ishq-e-sultaana (akdha ss/ff) - Page 10

we can start again (💖🕌🛕)

The biting evening air had Sufiya clutching her dupatta tighter around her shoulders as she walked down a path that was slowly getting as familiar as breathing.

She began to note every curve and sharp turn, every creak and shadow that lingered a second too long.

However, she could barely breathe easily these days.

Helping a pregnant begum was easier said than done, especially in a world where that begum carried the weight of rebellion in the form of a child.

Every step she took was lighter than the last, as if she were walking on a delicate tightrope.

There was no room for mistakes, not even one, especially with the Shehenshah watching.

No, not watching. Waiting.

That had her growing more vigilant as she walked past the Old Quarters to a shadowy forest with thick bushes.

She would have brought Zuleikha with her; in fact, the young woman had been so eager to accompany her, but this journey required discretion and travelling alone ensured her work remained discreet.

Especially with that afternoon, Maham Anga had shown up at her apothecary, finding ways to find out who was pregnant via honeyed fangs and forked tongue.

She could not afford to unwittingly reveal the news, especially not prematurely and especially not with the vow she had made to herself two years ago.

Never again.

But it wasn't just that.

It did not start with fear initially.

Well, until he knew.

That always managed to heighten the stakes.

She had felt it the first time she met him — no, not that first time; the night of bloody carpets and charred flesh, but the first time in this forest.

The night of Ruqaiya's miscarriage had her introduced to a mourning father watching helplessly as his child was brutally taken away from him. The first time she met him in the forest, she was introduced to a father who had everything to lose and would kill with his bare hands anyone responsible.

Sufiya had felt the chills when he questioned in that low, deep voice if anyone followed her and the implicit threat when he adjusted his jama to hide the dagger held by his sash.

She felt it for each moment she stumbled upon him in the zenana and caught him watching her with the stare that said: You are being watched.

That man vastly differed from Mariam Makani, and Sufiya could only wonder how she could reconcile that disparity.

Even now, Sufiya found herself slowing down as she neared the corner of the sandstone arch.

Someone is following me, she mustered despite not hearing the footsteps.

That was scarier than if she had heard the footsteps.

It is him.

The shadow. The ghost. Hindustan's Tiger.

And this tiger thrived on stealth. In fact, he'd already seen you before you saw him.

Letting out a slow exhale, Sufiya willed herself to turn, her hands gripping her satchel.

Then, she froze.

He was already there, still like a spectre.

His body was draped in a common angarkha that concealed his status, and his face was hidden in a hood.

Sufiya held her breath as he slowly pulled off the hood, revealing his face that looked like Khuda Himself had sculpted it.

He was alone, no guards to accompany him, and his hazel eyes met her brown eyes in a steady eye contact.

Ya Khuda, how can a man incite this amount of fear?

"Taslim, Sufiya Bibi," he greeted, his voice deceptively soft. Softer than it ought to be for a father-to-be who had everything to lose.

"Adaab, Shehenshah," she smiled tightly, slightly lowering her head both in acknowledgement and fear.

His gaze drifted around as he asked her. "Did anyone follow you?"

Oh, she prayed no one was foolish enough to follow her because he might not draw out a sword or a dagger right now, but if anyone did, he'd find them out and may Khuda help them if he deemed their presence a liability.

"No one, Shehenshah," she replied, her voice trembling despite herself. "No one saw me. No one followed me."

His lips curled into a grin, one that she'd find more unsettling than Rajmata Padmavati's cold eyes, as he murmured. "Good."

Good, he said as if he planned a slow and painful end for whoever did decide to follow her. Like a shadow, his hood swished past her as he moved ahead of her.

Without any prompting, she moved along, her steps nimble as she followed behind him.

Just like in the previous trips, no words were exchanged between the dai and the Shehenshah. It was another discovery which she found fascinating about him — how he was not the type for small talk, despite being well known for his charisma.

No "how is the weather?". No "how was the trip?"

None of that.

Kya ajeeb baat hai, Khuda.

She'd heard of kings and lords who pretended to be tigers when in reality, they were fleeing peacocks. She had heard of men who were like clashing cymbals — all noise but no substance, just enough to display false bravado to the world.

The man whom she followed closely like a shadow was none of those. She would not say he ruled with fear, but his aura was enough to have grown men quake in their boots.

