The atmosphere in Mahishmati’s throne room was tense.

Ministers and generals stood around a large map that was laid out on the council table. They were discussing troop movements and war strategies. For decades, the kingdom of Sinhala had been one of Mahishmati’s greatest rivals. Border disputes, failed negotiations and countless war treaties, yet peace between them remained a distant dream. The conflict had remained dormant for a few years but recently tensions near the borders have risen again.

At the head of the court sat Sivagami, her expression unreadable as she listened to the latest reports. Beside her sat Bijjaladeva, looking slightly disinterested in the political matters and nursing a glass of wine. Bhallaladeva stood beside him with an expression mirroring his father's.

A few feet away from them, near the steps leading to the throne, Amarendra Baahubali listened carefully, arms folded across his chest. His eyes followed every movement in the hall, noticing every detail discussed by the ministers.

“Their soldiers on the eastern border retreated last night,” said one general.

“Looks like they did not handle the ambush well then…” Bhallaladeva said, his voice laced with usual arrogance. “Perhaps,” the elder prince continued, “Sinhala has finally realised marching against Mahishmati is an excellent way to lose soldiers.”

Several nobles chuckled at that.

Before anyone could respond, the massive doors to the throne room swung open. The sound echoing through the chamber.

Every conversation in the room died instantly.

A palace guard hurried inside, following right behind him was a messenger wearing unfamiliar royal colours.

The messenger came to halt a few feet before the steps leading to Sivagami’s throne. He dropped to one knee.

Murmurs spread through the court as they noticed the symbol embroidered on his cloak, a golden lion upon a crimson field – Sinhala.

“Your Majesty.” He lowered his head in a bow.

Sivagami signalled him to get up.

“I bear a message from His Majesty, King Simhavarma of Sinhala.”

Silence settled over the court, even the ministers stopped whispering.

Sivagami’s gaze sharpened, “Speak.” She ordered.

The messenger came forward and presented the scroll to a servant, who passed it to the Queen Mother.

The royal seal remained unbroken.

Sivagami devi broke the seal and opened the letter -

‘To Her Majesty Sivagami Devi and the Royal Court of Mahishmati.

Namaskar.

For many years, Mahishmati and Sinhala stood divided by a conflict. Countless lives have been lost to the hostility bringing burden upon both the kingdoms

Though the past cannot be altered, the future remains ours to shape.

Therefore, I am proposing a lasting peace between our kingdoms, not through swords and battles but through an alliance and mutual trust.

I offer the hand of my daughter, Princess Vasumati of Sinhala in marriage to Prince Amarendra Baahubali.

Princess Vasumati has been raised with values of duty, compassion and devotion to her people. With this union I hope, the bonds forged will finally bring peace upon our kingdoms.

Enclosed with this letter is the portrait of the Princess, entrusted to my messenger, that the royal family can acquaint themselves with.

May wisdom guide our decisions and peace be blessed upon both of us.

King Simhavarma,

Ruler of Sinhala.’

Sivagami read the letter silently while every single person in the court held their breaths, anticipating the contents of it.

Sivagami took in a sharp breath as she finished reading it. 

“What is it Sivagami? What's in it” Bijjaladeva asked, trying to peek into the letter. 

Sivagami closed the scroll and took another deep breath, her gaze sharp as always, “King Simhavarma wishes for an alliance with our kingdom,” 

The nobles started murmuring, “He offers his daughter’s hand in marriage with… our future King, Baahubali.”

All the eyes in the court turned towards him. There were also a few gasps.

Amarendra’s eyes snapped towards his mother, eyebrows settling in a deep frown. 

For a heartbeat, nobody moved.

Then voices rose, some shocked, some outraged and some intrigued.

Even Bhallaladeva seemed intrigued.

Amid the chaos, Amarendra's eyes remained on the scroll in his mother's hands.

Sivagami Devi beckoned the messenger to hand over the portrait of the Princess.

“You may leave,” she told the messenger, “We will send our response as soon as possible.” she said.

The messenger nodded hesitantly before leaving the court.

“Queen Mother–” one of the ministers started.

Sivagami's gaze silenced him before he could continue any further, “We shall reconvene tomorrow.”

