Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
An exploration of the 5 years between the attack on the Himalayan estate and the events in 1900. Part 2 of 2.
See Part 1
***Kamal***
Two weeks slip by.
He doesn’t look up at the door’s soft creak, too absorbed by the reports spread out across the mahogany desk.
He rubs his eyes, the weariness etched deep.
Between steering the Rai family business, managing his sister’s biye‑kotha, checking in on Devi, and keeping the Sharma accounts steady… the days have begun to feel painfully short for Kamal Rai.
“I’m not hungry, thank you.”
Instead of retreating, the intruder steps in. Light, sure, unhesitating.
“I’m glad for you, seeing as I’m not offering.”
His head snaps up.
“Devi.”
She gives him a small smile, fragile at the edges, never quite reaching those beautiful, sorrow‑shadowed eyes.
“Hello, mister Rai.”
He takes her in while she moves around the desk, fingertips grazing the papers as she reviews them.
She’s grown thinner, enough that it shows in the hollows of her face.
A faint frown creases Kamal’s brow.
She’s close enough now that the faint scent of jasmine oil clings to him, soft and familiar…
That scent takes him back a few weeks. To the thin Himalayan air, cold in his lungs, sharp against his skin. He remembers the quiet intensity of that sparring session. The muted scuff of feet on stone, sharp smiles, banter, clever feints.
Cunning, Devi had tricked Kamal first. But her slyness couldn’t beat his decades of experience. He countered, and her balance faltered. He’d caught her instinctively, felt her warm breath against his cheek, pulse fluttering wildly beneath his hands. A whiff of fragrant Jasmine, enticing, so much so that he couldn’t help but lean in to it. Into her.
That memory—Devi’s eyes turning bright, a faint flush to her cheeks—settles uncomfortably deep. It had been far too long since Kamal Rai had felt so disarmed by a simple sparring match.
He draws a steady breath and shakes the unwelcome thoughts away.
“Reports from the mines?”
He nods, attention deliberately returning to the papers.
“Your family business is doing well.”
Devi picks up a nearby stack, scanning the documents with a concentration that stirs something protective in Kamal’s chest.
“Hm. Seems so.”
Then she lifts her gaze to his, direct, authoritative.
“So, you will teach me to manage the Sharma mines.”
“If that’s what you want. We could also contact one of your uncles.”
“No. This my duty. I owe it to my parents, to Kai… I won’t let some long-lost relative ruin everything they built.”
The certainty in that voice, the weight of duty carried so naturally, belongs to someone far older than Miss Devi Sharma. It pains him to have to place such a burden on her shoulders.
But this is how she’ll regain her freedom.
“Then take a seat,” Kamal says at last. “You were given 5 years to learn and I don’t intend to waste another minute. I will come by each evening to review the day’s reports with you. Tomorrow, you will register at Kolkata University. And when your studies allow, we will visit every one of your mines so that you may learn how to manage them properly.”
She nods, already leaning in, close enough that he feels the warmth of her presence.
“See these? They’re from the superintendents. Updates on production, workers—”
“Miss Deviya! Oh, miss, it’s so good to see you up and about!”
Aishwarya bustles in, beaming upon seeing her young mistress up and about, finally! She glances around and sniffs at the dimly lit study as if it personally offends her.
“Come, leave all this gloominess. Let me prepare your favourite. You must be starving, my dear.”
“I’m fine, Aishwarya. I’d rather keep studying these.”
“Nonsense! You need sustenance. Look at you, nothing but bones! Come. I’m not taking a no for an answer.”
The maid gently ushers Devi toward the door, but she pauses, turning back.
Her gaze finds his—and holds.
“One more thing,” she says quietly, “You will train me to fight. I never again want to be so…”
Defenceless.
The unspoken word hangs heavy between them, the wounds left by that cowardly attack still too raw.
He gives a single nod.
A small smile slips free—brief, almost involuntary—before Devi disappears down the corridor.
By the gods, Kamal vows silently, Devi will never be harmed again. And it begins with teaching her how to defend herself.
***********************************
***Devi***
The weeks blur into months, then a year passes, each day carved into the same relentless rhythm. Dawn meant reports — stacks of them, ink smudging her fingers as she traced numbers, shipments, discrepancies. Then the long ride through crowded streets and markets to Kolkata university, where she sat through lectures on business and accounting, absorbing everything with a hunger that surprised even her professors.
By late afternoon, Kamal would appear at the estate, always with that quiet, assessing gaze. He’d go over her lessons, correct her assumptions, push her critical thinking. Then came the physical training — katar drills until her wrists trembled, saber forms until her shoulders burned, unarmed defense until she could barely lift her arms.
Every night she collapsed into bed, muscles screaming, mind mercifully blank. Exhaustion was a balm. It kept her from drifting back to that night. The gunfire, shouting, the moment Kairas fell. The memory still hit like a blow to her gut. She clenched her jaw every time it surfaced, furious at her own helplessness.
And the worst part? They were no closer to answers.
Kamal, Vidya, Raj and the other leaders had chased every lead, but the trail kept dissolving into smoke.
Meanwhile, the Dozen, once unshakeable, had splintered. Old grudges resurfaced. Suspicion seeped into every conversation.
Yes, the attackers had been British, that much was clear. But how had they known about the secret meeting?
Someone from within had betrayed them.
A cowardly rat.
Until that traitor was dragged into the light, the Dozen’s rule over Bengal would remain fractioned, weakened.
“Deviya.”
She smiles at the familiar voice, shifting her satchel higher before stepping off the curb. Kamal rarely came to meet her anywhere but the estate.