Perhaps it was unintentional on his part, but he mostly leaned into that fear factor even in his silence.

Sufiya's grip tightened on the handle of her satchel as their steps came to a halt.

It was the same passage that led to Begum Jodha's hojra in the Mughal zenana. It would seem that secret passages existed throughout the mahal in Badalgarh, Agra. Passages she'd never have imagined existed.

But then, working in Marwar, Bundi, Malwa, Gwalior and now, Agra, was enough experience for her to know just how many secrets royal families hid within their forts. Some secrets that were enough to shatter families and some—well...

A creaking of a door broke through her train of thought, and she stared as her eyes slowly adjusted to the soft glow of light that slowly filtered in.

The Shehenshah stepped aside, letting her into the space, and there she was, met with the familiar scent of jasmine and sandalwood — the same scent that had met her in Marwar, except this was not coupled with the same rot she had once associated with them.

"Pranaam, Sufiya Bibi," that calm voice greeted her with a small smile and a humble bow.

Sufiya raised her head, meeting Jodha Bai with a taslim.

The younger woman looked fatigued as if she had just returned from her post, though Sufiya found herself chalking it up to the pregnancy she shielded like a secret and the stress that came with that.

Sufiya could only sigh as she placed her satchel before nodding at one of the two bandhis in the room—Reva—to fetch a basin of water. The younger girl nodded quietly as she disappeared into the inner chamber, with her payal as the only sound in the weighted silence.

Sufiya gestured at Jodha to take her seat on the bed, the dai ever conscious that the Shehenshah was actively watching her. She ought to have been used to something like this, but it did little to prevent the rising goosebumps on her arms.

Exhaling slowly, she took the time to observe Jodha as she sat on her bed. The soft glow of the diya highlighted her features, the young queen looking a bit tired, but with a calm Sufiya had marked as absent on the day she announced her pregnancy.

Her abdomen remained flat, concealing the truth of what it carried to the Mughal court.

It is better this way, Sufiya found herself concluding. However, for how long did they plan to conceal it, and what measures did they intend to take once it became something they could no longer hide? No one can hide a pregnancy, not for long.

She exhaled again as she took a seat by the bedside. She'd done this so many times that it was almost a daily routine for her. First, note observations, then ask questions. She opened the satchel, laying out its contents: vials of crushed herbs, a bottle of saffron for the child.

"Do you still feel nauseous?" She asked gently, not looking up.

Jodha let out her breath slowly with a faint nod. "Still in the morning, but not as severely as previously. I still feel fatigued during the early morning, but it dissipates around noon. The dizziness is gone, however," she answered, her hand resting on her abdomen now.

"Any new symptoms you may have noticed?"

Silence hung between the two women as Jodha paused to think for a moment. "Well, I have noticed a dull pain from my lower back each time I stand up for longer, but aside from that, I haven't noted any new signs."

Sufiya could hear the rustle of clothes from behind her, a pressing sign that he lingered like a shadow in the background — silent but present.

She smiled for a bit as she focused her attention back on Jodha. "And any bleeding?"

"Nahi, Bibi." Her answer came out soft. "Not since the last check."

Nodding in relief, Sufiya reached out with two fingers to Jodha's wrist. It was strong. Stronger than what would be considered for a regular woman with child.

Her face furrowed, catching Jodha's attention.

"Is there something I should worry about, Sufiya Bibi?" She asked, concern filling her face as well.

"None," Sufiya murmured, shaking her head. "The child seems steady. Healthy. Stronger than I would have expected."

Reva returned with the requested basin, the young girl setting it down by the bedside before settling into the corners of the hojra where Moti stood and adjacent to the Shehenshah, whom she could tell was still present.

There was something.

Something that felt way too premature for her to predict as of this moment.

"Lie back."

Complying, Jodha shifted forward, her body reclining against the bed as she stared at the ceiling mural.

Sufiya hummed to herself as she placed her warm hand on the abdominal region, right below the navel. Her fingers, weathered by age, felt around for signs, movements, anything that the untrained eye would miss.

Silence filled the room as Sufiya pressed and prodded, her fingers mapping the expanse of Jodha's belly.

Then, the rustle was back and like the spectre he was believed to be, he was by Jodha's side, and those hazel eyes fell on Sufiya as if interrogating her.