Her tone left no room for argument. 

Everyone filed out, reluctantly. Only Amarendra, Bhallaladeva and Bijjaladeva remained.

“Alliance?” Bijjaladeva scoffs. “After years of damage, they expect an alliance. Sivagami if you–” He was cut off when Bhallaladeva placed his hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“It’s not a bad offer…” Sivagami says.

“Not bad? Sinhala has challenged Mahishmati for years.”

“And what has that brought to either kingdom?” Sivagami replied. “Fallen soldiers, empty victories…”

Silence followed.

Her gaze settled on Amarendra.

“Baahu?” She asked him.

“If… it will end the conflict which has burdened two generations, then I am ready to fulfill my duty.” Baahubali spoke.

Sivagami carefully untied the silk ribbon and unfurled the portrait.

The young woman in the painting was…ordinary.

Not plain but not something very exceptional either, there were no extravagant jewels adorning her, no elaborate, heavy silks. She wore her royal attire with quiet elegance, draped in the royal sunset hues, her posture straight, hands folded neatly in her lap.

Her features were delicate and pleasant. She did not possess the kind of breathtaking beauty poets would write about.

Sivagami had seen princesses whose beauty announced itself the moment one looked upon them.

Princess Vasumati was not one of them yet her gaze lingered on the portrait longer than she usually would. There was no trace of arrogance in her eyes, often found in royalty. No carefully painted sweetness or restless ambition. Very often painters would alter features but this one looked like the painter has captured her calm elegance with unsettling honesty.

“So…” Bhallaladeva broke the silence, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “The daughter of our greatest rival is to become the Queen of Mahishmati.”

Night has descended upon Mahishmati.

The grandeur of the palace stood draped in silver moonlight. Rows of oil lamps flickered along the sandstone corridors. The bustle that filled the palace during daytime long since faded, replaced by silence. Only guards remained vigilant.

A cool breeze wandered through the open archways, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the royal gardens.

It was an hour meant for rest yet not everyone in the palace was asleep.

Amarendra Baahubali stood alone beneath one of the palace archways, overlooking the moonlit corridor. His thoughts drifted from the walls of Mahishmati – to the Princess of the rival kingdom.

“So,” came a familiar voice “sleep has eluded you as well.”

He turned around to find Kattappa approaching him.

A faint smile crossed Amarendra's face.

“Does this have something to do with a certain treaty?” Kattappa asks.

“Is there anything you don't know, Mama?” replied Baahubali

“What do you think?”

“I think it would be good for the kingdom…” Amarendra started.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, What do you think?” Kattappa said.

“I – I don't know…”

“You're thinking as Mahishmati’s future King.” Kattappa said quietly.

“Is that not what is expected of me?”

“Perhaps, for tonight think like a man who is about to be married.”

Amarendra was silent.

“You have lived your entire life within these walls and you will continue to live here. But, think about her,” Kattappa continued “She will have to leave everything she's ever known. Her home, her people, her life…”

Amarendra lowered his eyes, he had not thought of it that way.

The moon hung high above Sinhala, bathing the palace in a soft silver glow.

Princess Vasumati stood alone on the balcony of her room, overlooking the sea. The waves rose and fell in a steady rhythm, carrying the cool night breeze. This place has always brought her comfort but tonight she did not find the comfort she sought.

Her fingers rested lightly on the stone carved railing, as she gazed at the endless stretch of dark water.

Somewhere beyond the horizon lay – Mahishmati, a kingdom whose name she only heard through tales of war and diplomacy.

A kingdom she never imagined as her potential home.

Her father's words echoed in her mind – ‘This marriage is important… think about it, think about how many families would be spared from losing their son in case of a war.’

She understood.

She always understood.

A Princess was raised for the people, to place duty over desire.

She wondered what kind of a man Amarendra Baahubali truly is. She has heard about him, when Mahishmati won against Kalakeya. She heard that he was to be the future King for the way he handled his people in the battlefield, the way he fought valiantly.

He is a beloved warrior.

But will he be a good husband?

She sighed.

“I hope…” she whispered into the night.

Three days later, the Palace gates of Sinhala opened to welcome a royal procession from Mahishmati.