“Devi, who is that?”
“Is that your brother? Tell me he’s single.”
Her classmates all but swoon, batting their lashes at him. Devi doesn’t blame them. Kamal is handsome, unmistakably of noble upbringing, yet he carries the quiet danger of a man who’d survived more battles than he spoke of.
Her cheeks warm as she shoos them away.
“He’s my guardian, and he has no interest in silly girls like you.”
They pout dramatically, then dissolve into giggles as they head for their carriages. A few bold ones call out, “Good day, Mister Rai!”
Kamal returns their greetings with an indulgent smile, clearly accustomed to the attention.
“To what do I owe this visit, Mister Rai?” she dramatically swoons for good measure, earning an amused smile from the man. “Surely you’re not here to choose a bride from among my classmates.”
He laughs.
“Hardly. I already have enough furious mothers among the Dozen. I’ve no desire to add more to the list.”
She shakes her head, grinning.
“How can one man be so dutiful and yet such a menace to women?”
“It’s a rare skill,” he smirks. “Now come. I’ve no urgent duties today. We’re riding to Jangalmahal for a surprise inspection. Arhat has already saddled your beast. It’ll be faster on horseback.”
Her grin widens at the promise of open fields. A small adventure. Kamal takes her bags without a word, fastening them to his saddle with practiced ease. She mounts Deimos in one fluid motion, excitement buzzing through her.
They ride in companionable silence until the city falls away behind them.
Once the plains open up, Devi loosens the reins and lets Deimos fly. Wind tears through her hair, the world blurring into color and speed. She laughs, exhilarated. Kamal keeps pace effortlessly, his own smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
But as they slow near the mining settlement, her mind drifts back to her classmates’ teasing.
“Kamal,” she says lightly, though her heart thuds strangely, “why haven’t you married yet?”
His brows shoot up, but he doesn’t look away. Instead, he studies her with a startled, almost vulnerable intensity that sends heat crawling up her neck.
The silence stretches, taut and electric. Devi’s mind races for an escape —a joke, any change of subject— but every thought dissolves under the weight of his gaze. She draws in a breath to retreat, and that’s when he finally speaks.
“You’ve heard the stories about me,” he says quietly. “Most of them are true. I was… reckless in my youth. More interested in pleasure than responsibility. But war has a way of upending everything. I found a reason to fight, then. For our people, for freedom. But we failed, lost too many loved ones. I had to take over the family business, raise Amrita. Those duties consumed everything.”
“And now?” she asks, softer than she meant to.
Their eyes meet—and hold.
Something unspoken flickers between them.
Kamal looks away first, clearing his throat.
“Now,” he says, “I have even more responsibilities. Including guiding a stubborn, unruly young lady as she takes control of her family’s legacy. I have less time than ever for marriage.”
“Well,” she quips, aiming for playful but hearing the faint tremor in her own voice, “pardon me for being such a burden.”
He stops his horse. The teasing vanishes from his face.
“Devi,” his voice is low and earnest, “you are not a burden. You are a brilliant, determined young woman and it is an honor to be entrusted with your training. Don’t ever doubt that.”
Heat rushes to her cheeks —not embarrassment, but something far more dangerous.
“Thank you.” she murmurs.
His smile returns, gentler this time.
“Nonsense. Now come, your workers are waiting.”
***Devi***
Kamal stands a little behind Devi as she engages with the superintendent and workers, a reassuring presence as she focuses on the questions she needs to ask, the numbers to be verified.
While she works, Devi can’t help an occasional glance his way.
Kamal watches on. Not critically. Not impatiently.
Proudly.
The realization makes her stomach flutter in a way she refuses to examine too closely.
She straightens her shoulders, forcing herself to concentrate. This is her responsibility now. Her family’s legacy. She wants him to see she can handle it —not because she needs his approval, but because… well. Because it matters. More than it should.
When she finishes speaking with the workers, Devi catches him still looking at her, something unreadable, raw, in his eyes. Heat creeps up her neck. She turns away quickly, pretending to check her notes.
Stop it, she scolds herself. He’s only assessing your progress. Nothing more.
But the way he looks at her sometimes, usually when he thinks she’s not paying attention, makes her wonder.
***Kamal***
He watches her move through the settlement with effortless command. The quiet authority in her voice, the way she asks the right questions, sets the tone, earns respect without having to demand it. Leadership comes to her as naturally as breathing.
He doesn’t have that gift.
Kamal had forged his own authority through years of hard work and discipline, forcing himself to master the responsibilities he’d inherited.
But Devi… she was born for this.
Pride swells in his chest. And with it, a thread of worry.
Because every day, he sees her growing more into herself, into her power. Into a woman who would soon outshine every expectation placed upon her.
And because she looked at him sometimes, in ways she shouldn’t.
He’s not blind. Kamal knows she fancies him. He sees the flickers of warmth, curiosity, something softer lingering when she looks at him. And every time, his own heart betrays him. A quickened pulse, a tightening in his chest, a foolish hope he makes sure to crush before it can ever take shape.
He cannot—will not— allow himself to feel this. She is his charge. His late friend’s little sister.
So he folds his hands behind his back, schooling his expression into something neutral. Respectable.
Safe.
She turns toward him then, cheeks faintly flushed, eyes bright with accomplishment. And for a moment, he forgets to breathe.
Kamal forces a smile — steady, encouraging, nothing more.
Bury it, he tells himself. She deserves your guidance, not your weakness.
