Page 66 of Rudra Nandani: The Saga of Control And Seduction

Tying my strings back, he rubbed his oiled hands over mine, greasing them.

I looked at Hridhaan, playing with his toes.

“I'll go and get freshened up.” Having said this, he went away. I played peekaboo with Hridhaan for a while and put on my jewelry.

“Nandani,” Suman walked in with some attendants and began parting all the curtains.

Suman sat across from me and looked at Hridhaan.“Oh, baby boy is awake,”

He gave her a toothy laugh, and I said,“He was crying so muchlast night, but when Ranaji held him, he calmed down. Maybe he found the comfort of his father in Ranaji’s arms,” She nodded absently.

“But, Nandani, don't you think caring for an infant will be too much for your newly built relationship?” I smiled and looked at Hridhaan, gaping at me with his big doe eyes, while playing with my dupatta.

“I know, but he lost his father because of us. He was fighting on Ranaji's side and was martyred. This is the least we can do for him,” I said, caressing his head.“Moreover, he was his friend, and I sensed he wanted to adopt the baby but just couldn't say it, thinking of me. So, I made this easy for him.”

She smiled, saying.“Don't worry, I'll help you take care of him.”

I nodded and took Hridhaan to the bedroom to let the attendees clean the courtyard.

I fed him breakfast, later in the morning, right after which he pooed in his dress.

“Bad Boy,” I ruffled his hair and asked an attendee to bring warm water and a cotton cloth to clean him.

Once done, I changed his clothes and put him to bed. But the little devil wasn't ready to sleep, so I left him with Suman to play and trotted to the courtyard.

I saw the attendees dusting the rugs and asked one of them,“Where is Ranaji?” She turned to look at me and answered,“He is in the bathing room, Ranisa.”

I make my way to the bathing room with the medicinal paste and a cotton gauze in my hands.

As I stepped into the bathing room, I found him taking a bath, sitting on a brass stool. The sound of him pouring water and the tinkling of my anklets blended into a sweet melody that resonated in the large, quiet room.

My sight fell on the cuts on his back, healing slowly. I raked my eyes at his shoulders—they were wide and broad, and his arms seemed thicker and muscly than my waist.

Sometimes, I wonder how small I appear next to him. His height, physique, and strength—his palm was so large it could cover my face.

I stood there, gawking shamelessly at him as he took a bath. He stood up and covered himself with a white cotton cloth. Turning around, he looked at me, patting himself dry with the cloth andsauntering in my direction.

“Lagta hai ki praatahkaal mein Ranisa ke paas karne ke liye koi kaarya nahi hai,”(Seems like Her Majesty has no work to do this morning). That little drop of water trailing down his sharp jawline and dropping on his bare chest via his chin put me in a daze.

I looked away and took a breath to get myself together.

“Hai na! Apne Patidev ki chot par lep lagana, yahi humaara pratham kaarya hai,”(I do! To apply medicinal paste on my husband's wounds, this is my primary job), I replied in a teasing tone, biting on my lower lip.

He smiled, shaking his head, and ambled towards the dressing room, and I followed suit. Taking out a fresh pair of his clothes from the almirah, he placed them on the settee and settled himself on the couch. He moved his head, gesturing for me to get nearer.

I went up to and sat beside him. Collecting the paste through my fingers, I started applying it to his affected areas.

“Is your back better now?” He asked in a soft voice, and I nodded in reply.

I moved my head a couple of times to push aside a strand of my hair that hung loosely over my face, to keep it from getting in my way while dressing his wounds.

He brought his hand close to my face and swept the lock away. I bit the inside of my cheek to restrain myself from smiling and focused on treating his injuries when he asked in an amused tone,“Nandani, who cleans when they're angry?” I raised my gaze, and just by looking at him, I could tell that he was controlling himself from bursting into a fit of laughter.

“I do,” I stated, and he immediately remarked,“You should be angry at least once a week.” I glared at him playfully, and a light chuckle left my lips.

“And you should never get angry,” I said, referring to his wounds and what he did in his rage.

“It wasn't anger, it was you,” He weighed in, and I furrowed my brows at him.

---