A faint smile ghosted her lips as she withdrew. She was trained not to reveal details too soon but instead to further investigate before arriving at any conclusion.

"All is well, Begum Sahiba, Shehenshah," she replied instead, before turning to Jodha. "I will advise that you eat more, take as much rest as you can. Your body requires more strength for this journey, and you will tire more easily."

Jodha nodded as she slowly sat up. The Shehenshah held her gently by the waist with one hand while the other straightened the pillows behind her. But how could Sufiya possibly believe that he would not catch the hesitation in her eyes while she had felt fetal movement?

"You are hiding something from us."

Ya Allah.

Now, Jodha was confused, her eyebrows knitted in puzzlement as she placed her hand to her abdomen.

"There is something you are not telling us," he continued, his eyes fixed on her like he was a falcon gauging how susceptible his prey was before striking.

She could tell him, reveal the observations she had noticed, but then again, it seemed too premature even to share the news. Instead, she smiled again.

"The harem buzzes, Shehenshah."

"It always does, Sufiya Gulrukh," he answered. "It is nothing new."

"Then you must know that danger looms, Shehenshah, Begum Sahiba. No smoke exists without a raging fire and—," she paused for a bit. "Whoever orchestrated Begum Ruqaiya's miscarriage two years ago might be plotting again, and this—this arrangement will no longer hold up."

The words hung heavy in the air, Jodha nodding slowly. It was the fact. If rumours managed to fly about even with the secrecy, only Allah knew what would happen once the truth could no longer be buried.

Ya Allah, please. Please, keep them safe. Protect them from the evil eye.

"How long before it becomes...visible?" Jodha asked carefully.

Sufiya smiled again as she gathered her things into her satchel. "You are about two moons and a few weeks along, Begum Sahiba. You are due to show in another moon or perhaps two."

Or earlier than that, she wanted to add.

Instead, she held out a cloth holding kesar. "This, Begum Sahiba, will aid in the growth of your child, ease stress and improve digestion. Take caution not to overuse, and you will be alright."

Jodha beamed as she took the spice, her lips curving up as she whispered a dhanyavaad under her breath.

Sufiya could only whisper another prayer in her mind—a prayer for protection and a smooth pregnancy journey.

Weeks had passed since that morning when he had walked in to apologize for those words he had said. And while she had accepted his apologies, the hurt still lingered.

After all, words were like eggs — once dropped, cannot be uncracked. But he had apologized and genuinely meant well that day. Not just that, he had also given her space which—.

Kanha, I have no idea who this man is, and what you have done with the real Shehenshah?

Even as she sat on the divan opposite the jharokha, feeling the cool autumnal breeze on her skin, as she updated the ledgers from the recent shipment from the docks, Jodha found herself in deep thoughts — both of amusement and a fair dose of shock.

The Jalal she knew was not the type to keep his hands off of her, especially in private. He was quite the handsy one, the thirsty devotee ever eager to drink from divinity.

I mean, that is how we got into this position in the first place, she almost snorted as she shook her head. Her hand reached for her abdomen, still feeling the flattened flesh, and she exhaled to herself.

How did we even get here? She pondered, her eyes down on the ledger. How did it evolve from the heat of intimacy to whatever this was?

Now, he treated her delicately like she was a porcelain doll, as if just a single touch would have her shatter into bits.

At least, he apologized and kept to his word that you do not have to do this alone, her conscience pointed out, and damn right, it was.

He always made his way into her hojra following a proceeding in the diwans, he always ensured she was well-fed, well taken care of. He was always present for her checks and would often fetch Sufiya Bibi through a secret passage not even she was aware existed in her hojra.

He was doing good, in the ways he knew how to and to her, that was good. Good enough for her and their child.

She could not even imagine how tough and more difficult it could have been if he hadn't apologized and sworn he'd be there with her. Hiding a pregnancy from the ever-surveilling court and harem was hell enough as it was; their eyes zeroing in on her with each step she made.

She ought to have been used to this by now — the court viewing her like a foreigner despite her serving two damn years and a year of proving herself a proficient trader. Perhaps one could say she was a foreigner, still a strange phenomenon — a Vaishnavite Rajput queen in a Muslim court.

At least, that was what one of the courtiers had used to discredit her appointment to the role she held so diligently.

