Dinner in the palace was never merely a meal; it was a ritual.

Silver platters gleamed beneath the chandelier’s golden haze, crystal glasses caught fragments of light, and the long teakwood table stood like a silent witness to generations of pride and politics. Servants moved in disciplined quietness. The air smelled of saffron, ghee, and something far heavier—tension.

Tarini adjusted the pleats of her deep wine silk saree, the zari border catching the light like a blade. Her diamonds were sharp tonight. So were her eyes.

As everyone gathered, she noticed her mother seated at the head of the table.

“Is Sahera okay, Maa sa?” Tarini asked, her tone polished, perfectly formal—nothing more than courtesy.

Malini’s fingers tightened around her rosary beads. “I don’t know, beta. She has been crying for hours.”

Before silence could settle, Saransh spoke gently, “Bua sa, don’t worry. Papa is coming. She will be okay.”

Tarini’s hand froze mid-air.

Papa is coming.

Her eyes snapped up.

Taniskh?

Her brother was returning?

Would he step back into this palace again—into the royalty she had held together for years? The throne she had guarded when he chose to walk away?

Her jaw clenched.

But her thoughts shifted when Navdeep spoke, his voice low and composed. “That’s good that little girl is safe. Trauma takes time, but she will recover.”

Inaya looked at her father, confusion clouding her soft features. “Papa… but this has never happened before. I’ve gone out in public so many times. There was never any shooting. Who tried to harm Sahera? She isn’t even from here…”

Malini nodded slowly. “Yes, beta. You are right.”

Navdeep turned toward Malini. “Maa sa, did the commissioner give any information?”

“The commissioner is handling the case,” Malini replied, though worry lined her face. “But I think you should look into the matter too, Navdeep. If someone from the family investigates… things will move faster.”

Before anyone could respond—

Headlights slashed through the palace gates.

The guards stiffened as a black car sped toward the entrance, gravel scattering under its tires. They exchanged a glance the moment they saw the driver.

Taniskh Chandravanshi.

Without hesitation, the gates were thrown open.

The car entered the courtyard in a sweep of authority. It halted abruptly. The engine died.

For a moment, he remained inside.

Then the door opened.

Taniskh stepped out in a charcoal suit, his presence sharp, controlled, untouched by the years he had stayed away. He did not look at the palace he had abandoned. He did not glance at the towering domes or carved balconies.

He had only one thought.

Is my daughter okay?

The guards bowed deeply.

He ignored them.

His strides were long and urgent as he walked inside.

The grand doors opened.

Saransh saw him first.

For a heartbeat, father and son simply stared at one another.

Then Saransh walked forward—and hugged him.

Taniskh stiffened for the smallest second before his arms wrapped around his son.

“Are you okay, Ansh?” he murmured.

Saransh swallowed. He had argued with this man. Resented him. Blamed him.

But he was still his father.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice breaking despite himself.

Malini stood, emotion flickering in her eyes. “Taniskh… it’s good that you came back to India.”

He nodded once. “Where is Sahera, Maa sa?”

“She’s in her room. She needs you.”

Tara quickly stepped forward. “Uncle, let me escort you.”

Taniskh followed without another word.

From her seat, Tarini watched the scene unfold.

Watched the embrace.
Watched the acceptance.
Watched the return.

Something dark burned inside her chest.

This was the palace she had preserved. The power she had maintained. And now he walked back in as if he had never left.

Her nails dug into her palm.

And then—

Crash.

The crystal glass beside her shattered without warning.

For a second, no one understood what had happened.

Then blood trickled across the polished table.

“Navdeep!” Tarini screamed.

Inaya stood abruptly. “Papa!”

All eyes turned.

Navdeep looked down at his hand, where shards of glass had sliced into his skin. Blood pooled along his fingers, dripping onto the tablecloth.

“It’s nothing,” he said calmly. “The glass just broke.”

Without knowing how.

Tarini’s composure snapped. “Maids!! Bring the first-aid box immediately!”

Servants rushed forward.

The maid dabbed at the wound under Tarini’s sharp instructions, but Navdeep remained unusually still. Calm. Detached.

His eyes weren’t on the blood.

They were distant.

Thinking.

As if the shattered glass meant far more than an accident.

And across the table, Tarini felt it—

The night had changed.

Taniskh was back.
A shooting had happened.
And something in this palace had just cracked.

Not just the glass.

Sahera’s room was dim except for the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp.

The curtains were drawn halfway, moonlight slipping through like a silent witness. The scent of lavender oil lingered in the air—someone had tried to calm her before he arrived.

When Taniskh pushed the door open, he found her sitting upright on the bed, knees pulled to her chest, eyes hollow. She looked smaller somehow. Not like the fierce, stubborn girl who argued about everything.

Just… a frightened child.

“Sahera,” he called softly.

The moment she saw him, the numbness shattered.

“Papa!”

She ran to him, crashing into his chest, clutching his shirt as if he might disappear. Her fingers trembled violently.