Word spread quickly through the Palace, all the royals, nobles and ministers assembled as the messenger, accompanied by a small escort of soldiers carrying ornate teakwood chests entered the hall.

The messenger bowed before KIng Simhavarma.

“Your Majesty.”

He produced a scroll bearing the royal insignia of Mahishmati.

As his eyes moved across the scroll, a smile, small but unmistakable appeared on his face.

“The Queen Mother of Mahishmati accepts the proposal.” he announces as soon as he is done reading the letter.

Relief swept through the court.

The messenger steps aside, “Her majesty also sends these gifts for Princess Vasumati, as a token of goodwill between our kingdoms.”

At his signal, the attendants opened the chests.

The hall shimmered with gold.

Necklaces of finely worked gold set with rubies, emeralds and diamonds lay in velvet cases. Delicate bangles, waist belts, earrings and anklets caught the morning light. Beside them in other trunks lay neatly folded lengths of exquisite silk in deep crimson, royal blue, molten gold and emerald green, each woven with intricate designs.

The gifts were magnificent. 

They were a declaration that Mahishmati had accepted Princess Vasumati as their future queen.

From the upper balcony overlooking the hall, Vasumati watched as one chest after another was opened before the court. Each gift was chosen carefully to befit a queen.

Her ladies-in-waiting whispered excitedly behind her.

“They’re exquisite” “Look at the necklaces…” “My,my, aren't they generous?”

Vasumati heard them, their voices distant as the weight of the proposal became real. Until now the marriage was just an idea on a letter but now it had a real weight. 

An odd tightness filled her chest. Soon, those jewels would belong to her, the silks would replace the comfort of the silks she grew up wearing, soon, the sea would no longer wake her up.

She lowered her eyes, drawing a slow careful breath.

‘Don’t cry, not now. Not here.’ she told herself.

Not where the entire kingdom celebrated what her heart was still trying to accept.

Sinhala was decorated in marigolds, jasmines and various kinds of flowers on the occasion of their Princess’ wedding. 

The royal family of Mahishmati received a grand welcome upon their arrival last evening and were currently residing in the guest wing of the Palace. Every courtesy befitting a royal guest had been extended to them, from lavish feasts to ceremonial escorts.

Servants and maids hurried through the palace carrying trays of flowers, sacred offerings and ceremonial ornaments. Priests made their final preparations at the wedding mandap, erected in the palace courtyard, where soon the sacred fire would witness the union of two kingdoms.

Throughout the city, people poured into the streets, some had come to catch a glimpse of the legendary prince and some had come to see their princess one last time.

Children ran around the palace corridors clutching handfuls of flowers while the elders spoke quietly among themselves.

By the time the auspicious hour arrived, the courtyard was filled with nobles, ministers and dignitaries from both kingdoms. The wedding mandap stood at the centre, its carved pillars draped in garlands of marigolds, sacred lamps flickered around the altar. 

Amarendra sat in front of the sacred fire, participating in the pre-wedding rituals with priests chanting mantras and guiding him. The royal family of Mahishmati occupied one side of the mandap and opposite to them sat the royal family of Sinhala.

The air was filled with the sound of trumpets and shehnais, their melodies rising above the murmurs of the gathered guests.

The chief priest stepped forward.

“Bring the bride.”

A hush fell over the courtyard.

Moments later, all the eyes turned towards the entrance as Vasumati arrived, accompanied by her mother and the ladies of her family.

Clad in a deep red saree woven with gold threads and adorned in heirloom jewellery, she walked forward with measured grace, her head slightly bowed.

King Simhavarma watched with quiet pride though the sadness in his eyes could not be concealed.

A silk curtain was held between the bride and groom, concealing them from one another as the priests recited the mantras leading to the muhurtham. The chanting grew louder and at the exact auspicious time, the priest instructed them to place jeelakara bellam on each other’s head. 

The curtain lowered.

Amarendra and Vasumati looked at each other for the first time, not as names in a royal letter or figures in a portrait but as a husband and wife in making.

Soon after, Amarendra accepted the sacred mangalsutra from the priest, with steady hands he tied it around Vasumati’s neck as the courtyard erupted with the sounds of drums and joyous blessings.

Flower petals rained down upon the couple.