"And how do we know she would not slack off at this role, Shehenshah? How do we trust that Begum Jodha — the Vaishnavite Rajputani — would be up to the task you have assigned her?"

She had smiled behind pardah as she did not await his response; her voice was firm enough to plant herself before her detractors within the court.

"Pir Muhammad Sahab, while I understand your concerns pertaining to where my allegiance may lie, I assure you that I will remain dedicated to this position bestowed upon me," she had replied immediately, her face serene while a smirk played at the corner of her lips. "As for whether I will be up to this task, Sahab, Amer holds my track record showing my hard work, and Mariam Makani can step in to testify in my stead."

To top it off, she had audaciously quipped about the fact Pir Muhammad had gotten her denomination as a Vaishnava correctly, earning a few bursts of laughter within the Diwan-e-Khaas.

She snorted again just at the memory, her eyes down on the ledger as her fingers felt for the smooth paper, now worn after having strokes of ink on pen marking it.

This was her empire, her little kingdom where she got to rule like she was its Rani. Her duties involved spending hours on end disputing import and export fees with the men at the docks—some of whom looked at her like she was an anomaly. Some days she negotiated alliances, especially amidst geopolitical tensions and kept account of every sale.

The courtiers weren't any gentler with her; their barbs were laced with velvet but still sharp enough to cut through as they'd dispute the discrepancies they found between figures while demanding explanations.

She responded accordingly, pointing out factors like tariffs, import and export fees, and possible inflation.

Some were completely dismissive.

And others, downright infantilizing.

Dear Kanha, with what she carried in her womb, Jodha could only wonder if those sentiments would change for the better or would worsen as her womb turns into an additional weapon for the court...

According to Sufiya Bibi, it was only a matter of months before she could no longer conceal her pregnancy, and the court would swoop down like the vultures they were, capitalizing on her pregnancy to keep her bound to her 'newfound duty' now that she carried their empire.

Exhaling, she set the ledger aside as she stared ahead through the jharokha. She was still coming to terms with this and all that came with it, from the changes to the occasional mood swings. It felt like she was occupying a body that wasn't quite hers anymore.

At least, she no longer experienced the nausea that had her scrambling for a basin, nor did she feel dizzy and at the brink of swooning, thank the gods and the remedies Sufiya Bibi had recommended she take.

So deep in her thoughts that she didn't notice the new presence in her hojra, Jodha found herself jolted back to the present. Her lips parted as she turned her head, and there he was — him, the man she still found as unpredictable, her patidev and now, the father of her child.

His steps were measured, although they still had a certain lightness to them. It would seem she could never get used to his stealth at this point.

His face was marred with frown lines as his stare landed on her. His eyes narrowed as he shuffled his juttis off his feet before stepping inside.

"You haven't eaten," he pointed out as if simply stating the weather patterns. Of course, he'd know. Someone—either Moti or Reva—had told him out of worry.

"I am not hungry," she simply shrugged. "Besides, I had some milk with kesar as soon as I returned."

He stepped closer, his presence looming close above her.

Close enough for her to take in that distinct masculine scent, not that it was strong enough to induce anything, but different enough.

"This is the second evening you'd miss a meal."

She froze for a moment.

So, he did notice.

So, why was he—?

She relaxed her shoulders before turning to meet his eyes, those damn hazel eyes that glanced at her so reverently as always, but now carried caution and guilt in them.

"Do you always do this?" She murmured, her eyes unblinking.

A deep frown creased his face as he took another step closer.

"Do what?"

"This," she repeated, her hands moving in motions and gestures. "Whatever this is. This self-flagellation. Why—? I—."

She bit her lower lip as she looked away from him.

His face softened as he took the seat beside her on the divan.

From her peripheral sight, she noticed the trembling of his fingers as if he contemplated whether to touch her or not and for some reason unknown to her, it had further inflamed her.

"You don't touch me," she added, her face almost in a pout that she felt infantile. "Not like you used to before. It is like—. Why this penance?"

"You know why," he cut in with an exhale, his voice wavering and so low she barely heard him. "You know why, Jodha Begum."

Slowly, her fingers reached out for his hand, sliding through and making him turn his gaze towards her.

"I forgave you," her voice went soft. "Not just for our child. But because—."

She found herself almost saying the words that threatened to spill out of her lips, but bit on her lower lip instead.