Pairing: Deviya Sharma x Kamal Rai (eventually - slow burn)
Words: 1,500
Rating: M
Content warning: death, depression
Summary: An exploration of the 5 years between the attack on the Himalayan estate and the events in 1900.
Part 1 of 2: the immediate aftermath of Kairas' death. Read part 2
@rc-catalog
*********************************
Numbness.
A numb, cavernous ache hollows out her chest, as if someone had cleaved her soul clean in two.
Kairas…
The thought shatters before she can finish it.
Dead.
Killed, by the foreigners, the same colonizers who had murdered their parents, years earlier.
The British had taken everything from her.
She digs her nails into her hands so hard she draws blood.
And she had failed to avenge him.
Devi only remembers flashes of last night.
The fire and the wild panic.
Strangers, speaking English, ransacking the estate.
Ram’s hand clamped around her wrist, confidently dragging her through smoke and fire.
Gunshots cracking the air.
Screams swallowed by the roar of flames.
The dozen scattering—faces she’s known her whole life, twisted with fear, shoving past her in their desperation to escape. Amrita sobbing into her palms, shoulders shaking. Vidya’s weight in her arms as she pulled her away from the attackers. Kamal’s strong arms carrying her to safety.
Kairas going back for Rati.
“We have to help her!”
Then…
The world didn’t break with a bang.
It folded.
Everything slowed, thickened, as if time itself had turned viscous.
Kairas jerked.
Too small a motion, too wrong.
No sound reached her at first. Just a pressure, a ripple through reality.
Then the delayed echo, stretched and distorted, like thunder heard from miles away.
Her ears rang. The edges of the world blurred. Her thoughts scattered like startled birds.
He was falling.
No. Being taken.
Her body moved before her mind could catch up, but she was wading through molasses, trapped in a moment that refused to end. To rewind. The truth hit her in fragments, jagged and impossible.
“Kairas!”
Her brother.
Her everything.
Gone.
She reached for him, but the world was still moving in that terrible, syrup‑slow drift, and she couldn’t get to him fast enough.
Strong hands stopping her. Vidya.
“Deviya, we need to go…”
But she could only see her dead brother.
Such a filthy, cowardly attack!
The stables. Deimos.
She remembers mounting him, then, seeing Kairas’ murderer, sprinting off after him.
A fall. Ram’s otherworldly eyes. Her headache abating For a moment.
And now, mere hours later, she sits in a rickety carriage hurtling down the mountain road, blinking against the first pale light of dawn.
Pressed between Kamal’s solid warmth and Amrita’s trembling frame, she barely registers the shaking sobs beside her.
“Devi… gods, this is horrible, I’m so sorry…” Amrita whispers through tears.
Kamal reaches across to steady his sister, rubbing her shoulder with a helpless gentleness.
He looks exhausted, hollowed out. Kairas was like a brother to him.
Had been.
They couldn’t even return to complete the rites, to guide his soul along its path through Samsara. Not yet.
Devi’s fingers curl tighter, a thin ribbon of blood seeping between them. Red—like the stains splashed across Kamal’s white nightclothes. Too bright. Too vivid a reminder.
Kamal feels her gaze and looks down. What he sees nearly breaks him.
She looks so small, curled against his side, a shadow of her former self. Silent, unresponsive, swallowed by a grief too deep to reach.
He lost his closest friend. But she… she lost the last of her family. Her protector. What future could she possibly have now?
He notices the blood seeping through her closed fists.
Oh, Devi…
And gently gathers her hands in his own, wiping them clean with the hem of his shirt. His big, clumsy hands trying to be soft.
A flicker of reaction.
A single tear slips down her emerald eyes.
Warm, she thinks.
A faint trace of grapefruit and vetiver brushes her senses, stirring memories of a simpler time, when she’d been foolish enough to believe the world was hers for the taking.
Now everything was darkness.
“Kairas…”
Barely a whisper. Barely a breath.
Kamal pulls her into a desperate embrace.
Warm tears soak into his chest as she finally breaks.
“Everything will be fine, Devi. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
A vow. To her, and to the man they lost.
**********************************
Days and nights bleed into each other, a slow, colorless tide she can’t care enough to push back against.
So do her visitors, their faces and voices blurring at the edges, as if seen through water.
There’s Aishwarya, who diligently attempts to rouse her mistress, force her to eat, bathe. To rise and finally leave that gloomy room.
Amrita comes most days. She reads aloud the novels they once tore through as girls, her voice drifting around the room like echoes from a life past. The softness in her tone wavers now and then, betraying the worry she tries to bury beneath fake cheerfulness.
The twins follow, Sara’s velvety warmth clashing with Radha’s sharp, commanding tone. They bring gossip, arguments, the bright noise of the world outside. It all washes over Devi without leaving a mark.
Vidya arrives with purpose, her presence brisk, authoritative. She speaks as though sheer will might drag her back from the hollow the young Sharma had fallen into. But even Vidya’s urgency feels distant, muffled.
At times, Ram’s snark and attentive gaze almost manages to cut through the gloom.
And then there is Kamal.
Quiet. Unwavering.
He doesn’t try to rouse her or fill the silence. He simply sits in the armchair beside her bed, offering nothing but his steady presence.
Sometimes, in the thick fog of her mind, she senses him. An anchor she can’t quite grasp, but hasn’t yet lost.
Kamal never knew how long he’d been sitting there. Time in her room didn’t behave like it did outside. The light changed, the shadows shifted, but none of it seemed to touch her.
He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest. Proof she was still here, still breathing, even if her grief had pulled her into a world far darker.