An attendant stepped forward carrying a tray with two fragrant garlands woven with lotuses and jasmine.

Amarendra accepted the first garland placing it gently around Vasumati’s neck. She lowered her head ever so slightly in acceptance. Vasumati took the other garland and lifted it, Baahubali bowed his head slightly and she placed it around his shoulders.

The rituals continued, together they took the seven sacred steps around the holy fire. 

As the final mantra echoed across the mandap, the priest raised his hands in blessing, “The marriage is complete.”

A roar of celebration swept through the palace.

The joyous sounds of celebration gave way to something solemn, it was time.

The royal chariot of Mahishmati stood ready before the palace gates.

Vasumati turned to her family, and King Simhavarma stepped forward. His gaze rested upon his daughter, the little girl he once held in his arms stood before ready to be the queen of another kingdom.

“May your path be blessed, my child” he raised a hand and gently rested it on her head “And remember… Sinhala will always be your home.”

For the first time that day, Vasumati’s resolve broke. She embraced her father with silent tears streaming down her face.

“Stand beside your husband through triumph and hardship,” he told her.

“I will make you proud, father.” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Nearby, her mother drew her into a quiet embrace, brushing away a tear that escaped despite Vasumati’s effort to hold it back.

“Take care of yourself,” her mother whispered, placing a kiss on her forehead. “If anything ever goes wrong… you’re always welcome to come back here.”

Vasumati nodded.

One by one she bid farewell to all her relatives and turned towards the entrance where the chariot waited.

Amarendra waited several steps away, he did not interrupt giving her all the time she needed.

When Vasumati approached him, he offered a small respectful nod “Whenever you are ready.”

She nodded.

He offered his hand, she hesitated a little before placing her hand in his. Together they walked to the waiting chariot.

As it moved, the people of Sinhala showered their princess with flower petals and blessings.

Vasumati looked back one last time, watching her home disappear.

By the time the royal procession reached Mahishmati, the kingdom gathered to welcome their new princess.

An attendant stepped forward carrying a silver thali adorned with a little oil lamp. 

Sivagami performed the welcoming aarti before Vasumati, blessing the new bride before applying a small streak of kumkum on her forehead.

“Welcome to Mahishmati.” She said with quiet dignity. “May your arrival bring prosperity to the kingdom.”

Vasumati bowed respectfully, crossing the palace threshold. Amarendra's hand hovering behind her, quietly guiding her.

It was well past midnight by the time the palace corridors had finally fallen silent. The musicians retired and the last of the servants withdrew from the royal chambers.

Vasumati was whisked away from Amarendra earlier by her new lady-in-waiting to get ready for their first night.

Baahubali gently pushed open the door to their chamber, the room was illuminated by the soft glow of the lamps.

His gaze instinctively searched for Vasumati. She sat on the low couch beside the open balcony. He noticed she has changed out of her bridal attire and into a lighter yellow saree with minimal jewellery.

He moved closer, “...Princess?”

No response.

Only then did he notice her head resting lightly against the carved pillar.

She had fallen asleep.

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

The day had demanded more of her than anyone else.

She had left her home, and arrived at a place full of strangers.

He tried to gently nudge her awake to tell her to sleep on the bed, but she mumbled something incoherent and went back to sleep. She would wake up with neck pain if he just let her sleep that way.

Quietly, so as to not wake her, he slipped one arm under her and the other under her knees, carrying her in his arms and walked towards the bed.

He gently placed her on the bed and pulled a woollen blanket over her, tucking her in.

For a moment he simply stood there, she looked peaceful.

He extinguished all the lamps in the room except one and settled onto the far end of the bed. He thought to formally introduce himself to her but tonight he would let his queen sleep.

Vasumati stirred in her sleep as faint warmth brushed against her face, her mind still clouded from sleep.

For a few moments nothing made sense.

The carved ceiling was unfamiliar.

The faint sandalwood smell lingering in the air was unfamiliar.

Even the silence felt different.

Then she remembered,

Mahishmati.

Her wedding.

Groaning internally as she realized she fell asleep on their first night.

She opened her eyes, becoming aware of the light spilling through the balcony. Dawn had only just broken, painting the room in a golden hue.

