissed her shoulder slowly. Then lower. Her spine arched instinctively as his lips moved down the curve of her back. She gasped softly.
“I said I wouldn’t stop,” he murmured against her skin. “And I meant it.”
Before she could respond, he turned her onto her stomach.
A startled sound escaped her lips. But she didn’t resist.
She wanted more.
Her breath caught as he gently lifted her hips up onto her knees. She clutched the silk pillows in front of her, her pulse thudding against her throat. Exposed. Helpless. Ready.
“So perfect,” he groaned as he knelt behind her.
Aaradhya felt him drag his fingers along the back of her thighs, then between them — softly stroking her slickness. She whimpered as he teased her folds, spreading her gently. She heard the sound of his breathing — heavy, controlled.
Then his palm landed on her hip with a slow, firm slap.
Not rough. But possessive.
“Look at you,” he said darkly. “On your knees, waiting for me like my queen.”
She moaned when he rubbed the head of his arousal along her entrance — not entering yet, just circling, pressing against her slit with slow teases that made her tremble.
“Please…” she whispered, her voice nearly broken with need.
He chuckled low. “That’s right. Beg for it.”
She pressed her hips back slightly, instinctively, desperately. “I want you again…”
Without warning, he entered her in one slow, powerful thrust.
Her gasp turned into a cry, her knuckles white as she gripped the pillows.
“Oh—Aaryan!”
He growled her name and paused, buried fully inside her. The stretch was deeper. Thicker. Intense from this angle. She felt every inch of him—how he filled her, claimed her again.
“You feel tighter like this,” he hissed. “So fucking tight, Aaradhya.”
He began to move.
Slow at first. Deep.
Every thrust pushed her forward, made her moan louder. The sound of his hips slapping against her skin echoed softly with the rhythm of desire. Her back arched, hair spilling over her shoulders as he gripped her waist and drove into her harder.
“You’re mine,” he whispered again, voice rough with lust. “Only mine.”
She cried out when his hand slid between her legs and found her clit — rubbing it in slow, sinful circles as he continued to thrust from behind.
“Oh god… oh… I’m… I can’t—” she gasped.
“Yes, you can,” he said into her ear, his body draped over her now, his chest hot against her back.
He took her faster now. Merciless and controlled. Her soft whimpers turned into broken moans. Her thighs shook beneath her.
Her climax hit like lightning — her entire body convulsing, mouth open in a silent scream as she exploded around him. The pleasure rocked through her, raw and wild.
Aaryan cursed, gripped her hips harder, and thrust once—twice—then groaned deeply as he came, spilling into her for the second time, his body tense above hers.
They collapsed together, tangled, trembling.
She turned her face to look back at him.
He leaned down, kissing the corner of her mouth tenderly. “You were made for this,” he whispered. “Made for me.”
And for the first time, even in exhaustion and ache, Aaradhya smiled.
Because no crown had ever felt this good.
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