Everyone else filled the room with sound. Amrita’s trembling hope. The twins’ bickering, sharp and alive. Vidya’s clipped insistence.
He admired them for it. Envied them, sometimes. They had something to offer—stories, noise, demands, life. He had only silence.
Words felt too heavy, too clumsy. Promises he didn’t know how to articulate.
He couldn’t bring her brother back. But he would ensure that when she was ready to live again, she would be able to do so on her own terms.
For days he had turned the problem over in his mind.
Tradition offered its usual answers: bind her in marriage to a young heir of the Dozen, or hand her over to some obscure uncle who could claim the right to run the Sharma holdings.
Yet every solution tasted like failure—failure to honor Kairas, and failure to protect her.
She was clever, strong‑willed, raised with a freedom her brother had fiercely protected.
He could not bear her losing that freedom under another man’s authority.
*****************************************
“Let Deviya handle the Sharma affairs.”
“Yes!” Sara jumps in immediately, lighting up at the idea.
Radha picks up the thread, “Devi can absolutely do it!”
“Enough.”
Mrs. Basu silences her daughters with a single, pointed glare before turning back to Mr. Rai.
“This is unprecedented, Kamal. You cannot be serious.”
“Not as unprecedented as you claim, Vidya. The Basus have been led by women for generations now. Quite successfully so, might I add.”
He lifts an eyebrow, fully aware he’s landed a decisive blow in favor of his unorthodox suggestion.
The maharani’s smirk is sharp, appreciative of her ally’s strategic mind.
“Acknowledging the precedent,” Raj cuts in, “one crucial distinction remains: Basu heiresses are prepared from childhood for the duties they inherit.”
“I have known Deviya for years. She is bright, more than capable of learning what she needs to lead her house.”
“Except she doesn't have time to learn,” Mohan clicks his tongue dismissively, “we need a successor now. The Sharma mines are too important to risk collapse while you try to teach a girl the duties of men.”
“I will take responsibility,” Kamal replies, “for the mines, and for Lady Sharma’s education.”
Mohan scoffs.
“While running the Rai businesses?”
“Yes.” Kamal’s voice turns cold, iron-hard. A reminder that the head of the fourth most powerful house in the Dozen is also a disciplined Kshatriya—called the Bear for reasons no one in the room has forgotten.
“I know the Sharma operations well. I advised Kairas for years. I can teach Deviya everything she needs to become as successful as her predecessors, if not more.”
Vidya’s smirk deepens, calculated and deliberate.
“You will have five years to shape her into a worthy head of her house.”
She slices through the men’s objections before they can gather momentum.
“Five years, Kamal. Not a day more. Send her to university, mentor her. She deserves the chance to prove herself.”
Kamal bows respectfully.
He has no doubts Deviya Sharma will rise to the challenge.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
An exploration of the 5 years between the attack on the Himalayan estate and the events in 1900. Part 2 of 2.
See Part 1
***Kamal***
Two weeks slip by.
He doesn’t look up at the door’s soft creak, too absorbed by the reports spread out across the mahogany desk.
He rubs his eyes, the weariness etched deep.
Between steering the Rai family business, managing his sister’s biye‑kotha, checking in on Devi, and keeping the Sharma accounts steady… the days have begun to feel painfully short for Kamal Rai.
“I’m not hungry, thank you.”
Instead of retreating, the intruder steps in. Light, sure, unhesitating.
“I’m glad for you, seeing as I’m not offering.”
His head snaps up.
“Devi.”
She gives him a small smile, fragile at the edges, never quite reaching those beautiful, sorrow‑shadowed eyes.
“Hello, mister Rai.”
He takes her in while she moves around the desk, fingertips grazing the papers as she reviews them.
She’s grown thinner, enough that it shows in the hollows of her face.
A faint frown creases Kamal’s brow.
She’s close enough now that the faint scent of jasmine oil clings to him, soft and familiar…
That scent takes him back a few weeks. To the thin Himalayan air, cold in his lungs, sharp against his skin. He remembers the quiet intensity of that sparring session. The muted scuff of feet on stone, sharp smiles, banter, clever feints.
Cunning, Devi had tricked Kamal first. But her slyness couldn’t beat his decades of experience. He countered, and her balance faltered. He’d caught her instinctively, felt her warm breath against his cheek, pulse fluttering wildly beneath his hands. A whiff of fragrant Jasmine, enticing, so much so that he couldn’t help but lean in to it. Into her.
That memory—Devi’s eyes turning bright, a faint flush to her cheeks—settles uncomfortably deep. It had been far too long since Kamal Rai had felt so disarmed by a simple sparring match.
He draws a steady breath and shakes the unwelcome thoughts away.
“Reports from the mines?”
He nods, attention deliberately returning to the papers.
“Your family business is doing well.”
Devi picks up a nearby stack, scanning the documents with a concentration that stirs something protective in Kamal’s chest.
“Hm. Seems so.”
Then she lifts her gaze to his, direct, authoritative.
“So, you will teach me to manage the Sharma mines.”
“If that’s what you want. We could also contact one of your uncles.”
“No. This my duty. I owe it to my parents, to Kai… I won’t let some long-lost relative ruin everything they built.”
The certainty in that voice, the weight of duty carried so naturally, belongs to someone far older than Miss Devi Sharma. It pains him to have to place such a burden on her shoulders.
But this is how she’ll regain her freedom.
“Then take a seat,” Kamal says at last. “You were given 5 years to learn and I don’t intend to waste another minute. I will come by each evening to review the day’s reports with you. Tomorrow, you will register at Kolkata University. And when your studies allow, we will visit every one of your mines so that you may learn how to manage them properly.”
