The sinking sun bathed the ramparts of Mehrawan Palace in molten gold, yet inside the secluded royal chambers, twilight only deepened the silent peril. Iravika stood before the colossal, gilded mirror—its edges encrusted with semi-precious stones—yet the queen staring back felt less like herself and more like a figure in an ornate cage. Even the emerald silk of her choli, freshly mended after the healer’s ministrations, could not conceal the lingering tremor of poison’s echo in her veins.
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