“There was blood, Papa… the guard… he was shot. I saw it. It was on my hands.” Her voice broke into sobs. “I can’t forget it.”

Taniskh held her tighter, his palm pressing protectively against her head. “Shh… beta, look at me.”

She didn’t.

He gently lifted her chin. “You’re safe. Nothing happened to you. Breathe.”

He sat beside her, pulling her into his lap the way he used to when she was little. His voice lowered, steady and warm.

“You are stronger than this memory. It will fade.”

Slowly, her breathing steadied.

Then she looked up at him, eyes glistening. “You won’t go anywhere, right? Please stay here.”

Something inside him twisted.

“I won’t,” he said without hesitation. “I left all my work. I told Mark my children come first. He said, ‘Go. I’ll handle everything.’”

Sahera nodded faintly, reassured.

“Papa…” she whispered after a pause, her voice softer now. “Will you tell me a story? Like you used to… when we were little?”

A small, almost broken smile touched his lips. “Of course.”

He leaned back against the headboard, pulling the blanket around her.

“Once upon a time,” he began quietly, “there was a prince and a princess. They were best friends. They grew up together—fighting, laughing, being mischievous. They promised to stay by each other forever.”

His voice shifted, becoming distant.

“But when they grew older… people tried to name their bond. They tried to turn friendship into something called love.”

Sahera’s breathing grew slower.

“They refused. Again and again. They said what they had was pure… it didn’t need a label.”

His jaw tightened slightly.

“But sometimes… the world doesn’t listen.”

By then, Sahera had drifted into sleep, her fingers still fisted in his shirt.

Taniskh stared ahead for a long moment.

Then he looked out the window.

The moon was bright tonight—too bright. Cold and unforgiving.

He exhaled softly. “I hope you forgave me,” he whispered into the silence.

His hand moved to Sahera’s hair, gently caressing it before he carefully laid her down and tucked her in.

When he stepped out of the room, he nearly collided with Malini.

“Beta,” she said gently, “I told the maids to open your room. Freshen up. Dinner will be sent there.”

He nodded. “Maa sa… where is Saransh’s room?”

She told him the way.

As he walked past the corridor, he heard voices from inside Saransh’s room.

Saransh was on call.

“…No, Kevin, it wasn’t random,” he was saying. “Something feels off about today’s incident.”

Taniskh stopped outside the door.

His hand almost lifted to knock.

Almost.

Instead, he lowered it and walked away.

Some distances cannot be crossed with a knock.

He reached his own room—one he hadn’t entered in years.

Decades, it felt like.

The door creaked slightly as he pushed it open.

Everything was the same.

The same carved bedpost. The same heavy curtains. Even the faint sandalwood scent remained.

Time had preserved this room like a shrine.

His eyes drifted to the wardrobe.

He opened it.

His fingers brushed against a saree—soft silk.

Shree’s.

The memory hit him without warning.

He had once wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“You look like devotion itself,” he had whispered.

She had smiled nervously. “I’m scared, Taniskh.”

The memory dissolved like smoke.

He shut the wardrobe gently and exhaled.

From his suitcase, he pulled out two sets of clothes—packed in haste. He changed quickly.

A knock followed.

The maid entered with dinner.

She was old—her hair now completely silver. She had seen him grow from a stubborn ten-year-old prince into a man who walked away from a throne.

She placed the tray down and hesitated.

“May I say something?”

He gave a tired nod. “Boliyena.”

“Raja sa—”

“I am not,” he cut in sharply. “Please. Call me Taniskh. Or sir. But not that title. I don’t deserve it.”

The maid smiled faintly. “I am happy to see you back, beta.”

She continued softly, “Your children… they are humble. Good. Like you.”

He didn’t respond immediately.

Just nodded.

After she left, silence swallowed the room again.

He stared at the untouched food.

Did I really raise them well?

Without Shree.

Without being present.

He closed his eyes.

“I know Sahera needs me,” he murmured to himself. “But Saransh…”

His voice faltered slightly.

“Will he ever say, ‘Papa, I love you’?”

A faint, self-aware chuckle escaped him.

“He’s my son. He will understand. Late… but he will.”

Still—

For the first time in years, Taniskh Chandravanshi felt uncertain.

Not as a man.

Not as a former prince.

But as a father

.

Morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows of Kabir’s room, landing lazily across his unmade bed. He had barely opened his eyes when raised voices drifted up from downstairs.

Not angry.

Just… dramatic.

He groaned. “Again?”

Pulling on a loose t-shirt, he walked downstairs, already knowing what he’d find.

In the living room stood his parents—Rajveer Rajput and Kashish Rajput—locked in what looked like a full-fledged marital debate.

Kashish had her arms folded, eyebrow arched in perfect disapproval. Rajveer stood opposite her, trying very hard to look misunderstood.

Kabir leaned against the railing. “What happened now?”

Kashish immediately pointed at her husband. “Beta, ask your father.”

Rajveer turned dramatically. “What is my fault, haan? I went to buy a gift for my wife. Anniversary gift. And madam didn’t like it.”