She nods, already leaning in, close enough that he feels the warmth of her presence.
“See these? They’re from the superintendents. Updates on production, workers—”
“Miss Deviya! Oh, miss, it’s so good to see you up and about!”
Aishwarya bustles in, beaming upon seeing her young mistress up and about, finally! She glances around and sniffs at the dimly lit study as if it personally offends her.
“Come, leave all this gloominess. Let me prepare your favourite. You must be starving, my dear.”
“I’m fine, Aishwarya. I’d rather keep studying these.”
“Nonsense! You need sustenance. Look at you, nothing but bones! Come. I’m not taking a no for an answer.”
The maid gently ushers Devi toward the door, but she pauses, turning back.
Her gaze finds his—and holds.
“One more thing,” she says quietly, “You will train me to fight. I never again want to be so…”
Defenceless.
The unspoken word hangs heavy between them, the wounds left by that cowardly attack still too raw.
He gives a single nod.
A small smile slips free—brief, almost involuntary—before Devi disappears down the corridor.
By the gods, Kamal vows silently, Devi will never be harmed again. And it begins with teaching her how to defend herself.
***********************************
***Devi***
The weeks blur into months, then a year passes, each day carved into the same relentless rhythm. Dawn meant reports — stacks of them, ink smudging her fingers as she traced numbers, shipments, discrepancies. Then the long ride through crowded streets and markets to Kolkata university, where she sat through lectures on business and accounting, absorbing everything with a hunger that surprised even her professors.
By late afternoon, Kamal would appear at the estate, always with that quiet, assessing gaze. He’d go over her lessons, correct her assumptions, push her critical thinking. Then came the physical training — katar drills until her wrists trembled, saber forms until her shoulders burned, unarmed defense until she could barely lift her arms.
Every night she collapsed into bed, muscles screaming, mind mercifully blank. Exhaustion was a balm. It kept her from drifting back to that night. The gunfire, shouting, the moment Kairas fell. The memory still hit like a blow to her gut. She clenched her jaw every time it surfaced, furious at her own helplessness.
And the worst part? They were no closer to answers.
Kamal, Vidya, Raj and the other leaders had chased every lead, but the trail kept dissolving into smoke.
Meanwhile, the Dozen, once unshakeable, had splintered. Old grudges resurfaced. Suspicion seeped into every conversation.
Yes, the attackers had been British, that much was clear. But how had they known about the secret meeting?
Someone from within had betrayed them.
A cowardly rat.
Until that traitor was dragged into the light, the Dozen’s rule over Bengal would remain fractioned, weakened.
“Deviya.”
She smiles at the familiar voice, shifting her satchel higher before stepping off the curb. Kamal rarely came to meet her anywhere but the estate.
“Devi, who is that?”
“Is that your brother? Tell me he’s single.”
Her classmates all but swoon, batting their lashes at him. Devi doesn’t blame them. Kamal is handsome, unmistakably of noble upbringing, yet he carries the quiet danger of a man who’d survived more battles than he spoke of.
Her cheeks warm as she shoos them away.
“He’s my guardian, and he has no interest in silly girls like you.”
They pout dramatically, then dissolve into giggles as they head for their carriages. A few bold ones call out, “Good day, Mister Rai!”
Kamal returns their greetings with an indulgent smile, clearly accustomed to the attention.
“To what do I owe this visit, Mister Rai?” she dramatically swoons for good measure, earning an amused smile from the man. “Surely you’re not here to choose a bride from among my classmates.”
He laughs.
“Hardly. I already have enough furious mothers among the Dozen. I’ve no desire to add more to the list.”
She shakes her head, grinning.
“How can one man be so dutiful and yet such a menace to women?”
“It’s a rare skill,” he smirks. “Now come. I’ve no urgent duties today. We’re riding to Jangalmahal for a surprise inspection. Arhat has already saddled your beast. It’ll be faster on horseback.”
Her grin widens at the promise of open fields. A small adventure. Kamal takes her bags without a word, fastening them to his saddle with practiced ease. She mounts Deimos in one fluid motion, excitement buzzing through her.
They ride in companionable silence until the city falls away behind them.
Once the plains open up, Devi loosens the reins and lets Deimos fly. Wind tears through her hair, the world blurring into color and speed. She laughs, exhilarated. Kamal keeps pace effortlessly, his own smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
But as they slow near the mining settlement, her mind drifts back to her classmates’ teasing.
“Kamal,” she says lightly, though her heart thuds strangely, “why haven’t you married yet?”
His brows shoot up, but he doesn’t look away. Instead, he studies her with a startled, almost vulnerable intensity that sends heat crawling up her neck.
The silence stretches, taut and electric. Devi’s mind races for an escape —a joke, any change of subject— but every thought dissolves under the weight of his gaze. She draws in a breath to retreat, and that’s when he finally speaks.
“You’ve heard the stories about me,” he says quietly. “Most of them are true. I was… reckless in my youth. More interested in pleasure than responsibility. But war has a way of upending everything. I found a reason to fight, then. For our people, for freedom. But we failed, lost too many loved ones. I had to take over the family business, raise Amrita. Those duties consumed everything.”
“And now?” she asks, softer than she meant to.
Their eyes meet—and hold.
Something unspoken flickers between them.
Kamal looks away first, clearing his throat.
“Now,” he says, “I have even more responsibilities. Including guiding a stubborn, unruly young lady as she takes control of her family’s legacy. I have less time than ever for marriage.”