A quiet rustle drew her attention.

Across the room, Amarendra stood in front of a polished bronze mirror.

He was glowing in the early morning sunlight.

It took her a couple of seconds to properly focus on him. He was dressed in just a simple white dhoti.

Her throat went dry as she realized his upper body was bare, his hair dripping wet – like he was fresh out of a bath.

He hadn't noticed she was awake.

Without the grandeur of ceremonies, without the crown and ornaments from the previous day, for the first time she truly looked at him. He looked simpler this way.

She found herself staring, perhaps longer than necessary.

As though sensing her gaze, Amarendra glanced towards the bed.

Their eyes met.

Neither moved, then the corner of his mouth lifted into a faint smile.

“Good morning.” he said.

Vasumati blinked, suddenly realising she was caught staring.

She gulped, her cheeks warming up.

“I– forgive me, I didn't mean to stare…” she mumbled, looking away.

He chuckled lightly, “There is nothing to forgive.” he replied, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“I seem to have fallen asleep” she hesitated “before we had the chance to speak.”

A gentle smile appeared on his face.

“I would've been surprised if you managed to stay awake,”

Her shoulders relaxed.

“I hope I did not cause you any inconvenience.” Vasumati said.

“Oh no– not at all.”

A brief silence settled between them.

“If you need anything, your attendants will help you.” He said. “And if they cannot… you may ask me.”

He offered her a reassuring smile.

The days that followed settled into a quiet rhythm.

Mahishmati was vast, its customs unfamiliar, the palace corridors were impossible to navigate without an attendant.

Vasumati tried, she really tried to adjust to that environment. But it was impossible to adapt when the people around her were not easy to mingle with.

She hadn't even had the chance to properly speak with her new family as they were busy with ‘matters that did not concern her’. The other noblewomen in the palace looked at her with judgement in their eyes whenever she did something different.

At least the elderly women tried to disguise it with fake hospitality but that wasn't the case with the young women, who seemed to have no work to do other than gossip all the time. They looked at her as though she had taken something that rightfully belonged to them.

Amarendra tried too.

Some mornings they shared breakfast before he was summoned to the council.

Other evenings they would begin a conversation only for a messenger to arrive with reports from the borders or petitions that required his judgement.

Their conversations barely lasted a few minutes, yet those few minutes became something Vasumati would look forward to.

He learned that she preferred spending her evening in the western balcony where she would watch the sun set, the breeze reminded her of home.

A few days later, the royal family gathered at the ancient Shiva temple for their monthly pooja.

The temple stood atop a hill overlooking the kingdom. Bells echoed through the air as priests chanted mantras before the towering Shivalingam, adorned with mango leaves, flowers and sacred ash.

Sivagami stood at the head of the royal family, followed by Bhallaladeva, Baahubali and Vasumati.

Though many of the rituals resembled those performed in Sinhala, there were subtle differences.

Vasumati watched carefully, determined to not make any mistake.

The chief priest turned to the family after completing the abhishekam. He was still chanting the mantras, beckoning one of the ladies to come forward to hold a silver platter with offerings for Mahadev.

Vasumati stepped forward, accepting the platter. Before she could take another step forward, an elderly woman moved gracefully into her path.

“Oh, princess.” She said with a pleasant smile.

“I'll handle it, you're not from around here, you wouldn't know.” Her tone remained perfectly courteous. She lifted the platter from Vasumati's hands.

For a heartbeat, she simply stood there.

She had meant no disrespect, she only wished to learn. Slowly, she folded her hands before stepping away.

The prayers continued. No one commented, everything continued as though nothing unusual happened.

Vasumati felt a little hurt to be dismissed like that but was also a little relieved that no one had really seen the embarrassing moment.

Little did she know Amarendra had seen the entire exchange, his eyes not leaving her. He was a little offended.

He did not like the way his wife was excluded like that.

His eyes did not leave her, her expression composed as always. Only the slight tightening of her fingers betrayed what she refused to show.

When the prayers ended, the nobles drifted into conversation.

Amarendra took a step toward her.

“Vasumati–”

“My Prince!” a minister intercepted with a scroll already in hand. “You need to see this!”

Amarendra glanced apologetically toward his wife.

