Three nights after the Moon Vault ritual, the fortress felt heavier—air thick with dust and unspoken tension. Word had spread through the ranks: the high-born widow wasn’t just a toy anymore. She was Arjun’s permanent fixture, chained to the stone platform by day, carried to his private quarters by night. The men no longer laughed openly. They watched her with something closer to awe mixed with hunger—knowing one wrong move could end them like Vikram.

But Arjun wanted more than fear. He wanted permanence.