“Well,” she quips, aiming for playful but hearing the faint tremor in her own voice, “pardon me for being such a burden.”
He stops his horse. The teasing vanishes from his face.
“Devi,” his voice is low and earnest, “you are not a burden. You are a brilliant, determined young woman and it is an honor to be entrusted with your training. Don’t ever doubt that.”
Heat rushes to her cheeks —not embarrassment, but something far more dangerous.
“Thank you.” she murmurs.
His smile returns, gentler this time.
“Nonsense. Now come, your workers are waiting.”
***Devi***
Kamal stands a little behind Devi as she engages with the superintendent and workers, a reassuring presence as she focuses on the questions she needs to ask, the numbers to be verified.
While she works, Devi can’t help an occasional glance his way.
Kamal watches on. Not critically. Not impatiently.
Proudly.
The realization makes her stomach flutter in a way she refuses to examine too closely.
She straightens her shoulders, forcing herself to concentrate. This is her responsibility now. Her family’s legacy. She wants him to see she can handle it —not because she needs his approval, but because… well. Because it matters. More than it should.
When she finishes speaking with the workers, Devi catches him still looking at her, something unreadable, raw, in his eyes. Heat creeps up her neck. She turns away quickly, pretending to check her notes.
Stop it, she scolds herself. He’s only assessing your progress. Nothing more.
But the way he looks at her sometimes, usually when he thinks she’s not paying attention, makes her wonder.
***Kamal***
He watches her move through the settlement with effortless command. The quiet authority in her voice, the way she asks the right questions, sets the tone, earns respect without having to demand it. Leadership comes to her as naturally as breathing.
He doesn’t have that gift.
Kamal had forged his own authority through years of hard work and discipline, forcing himself to master the responsibilities he’d inherited.
But Devi… she was born for this.
Pride swells in his chest. And with it, a thread of worry.
Because every day, he sees her growing more into herself, into her power. Into a woman who would soon outshine every expectation placed upon her.
And because she looked at him sometimes, in ways she shouldn’t.
He’s not blind. Kamal knows she fancies him. He sees the flickers of warmth, curiosity, something softer lingering when she looks at him. And every time, his own heart betrays him. A quickened pulse, a tightening in his chest, a foolish hope he makes sure to crush before it can ever take shape.
He cannot—will not— allow himself to feel this. She is his charge. His late friend’s little sister.
So he folds his hands behind his back, schooling his expression into something neutral. Respectable.
Safe.
She turns toward him then, cheeks faintly flushed, eyes bright with accomplishment. And for a moment, he forgets to breathe.
Kamal forces a smile — steady, encouraging, nothing more.
Bury it, he tells himself. She deserves your guidance, not your weakness.
Pairing: Deviya Sharma x Kamal Rai (eventually - slow burn)
Words: 1,500
Content warning: death, depression
Summary: An exploration of the 5 years between the attack on the Himalayan estate and the events in 1900.
Part 1 of 2: the immediate aftermath of Kairas' death.
@rc-catalog
*********************************
Numbness.
A numb, cavernous ache hollows out her chest, as if someone had cleaved her soul clean in two.
Kairas…
The thought shatters before she can finish it.
Dead.
Killed, by the foreigners, the same colonizers who had murdered their parents, years earlier.
The British had taken everything from her.
She digs her nails into her hands so hard she draws blood.
And she had failed to avenge him.
Devi only remembers flashes of last night.
The fire and the wild panic.
Strangers, speaking English, ransacking the estate.
Ram’s hand clamped around her wrist, confidently dragging her through smoke and fire.
Gunshots cracking the air.
Screams swallowed by the roar of flames.
The dozen scattering—faces she’s known her whole life, twisted with fear, shoving past her in their desperation to escape. Amrita sobbing into her palms, shoulders shaking. Vidya’s weight in her arms as she pulled her away from the attackers. Kamal’s strong arms carrying her to safety.
Kairas going back for Rati.
“We have to help her!”
Then…
The world didn’t break with a bang.
It folded.
Everything slowed, thickened, as if time itself had turned viscous.
Kairas jerked.
Too small a motion, too wrong.
No sound reached her at first. Just a pressure, a ripple through reality.
Then the delayed echo, stretched and distorted, like thunder heard from miles away.
Her ears rang. The edges of the world blurred. Her thoughts scattered like startled birds.
He was falling.
No. Being taken.
Her body moved before her mind could catch up, but she was wading through molasses, trapped in a moment that refused to end. To rewind. The truth hit her in fragments, jagged and impossible.
“Kairas!”
Her brother.
Her everything.
Gone.
She reached for him, but the world was still moving in that terrible, syrup‑slow drift, and she couldn’t get to him fast enough.
Strong hands stopping her. Vidya.
“Deviya, we need to go…”
But she could only see her dead brother.
Such a filthy, cowardly attack!
The stables. Deimos.
She remembers mounting him, then, seeing Kairas’ murderer, sprinting off after him.
A fall. Ram’s otherworldly eyes. Her headache abating For a moment.
And now, mere hours later, she sits in a rickety carriage hurtling down the mountain road, blinking against the first pale light of dawn.
Pressed between Kamal’s solid warmth and Amrita’s trembling frame, she barely registers the shaking sobs beside her.
“Devi… gods, this is horrible, I’m so sorry…” Amrita whispers through tears.
Kamal reaches across to steady his sister, rubbing her shoulder with a helpless gentleness.
He looks exhausted, hollowed out. Kairas was like a brother to him.
Had been.