"I forgave you because I can't do this all alone," she said instead. "I need you. More than I should."

His stare lingered, almost as if in disbelief, as his hand closed in on her fingers.

"Devi—," his voice went hoarse as he leaned in, his free hand cupping her jaw. Tilting her chin by a slight degree, his thumb swiped across her bottom lip. "Humari devi."

She parted her lips, closing the distance for good. A sigh escaped her as his lips moved against hers—no hunger, no heat, just home...and bliss like it was her first sip of cool water after a long day.

Her free hand reached for his chest, pressing against where his heart beat, feeling the vibrations against her palm.

She missed him, by every god in the pantheon, she missed him. This and everything else.

Her fingers then slid from his chest up to his collar, her body closing the already small distance between them. Her lips parted, granting him the space to deepen the kiss with a groan escaping him.

It would be a matter of minutes before she'd run out of breath. She turned away, his nose pressing against her cheek. She could feel it—that shudder in his breath, that familiar thirst he kept under control all these days.

Her eyelashes fluttered as she slipped her fingers away from his grip. Her cheeks felt warm as if she touched them with her palm; it would feel like heat for the coming cold season.

Her heart raced as she stood up from the divan.

"I'll have my evening meal, if you choose to join me, Sarkar. There's an open seat for you. You don't have to punish yourself, not anymore."

A smile curved the corner of her lips as she stared down at him. Then, she left.

Hoshiyar held on to his dupatta, the cold autumnal wind breezing through as he made his exit from the harem's apothecary.

The breeze was biting, despite it not being as cold as what he was used to in Kabul. Perhaps it had less to do with the weather and more to do with his discovery.

It took him weeks to even get a damn clue because someone was concealing certain details as if they knew what could happen should it leak out like water through a sieve.

Not even the women at the apothecary disclosed a single word, not Khawla Bibi, not Sufiya, not Zahra, not even Zuleikha—yes, Zuleikha, the apprentice—were willing to spill any information or let him anywhere close to the notes on the shelf.

He walked slowly, his footsteps leaving a light echo on the stone pavement leading from the corridor to the main exit.

Rays of light filtered through the jharokha, landing on his face, which was scrunched up into a deep frown. He had searched everywhere, done everything possible to garner information.

Nothing

It all ended with no answers like someone was deliberately withholding information from the court or whoever might poke their nose into where it wasn't needed.

Stepping out of the exit, Hoshiyar took the opportunity to stay still, shut his eyes as he started to ponder what step he might be missing, what space he may have overlooked.

He had made sure to visit the apothecary and note any absence of the hakims and the dais, especially the dais, but it would seem that the women were present for as long as their schedule would allow.

They would not even grant him access to Ruqaiya's notes unless she explicitly sent him with a scroll of her seal.

The eunuch cursed under his breath as his mind veered off to the next place he visited — the bandhis in charge of the laundry. Of course, he had walked in under the guise of supervision lest he tip one of them off to the fact that he was actively hunting for blood—literally.

Even that was met with a dead end.

It was like the investigations post-Ruqaiya's miscarriage, except this yielded fewer bodies but was still equally frustrating, though Hoshiyar could not blame them.

Not even laundry could answer his damn questions.

It was as if someone knew...and indeed did they knew, because now, he was getting scrolls. Scrolls without an address but with a message as clear as day.

"Be careful, you are being watched" in perfect Farsi with Pashto translation to follow, as if the writer wanted to further drive in their message.

And if he was being sent such letters, that meant the rumours were true—someone within this space was indeed with child.

But then again, who?

Hoshiyar frowned, turning towards the exit as he made his way out. His fingers curled and uncurled as his mind whirred with options because not only was he tasked with finding out the pregnant begum's identity, but he had to watch his back now.

There's only one person who'd be watching me, and his frown deepened as he took a turn into the Angoori Bagh.

It's him.

Hoshiyar stopped upon making his way into the luscious garden. As usual, it was well maintained, an attestation to the man who ruled over the sultanate.

It is him.

Who else would it be if not for a man who thrived on control?

Badshah Salamat. Shehenshah-e-Hindustan.

The implied threat in that scroll already replayed in his mind "be careful, you are being watched," as if to deter him...and indirectly, Ruqaiya.