Kabir blinked. “Dad… what did you buy that Mom didn’t like?”

Rajveer straightened proudly. “A cruise.”

Silence.

Kashish threw her hands in the air. “See? Tell me, Kabir, who books a cruise as a gift when we don’t even have time to go on a cruise?”

Rajveer defended himself instantly. “I thought it’s our anniversary! Something special!”

Kabir pressed his lips together to hide a smile. “Mom, you should be happy. It’s a gift. Why are you worried about price and all? My papa is a big billionaire for a reason, right?”

Rajveer puffed his chest slightly.

Kashish shot him a look. “Money isn’t everything, Mr. Rajput.”

Then she looked at Kabir. “We don’t have time.”

Rajveer stepped closer to her, lowering his voice playfully. “We have time, jaan. I’ve already cleared my schedule. And yours too.” He winked. “This month, we’re going on a proper date.”

Kashish gasped softly. “Rajveer! Who talks like this in front of their son?”

Kabir burst out laughing. “Mom, this is cool. Go, guys. I’m not some outdated person who’ll judge you. I’m your son. Obviously, I know how I came into this world. You guys did—”

Thwack.

A cushion hit him square in the face.

Kashish glared. “What is wrong with your talks, Kabir? I dare you to speak like that again.”

Kabir pulled the cushion down slowly, grinning shamelessly. “Sorry, Mom.”

Rajveer was trying—and failing—not to laugh.

Kabir backed away toward the stairs. “Anyway, enjoy your cruise romance. I support this love story.”

“Kabir!” Kashish warned.

But he was already halfway up the stairs, chuckling to himself.

Downstairs, Rajveer leaned closer to his wife. “See? Even our son approves.”

Kashish tried to stay annoyed… but her lips betrayed her.

And somewhere between the cruise booking and the flying cushion, the argument dissolved into quiet laughter—the kind that only comes after years of choosing each other, again and again.

Morning arrived softly over the palace, sunlight filtering through the carved jharokhas and settling across the long breakfast table.

Tarini stepped into the dining hall—and paused.

There he was.

Taniskh.

Sitting at the table as if he had never left.

Inaya stood beside him, triumphant. “See? I told you, Mamu. You have to eat with us. No excuses.”

Taniskh looked at her with open affection. He could refuse anyone in the world.

Not her.

“Alright,” he had said just minutes ago when she practically dragged him from the corridor. “I surrender.”

Now everyone was seated—Tarini and her husband Navdeep on one side, Malini at the head, Saransh beside her, Sahera unusually quiet today. 

Servants placed fresh parathas, fruits, and tea before them.

For a few minutes, only the soft clinking of cutlery filled the space.

Then Kevin, who had clearly been holding a question in since last night, leaned forward.

“Taniskh uncle… we didn’t even know you were… like… a king.”

The table went subtly still.

Taniskh looked up at him, a faint smile on his lips. “King?” he repeated lightly.

Kevin nodded. “I mean… this whole palace, the guards, the history… it’s kind of epic.”

Taniskh exhaled softly. “That was years ago, son. And I was never king. My father was.”

His eyes shifted briefly toward Malini. Something unspoken passed between them.

“I don’t deserve to be king,” he added quietly, lowering his gaze to his plate.

The words were simple.

But they carried weight.

Tarini noticed.

So did Saransh.

Tara, however, spoke without understanding the heaviness. “But why, uncle? I mean… you still can, right? You’d look powerful.”

Sahera finally looked up, a faint spark returning to her expression. “Yeah, Papa would look cool as a king.”

That made Taniskh laugh—an actual, warm laugh that lightened the room.

“Cool, huh?” he teased. “So this is about fashion now?”

Sahera shrugged slightly. “I’m just saying… crown would suit you.”

“Inaya would demand one too,” Saransh muttered dryly.

“I would,” Inaya confirmed proudly.

Even Malini’s lips curved faintly.

Taniskh leaned back slightly in his chair. “Being a king isn’t about crowns or palaces,” he said gently. “It’s about responsibility. And sometimes… walking away is also a responsibility.”

Tarini’s fingers tightened around her teacup.

Navdeep noticed.

Kevin tilted his head. “But if you stayed… things would be different, right?”

This time, Taniskh didn’t answer immediately.

He glanced at Sahera. At Saransh.

“My children matter more than any throne ever could,” he said simply.

Saransh’s expression shifted—barely noticeable, but softer.

The tension at the table eased again as servants refilled cups.

Tara nudged Sahera playfully. “Still, imagine your dad giving royal speeches.”

Sahera rolled her eyes. “He’d make it emotional and everyone would cry.”

Taniskh raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“You would,” Sahera insisted, almost smiling now.

For a brief moment, the palace didn’t feel like a battlefield of history and unspoken regrets.

It felt like a family.

And Tarini, watching her brother laugh at the table she had ruled alone for years, felt something complicated settle in her chest.

Not anger.

Not entirely.

But the quiet realization—

He hadn’t returned as a king.

He had returned as a father.

And somehow, that made his presence far more powerful.