By the time he was free, she had quietly disappeared.

A few days after the temple incident, Queen Mother Sivagami hosted a grand banquet in honour of the newly wedded couple.

The Great Hall glittered in the warm glow of oil lamps. Long tables overflowed with delicacies, while musicians filled the air with melodies of veenas and flutes. Courtiers, ministers and nobles from every corner of Mahishmati gathered in the royal house.

Sivagami presided over the gathering, Bijjaladeva beside her, Bhallaladeva and Baahubali to her right.

Vasumati stood right beside her husband.

Every eye seemed to find her.

Some offered courteous smiles, others merely observed.

She returned every greeting with the grace expected of a princess, though she could not shake the feeling of being measured.

The banquet was arranged for them, for her.

Yet she had never felt more like a stranger.

A middle aged woman had approached Sivagami, who introduced her to Vasumati; it turns out she is the wife of an administrator of one of Mahishmati's biggest provinces.

“This is Princess Vasumati of Sinhala.” Sivagami had introduced her to that woman.

“Namaste.” Vasumati greeted her with joined hands, offering a polite smile.

The woman nodded and then turned to Sivagami.

“It's a fine alliance, Your Majesty.” The woman continued “though I must admit, I imagined my daughter standing in the princess' place… but politics come first I guess.”

Vasumati's smile faltered, she was taken aback by how openly the woman had said that right in her face.

“Anyways, you have my congratulations princess.”

She had been reminded that if circumstances were different even in the slightest, someone else would've occupied her place.

As the banquet progressed, servants moved gracefully, refilling goblets and presenting elaborate dishes.

A servant struck a ceremonial gong.

Bhallaladeva rose from his seat, a golden goblet in hand.

“My Lords, ladies…”he began, his voice carrying across the hall.

“It has been many years since Mahishmati has witnessed a celebration of such significance.”

He turned towards Amarendra and Vasumati.

“My beloved brother has taken a bride.”

A round of applause echoed through the hall.

“But this union is more than a marriage, it is the end of decades of bloodshed.” He raised his goblet. “To Princess Vasumati… whose hand accomplished what countless warriors and diplomats could not. Through this alliance she has brought peace between the two realms.”

“To peace.”

“To peace!” the court echoes, raising their goblets.

It was, by every measure, a gracious toast.

As Vasumati acknowledged the gathering with a smile, a familiar ache settled in her chest.

Not one person this evening had seen her as a woman.

Only a bridge between two kingdoms.

A treaty wrapped in silk and gold.

The applause gradually gave way to conversations once more. Unable to bear another polite smile or curious glance, Vasumati excused herself from the gathering. She was exhausted from carrying the emotional weight of the evening.

The palace corridors beyond the great hall were blissfully quiet, the melodies of the musicians just a faint echo.

She paused beneath an open archway, drawing a slow breath. The cool night breeze did little to ease the tightness in her chest.

Just then she heard hushed whispers drifting from the corner.

She didn't mean to eavesdrop but curiosity got the best of her and she moved a little closer, making sure the shadows concealed her.

“...I'm telling you, the prince has always been like that.”

A second maid laughed softly.

“One pretty face after another, I've lost count.”

“What do you expect? He's handsome, powerful… women practically throw themselves at him.”

Vasumati froze.

“Well, this one seems to be a little more stable, it's been… what? – almost four months now?”

One of them scoffed, “Stable? It won't be long before another one comes by.”

“The Queen Mother can arrange whatever she wishes,” another voice chimed in “but that has never stopped him before.”

“With a new presence around, he ought to be careful with his ‘affairs’ now.”

They burst into quiet laughter.

The voices drifted away, their laughter fading into the corridor.

Vasumati remained rooted to the spot.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of her pallu.

She moved away from the shadows towards a raised structure near the railing, taking a seat on it.

Of course.

A marriage forged for politics can never harbour affection. He had accepted it because duty demanded it.

If there is someone his heart has already chosen…

She lowered her gaze.

Perhaps, this is the way of Kings.

Men in power rarely belonged to a single woman. She had no right to resent him for fulfilling his duty. Or so she thought.

The thought sat heavy in her head. She – without even realising – had hoped theirs would be something more than an alliance.