Hoshiyar narrowed his eyes as his sight drifted across the field. There were a few changes, such as some of the flowers entering a state of diapause in response to the coming season. Even the rabbits—a common visitor to this garden—all seemed scarce, as if they had moved up and were foraging somewhere else.

Despite that, some factors remained constant—one of them being the ever-flowing fountain that provided hydration and the pigeons who now flocked around a certain section of the Angoori Bagh.

His eyebrows furrowing, Hoshiyar took a few more steps closer, his eyes widening—not out of shock but in understanding.

It was Begum Jodha Bai.

The Rajvanshi begum, who ruled both the spice trade and now, the Shehenshah's heart.

She also happened to be the bane of Ruqaiya's existence, depending on when the latter decided to grant Maham Anga a foothold, further sowing the seeds of insecurity in her mind.

And at first, Hoshiyar had glanced upon Begum Jodha with disdain, with a blend of mockery. After all, she was everything the Mughal Sultanate looked down upon — foreign in every sense of the word. Her skin tone was earthy — brown, a type of tan that wasn't easily washed off after a few days in the hammam. That was nothing like the fair skin tone of those who descended from Persia, Farghana, Samarkand and Kabul. She worshipped gods he was not familiar with — gods with multiple arms, some who took on peculiar skin tones and some taking on the form of animals — and spoke languages that only a few in the palace understood—those few either being the Hindu bandhis or courtiers versed in Marwari and Sanskrit.

But then, the eunuch began to observe her, his eyes steady on the woman who'd give his mistress a headache just by existing, and that disdain grew into something else. Perhaps it was admiration or the fact that he'd found Setareh in another woman—a foreigner, for that matter.

How did one even describe Begum Jodha Bai? She was an enigma of her own, a woman who abstained from the power-hunger games of the harem, a woman of strange customs who learned the traditions and language of the Mughal court—not to assimilate but to survive.

In addition, she took over her post to oversee the spice trade with due diligence, even though her detractors desperately wanted—longed—to see her fail in her tasks.

A strange being, ya Allah, Hoshiyar mused as he watched her toss some grains before her, the pigeons flocking over to peck on them from the ground.

Only a woman like her would interact with her bandhis as if they were her sisters, her equals, rather than her attendants. Only a woman like her would care that people like him get to acknowledge their date of birth.

It was almost laughable, yet one of the factors that slowly endeared her to him, despite his knowing how much Ruqaiya despised her.

Ya Khuda, please don't let her be the one, he found himself praying, begging at this point, because if she was the one indeed—

Ya Allah—

Hoshiyar even dreaded what Ruqaiya's reaction would be, for there was nothing more volatile than a woman with unresolved grief and despite the cold façades Ruqaiya utilized as if they were her second skin, he could tell that a dormant volcano lay right beneath.

The night Ruqaiya sent him on the trail like a bloodhound tracking blood was enough proof for him to know that it would be a matter of time before she'd take it very personally.

And if Begum Jodha was the one carrying the future in her womb, there was no way—

"Hoshiyar," her soft voice broke through his frantic spiralling, her dark brown eyes settled on him as she greeted him with a smile.

Now, looking at her, she did appear to be pale, which was unusual for her warm brown complexion but typical of her during this season.

Despite that possible explanation, his eyes narrowed slightly as he rendered his greetings, a simple salaam, and Begum Jodha gracefully nodded in response. There was something about her, something different—perhaps it was her posture or that weary glance she sent his way. Whatever it was, nothing could prepare him for that slight gesture he noticed from her; however brief it was, the way her hand hovered over her abdomen, as if she had something to protect.

It was then he felt the hairs on his body rise and goosebumps prickling his skin as if someone was out there watching his every move and lying in wait, deciding whether they should pounce or not.

It was just him, Begum Jodha, some of her bandhis and a flock of pigeons in the Angoori Bagh. Yet, the scroll written in Farsi and Pashto calligraphy stood as a staggering reminder that he would be incredibly naive to dismiss the words of that letter.

"Be careful, you are being watched".

Ya Allah, his eyes widened for a second before he put on a tight-lipped smile, creating an excuse to feign his discovery — something about a missing hairpin from Ruqaiya's vanity box and him searching the Angoori Bagh.

It sounded absurd in his ears, in fact, but it was enough for Begum Jodha to believe as she merely turned her attention back to the birds.

Ya Allah, he repeated in his mind, his fingers trembling before he tightened them into a clenched fist, walking back.