They couldn’t even return to complete the rites, to guide his soul along its path through Samsara. Not yet.
Devi’s fingers curl tighter, a thin ribbon of blood seeping between them. Red—like the stains splashed across Kamal’s white nightclothes. Too bright. Too vivid a reminder.
Kamal feels her gaze and looks down. What he sees nearly breaks him.
She looks so small, curled against his side, a shadow of her former self. Silent, unresponsive, swallowed by a grief too deep to reach.
He lost his closest friend. But she… she lost the last of her family. Her protector. What future could she possibly have now?
He notices the blood seeping through her closed fists.
Oh, Devi…
And gently gathers her hands in his own, wiping them clean with the hem of his shirt. His big, clumsy hands trying to be soft.
A flicker of reaction.
A single tear slips down her emerald eyes.
Warm, she thinks.
A faint trace of grapefruit and vetiver brushes her senses, stirring memories of a simpler time, when she’d been foolish enough to believe the world was hers for the taking.
Now everything was darkness.
“Kairas…”
Barely a whisper. Barely a breath.
Kamal pulls her into a desperate embrace.
Warm tears soak into his chest as she finally breaks.
“Everything will be fine, Devi. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
A vow. To her, and to the man they lost.
**********************************
Days and nights bleed into each other, a slow, colorless tide she can’t care enough to push back against.
So do her visitors, their faces and voices blurring at the edges, as if seen through water.
There’s Aishwarya, who diligently attempts to rouse her mistress, force her to eat, bathe. To rise and finally leave that gloomy room.
Amrita comes most days. She reads aloud the novels they once tore through as girls, her voice drifting around the room like echoes from a life past. The softness in her tone wavers now and then, betraying the worry she tries to bury beneath fake cheerfulness.
The twins follow, Sara’s velvety warmth clashing with Radha’s sharp, commanding tone. They bring gossip, arguments, the bright noise of the world outside. It all washes over Devi without leaving a mark.
Vidya arrives with purpose, her presence brisk, authoritative. She speaks as though sheer will might drag her back from the hollow the young Sharma had fallen into. But even Vidya’s urgency feels distant, muffled.
At times, Ram’s snark and attentive gaze almost manages to cut through the gloom.
And then there is Kamal.
Quiet. Unwavering.
He doesn’t try to rouse her or fill the silence. He simply sits in the armchair beside her bed, offering nothing but his steady presence.
Sometimes, in the thick fog of her mind, she senses him. An anchor she can’t quite grasp, but hasn’t yet lost.
Kamal never knew how long he’d been sitting there. Time in her room didn’t behave like it did outside; it stretched, thinned, folded in on itself. The light changed, the shadows shifted, but none of it seemed to touch her.
He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest. Proof she was still here, still breathing, even if her grief had pulled her into a world far darker.
Everyone else filled the room with sound. Amrita’s trembling hope. The twins’ bickering, sharp and alive. Vidya’s clipped insistence.
He admired them for it. Envied them, sometimes. They had something to offer—stories, noise, demands, life. He had only silence.
Words felt too heavy, too clumsy. Promises he didn’t know how to articulate.
He couldn’t bring her brother back. But he would ensure that when she was ready to live again, she would be able to do so on her own terms.
For days he had turned the problem over in his mind.
Tradition offered its usual answers: bind her in marriage to a young heir of the Dozen, or hand her over to some obscure uncle who could claim the right to run the Sharma holdings.
Yet every solution tasted like failure—failure to honor Kairas, and failure to protect her.
She was clever, strong‑willed, raised with a freedom her brother had fiercely protected.
He could not bear her losing that freedom under another man’s authority.
*****************************************
“Let Deviya handle the Sharma affairs.”
“Yes!” Sara jumps in immediately, lighting up at the idea.
Radha picks up the thread, “Devi can absolutely do it!”
“Enough.”
Mrs. Basu silences her daughters with a single, pointed glare before turning back to Mr. Rai.
“This is unprecedented, Kamal. You cannot be serious.”
“Not as unprecedented as you claim, Vidya. The Basus have been led by women for generations now. Quite successfully so, might I add.”
He lifts an eyebrow, fully aware he’s landed a decisive blow in favor of his unorthodox suggestion.
The maharani’s smirk is sharp, appreciative of her ally’s strategic mind.
“Acknowledging the precedent,” Raj cuts in, “one crucial distinction remains: Basu heiresses are prepared from childhood for the duties they inherit.”
“I have known Deviya for years. She is bright, more than capable of learning what she needs to lead her house.”
“Except she doesn't have time to learn,” Mohan clicks his tongue dismissively, “we need a successor now. The Sharma mines are too important to risk collapse while you try to teach a girl the duties of men.”
“I will take responsibility,” Kamal replies, “for the mines, and for Lady Sharma’s education.”
Mohan scoffs.
“While running the Rai businesses?”
“Yes.” Kamal’s voice turns cold, iron-hard. A reminder that the head of the fourth most powerful house in the Dozen is also a disciplined Kshatriya—called the Bear for reasons no one in the room has forgotten.
“I know the Sharma operations well. I advised Kairas for years. I can teach Deviya everything she needs to become as successful as her predecessors, if not more.”
Vidya’s smirk deepens, calculated and deliberate.
“You will have five years to shape her into a worthy head of her house.”
She slices through the men’s objections before they can gather momentum.
“Five years, Kamal. Not a day more. Send her to university, mentor her. She deserves the chance to prove herself.”
Kamal bows respectfully.