Vasumati didn't know how long she had been sitting under the stars, contemplating every life decision. She was too busy thinking if she should've been more selfish and chose herself over her people, that she didn't hear footsteps nearing her.

“Vasumati?”

She snapped out of her daze when she heard his familiar voice calling out her name.

She turned to see Amarendra approaching her.

Baahubali was relieved to see her, he had been searching for almost an hour now. He noticed her slipping out of the hall and wanted to go after her but decided against it thinking she just needed some air and would be back in a few minutes. But he got worried as time passed and she did not come back.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, concern lacing his voice. “I was so worried when you didn't come back…”

“I just… I just needed some space.” She managed to voice out.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” 

“Hey… you can tell me,” Baahubali said, moving closer to stand in front of her.

Her eyes started welling up, involuntarily.

“I miss home…” she said, her voice cracking a little. “I miss my parents…”, A lone tear escaped her eye, she wiped it away quickly. “Anyways, it doesn’t matter. Come on, let’s go inside. The Queen Mother must be looking for you.” She sniffled, getting up from where she was sitting. 

As soon as took a couple of steps forward, Amarendra’s hand clasped around her wrist.

She stopped in her tracks, his hold wasn’t tight, just firm enough to stop her.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke.

“You are not fine.”

She looked at his hand holding hers and then at him.

“I am.”

“Anyone who usually says ‘I'm fine’ is not really fine.”

“Well, I am not anyone and I am fine.”

“Please, you don’t have to hide, not when I'm here.”

Amarendra drew a quiet breath.

“Tell me.” he said, sitting down and tugging her closer to sit beside him.

“I… it just feels like – I don't belong here.” she confessed, her composure wavering. “Like I'm an intruder.”

“I keep trying, trying to learn your ways – to adapt to your lifestyle, but it does not seem to be working. Before coming here I was so determined to be the ideal princess but it's so hard when everyone keeps looking at me like I'm just a ‘peace treaty’, the women here treat me like I'm not fit to do anything. They don’t even give me a chance to learn.” she said, quietly breaking down. Amarendra looked at her, a wave of guilt washing over him.

“They keep questioning my loyalty behind my back. Some of them straight up interrogate me like I've committed a crime. I know this marriage only happened for politics, but I just thought we could be something more than that, you know? And then these maids were talking about…you know what – nevermind, I don't want to burden you with my petty problems.”

He frowned.

“Wait – tell me, what did you hear?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter, you have more important things to concern yourself with.”

“I do.” he answered without hesitation. “My wife is one of them.”

“I brought you here,” he said softly, “You left your home. The least I can do is to ensure you are treated with the respect you deserve.”

She scoffed slightly, “Respect?”

She looked away, “...what about the others?”

His frown deepened.

“Others?”

“The other women – I heard them speaking. The ones you…loved before.” she said quietly.

He blinked, his eyes full of confusion.

“The one you continue to meet?” 

For a moment, he simply looked at her.

“Who told you that?” he asked slowly.

“The maids – they were talking about the prince seeing someone.” she said, her head lowered.

He exhaled, almost in disbelief.

“You do realize… I have a brother, who is also a prince?”

Her eyes snapped to him.

“What?” she whispered, then closed her eyes as she realized.

Vasumati covered her face for a brief moment.

“I… I have made a complete fool of myself, haven’t I?”

“You have not…”

She looked at him.

After a moment, Amarendra spoke again.

“There is something I would like for you to know.”

She lifted her eyes.

“I agreed to this marriage because it was my duty.” Her heart sank a little, he continued before she could look away. “But that doesn’t mean duty alone is going to decide what will happen after the wedding.”

“We were strangers when we stood in front of the sacred fire, we need not remain strangers.” His voice was calm, soothing almost.

He offered her a small smile. “I cannot promise you it will become easy overnight, there will be people who will question you, those who refuse to see beyond the kingdom you were born into, but you will not face them alone. You are my wife, someone I wish to know.” The words were simple, yet they carried more warmth than any grand celebration could have. 

For the first time since leaving Sinhala, Vasumati smiled without forcing herself to.

As Amarendra sat beside her under the moonlit sky, she no longer felt so lonely.