Page 55 of A Royal Deception

This man was a menace to women everywhere, and I’d love nothing more than to best him in a swordfight. My breath caught at the idea of fencing with my husband. He smirked as if he could sense my naughty thoughts.

“Let’s see… have you seen a Morning Star before?” he asked, moving ahead before I could decide if I wanted to smack that smirk off his face or kiss it off.

“Uh… no,” I said, trying to focus on his words.

“It’s nothing but a glorified mace,” he replied with a grimace. “A very angrez weapon. Very in your face. But these steel lassos, on the other hand, are pure desi jugaad. They are coated with bits of glass and dipped in poison before use. It’s a triple whammy when you lasso your enemy around the neck and tighten the noose. The glass cuts into the skin, and the poison enters the bloodstream.”

I made a face at the inelegance of it.

“You’re hard to please,” he grumbled as he showed me some more ancient weapons which were no longer in use. There was a completely impractical and big machine that launched throwing stars that had never been used successfully. “All right, what about this one? This is a leather belt studded with sharp metal spikes. Can you imagine the damage it could inflict?”

“Don’t you have any more swords?” I grumbled. “Or a nice gun?”

He laughed in reply.

“You’re far more dangerous than I imagined, Rani Sa. How did I ever mistake you for a simple small-town girl?”

“Why can’t I be both?” I asked with a frown.

“You can be anything you want,” he replied, and I felt those tingles again in my lower abdomen. Drat him!

His Highness next led me to a wall lined with swords of all shapes and sizes. I drooled over each one and soaked in his stories, of which he had many. It was clear he knew every weapon in his armoury, and that was very impressive, considering he hadn’t used any of them in war. He pointed out a sword which used to belong to Aurangzeb and another which had been won in a friendly swordfight against Tipu Sultan. Each sword had a name and a story.

“And what’s this beauty called?” I asked, pointing to a small, slim sword that stood on a pedestal.

“That’s the Durga Talvar,” replied His Highness. “It was hand-forged with every avatar of Goddess Durga inscribed on it. Legend has it that it can only be wielded by a woman. And according to our family lore, the only woman who ever wielded it was Durgamati, the first Maharani of Mirpur. She fought off an army of invaders who attacked the village while her husband was at war. She died in battle, unfortunately, but drove away the attackers before she succumbed to her wounds. What’s wrong, Shivina?Are you crying?”

I wiped my tears hastily and turned to glare at him.

“Of course not!”

“Hmph! I won’t have you crying over every story you hear in my palace, you hear? Your sister will skin me alive if I turn you into a watering pot,” he said gruffly.

“I’m sorry if I’m not as heartless as you want me to be. Maybe you should have married Baisa,” I sniped.

“Say her name,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“Kavya. Say her name. Every time you call her Baisa, you’re keeping yourself tied to the place she assigned to you. Of servant to her princess. You’re not her servant. You’re her equal. So say her name and free yourself of these shackles, Shivina. Only then will you be able to see yourself as equal to the rest of us.”

He was right, I realised. Even when I spoke to his friends, I felt the need to address them by their titles. And I couldn’t even take my own husband’s name. Why the fuck was I behaving like a relic from the black-and-white movies?

“Kavya,” I breathed and held my breath, wondering if the sky was about to fall on my head. Nothing happened, and I realised I had been a bit of a fool.

I took a deep, shuddering breath and turned to meet his knowing gaze.

“Ranvijay,” I whispered. “Would you like to fence with me someday?”

His gaze darkened at the sound of his name on my lips, and he took two steps forward, trapping me against the wall with his arms over my head.

“I’d rather make love to you and hear you scream my name when I make you come, but sure. I can fence with you.”

“What makes you so sure you won’t be the one screaming my name?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Because my mouth will be otherwise occupied,” he replied with a smirk.

Was that a threat or a promise? I wasn’t sure, but it made my body tremble with need. And he knew it.

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