He has no doubts Deviya Sharma will rise to the challenge.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Just a little expansion of Doran and Devi's first meeting. In this version she is romantically involved with Kamal, and chose to wear his gift at the Basu's estate. Not sure if I'll expand on this or keep as a one-off...
“Damn it,” Devi mutters, scanning the dim corridor with mounting frustration. She could’ve sworn the spy bolted this way. Now there’s nothing. No footsteps, no shadows, not even a whisper of movement.
She stops and takes in her surroundings.
Huh.
She’s never been in this wing of the sprawling Basu residence before. This hallways feel colder, stripped of the familiar gilt and ornament. A glint on a nearby table pulls her attention. A dagger. Delicately carved, unmistakably familiar.
Strange, it looks just like the ones worn by Kamal. And Kairas, when he was still…
Her throat tightens.
She lifts the weapon, fingers brushing the intricate metalwork. A vivid purple sapphire gleams from the hilt.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
A low, velvety voice curls through the silence behind her.
Devi whirls, unsheathing the weapon in one fluid motion. She finds herself craning her neck up at the towering man blocking her path. His features are all sharp edges. A jagged scar slashes through a gold-flecked amber eye. His mouth curves into a slow, predatory smirk that chills her skin. He is strikingly handsome, undeniably so, but there’s something in the way he watches her, a quiet, leonine menace that unsettles her.
“I asked you a question.”
The mocking lilt snaps her back into the moment.
The man extends a hand, expectant. It takes her a beat to realize he’s looking at the weapon still clutched in her grip, its point angled toward his chest.
“This dagger. Who gave it to you?”
His eyes narrow.
“I’m the one asking questions, Miss. You should know better than to lay hands on someone else’s property.”
“Except this is forged from my mines’ finest metals. And until a moment ago, I believed only two of its kind had ever been made.”
Recognition flickers in his gaze.
“Kairas’ little sister… of course. I see it now. The fire. Pride. And still—”
Doran’s smirk deepens as his gaze sweeps over Lady Sharma’s elegant curves, unhurried and unapologetic.
She straightens at once, eyes darkening in warning.
A reaction that only sharpens his interest.
“Yes, and the head of the Sharma family,” she retorts coolly. “You’d do well to remember.”
“Says the Lady wandering alone in the men’s wing, holding another’s dagger,” his brow lifts, “some might call that… compromising.”
“I was looking for someone. A servant who was eavesdropping on our conversation.”
Her gaze flicks around the corridor once more, sharp and searching, before settling back onto him. Falcon‑like.
She reluctantly returns the dagger to his outstretched hand, then folds her arms, expression cool and imperious.
“And who might you be, sir?”
Yes, he smirks, she is unmistakably Kairas’ kin.
“Doran Basu.”
Her brows rise. The Executioner. Suddenly the stories make sense.
A flicker of gold and green draws his eye. A golden leopard adorns Lady Sharma’s dainty neck, unmistakable in its craftsmanship.
The famed Rai Heirloom itself.
“Interesting…” he murmurs, eyes narrowing.
So, Kamal had fallen for the younger Sharma—his best friend’s little sister. The very one Kairas had entrusted him to protect.
Scandalous, deliciously so.
His return to society was going to be far more entertaining than he’d expected.
A slow, predatory smile unfurls across Doran’s mouth, sharp enough that Devi feels it like a blade grazing her skin.
Her hand lifts toward the necklace before she stops herself, fingers curling back as if burned.
She’d known wearing Kamal’s gift in public was a reckless choice. Maybe, deep down, she’d wanted the others to see. To know.
A small act of defiance. Proof that though she may have to wed the Governor General for the good of the Dozen, of her homeland, her heart belonged to another.
Until now, no one had spared it a second glance.
Except Doran.
And her beloved, of course.
Kamal's gaze finds the delicate piece at her throat the moment she steps into the crowded reception hall. The shift in his expression is small, private, almost hidden, but the warmth in it is unmistakable. It’s a smile meant only for her, threaded with pride and something softer, something he doesn’t show the world. The quiet intimacy of it steals her breath.
That is, before he catches sight of the towering figure following her into the room.
“Doran!”
The two men stride toward each other and collide in a warm, exuberant embrace.
“I see you’ve been hiding in beautiful palaces instead of riding the wind with a saber in hand,” Doran teases and squeezes him tighter, attempting to lift him off the ground, “and you clearly haven’t missed a single meal, you spoiled old cat.”
Kamal’s booming laughter rolls through the hall.
“You’ve just forgotten what real food tastes like after living in the wilderness too long.”
With a sudden burst of strength, he breaks free of Doran’s grip, grabs him, and hoists him clean off the floor. “Even my leg weighs more than you!”
“But my leg is stronger than your whole body!” Doran fires back, laughing.
Devi, Vidya, Saraswati and Radha watch on, stunned by the easy intimacy between the two men. It’s as if the rest of the guests have vanished, the pair lost in their own rowdy orbit, wrestling and laughing as though no time had passed at all.
A faint crease touches Devi’s brow.
Kamal had spoken of Doran often these past weeks, energized by the hope his old friend might finally help him close in on the culprits behind the brazen attack five years ago. She knows he, Doran, and Kairas had once been inseparable — brothers forged by war. The Executioner, the Bear, and the Falcon: legends who had rallied the Dozen and struck fear into the enemy’s hearts.
Yet…
The memory of Doran’s searing, predatory gaze clings to her. His too‑swift recognition of the pendant at her throat. The unsettling realization that the Executioner knew her secret.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
pixelskylines
areudirty
turnnoffyourmind
prguitarman
discoholicmusic