It can't be her. Khuda, please, don't let it be her, he prayed, his eyes staring forward.

But then, who else would it be if not her? Who else had the Shehenshah visiting her hojra? Who else had access to the khaas mahal as if it were merely a spare room and not the sanctum of the empire's sun? Who else would have Hindustan's Tiger sending cryptic letters with implied threats if not her?

Who else would it be? Hoshiyar found himself questioning as he made his way back into the zenana.

But above all, he feared the possible fallout of how Ruqaiya might react to the news if indeed the rumours were true and they all pointed to Begum Jodha.

But most of all, Hoshiyar found himself at a crossroads of whether he should lie to his mistress to protect both women and himself, or he should rip off the bandage and potentially let the chaos loose.

I am screwed, he thought to himself as he thought back to that damn scroll, and it got even more obvious to him.

The Shehenshah was f*cking baiting him all along — letting him know that he knew about his investigations and indirectly confirming the rumours were true, which would have been counterintuitive upon first glance...until they were not.

To Hoshiyar, the Shehenshah was not just warning him; he was dangling the truth on a string like a tiger playing with prey it had no intention of releasing.

In a way, it was him saying, "Yes, it is true, now I dare you to say it out loud".

The most frightening part? It worked so well that now, Hoshiyar could not shake off the knowledge that he was caught between the devil and the deep sea — because now, the Shehenshah made sure he had something to lose.

Tell the truth, and he will kill me most slowly and painfully known to mankind. Or I lie to Ruqaiya and end up betraying her trust. Either way, he owns me, he exhaled, his breath shaky as his pace grew measured.

Ya Khuda, he repeated for the millionth time that day.

The sun set earlier than typically in Agra, darkness filling the skies like a blanket while the lamps glowed softly, illuminating the path for the now-retiring Shehenshah. For once, the usual furrow in his brows relaxed as a smirk played at the corner of his lips as if he had just crossed off a point on his imaginary checklist — which, if going by the blanched look Hoshiyar Khan had sent his way a few hours ago, he had exactly accomplished that.

That was one loose end he had managed to tie tightly until the time was exactly right for him and Jodha Begum to unravel the news to the court, though she would not know the exact length he had to go to ensure that.

She could not know about it, not right now. He needed her to remain stress-free, as hiding this pregnancy was already enough of a burden as it was; he would not add this burden to what she had to bear. If taking hours to draft a bilingual implicit death threat was enough to deter Hoshiyar from completing the task Ruqaiya had sent him, then he'd gladly do it for as long as possible.

He exhaled, his feet taking him through the zenana, the building which often echoed with feminine laughter, hushed whispers now dulled into faded silence with the occasional chirping of the cicadas. Although that was also a moment when that would cease to be with the coming autumn.

Though the silence dominated the night, the redolent scent of rosewater, sandalwood and jasmine transformed that smirk into an authentic grin once he stood before his destination—that damn door that had him beam like the pious pilgrim he was right now.

His mind could not stop replaying the words she had told him a few days before. Words that could not leave his mind, even if he bothered to try.

"I forgave you because...I need you. More than I should."

Then, she had kissed him to seal it, and he...he had fallen in because he needed her, even despite the distance he had left between them.

Because I hurt her.

And he had felt unworthy to touch her, even after apologizing and saying those words he'd believed he'd never say to anyone in his life.

Mujhe maaf kijiye.

But she had forgiven him and sealed with a kiss which made him feel alive again and left him with the vow that he'd never hurt her again, even the taste of her lips and mouth still lingering on his tongue.

His lips curled again as he brought a hand forward, the back of his knuckles softly rapping against the door before twisting the knob and making his way in.

His juttis shuffled off his feet as if a ritual he had made a habit. The room was lit, not too brightly but enough to cast a soft glow on her reclined position.

She lay supine, now clothed in a thicker night cloth and pashmina fabric replacing her blanket. Her eyes were open, her body barely aware of his presence as her eyes went skyward, and he could tell she was focused on that ceiling mural of her gods.

That mural, as he'd often noticed during the intimate nights they'd spent together, was the second place—after her mandir—where she sought answers from them.

Her left hand rested on her abdomen, as if mapping for any changes, or maybe it was borne out of this maternal instinct he'd never understand himself. He had no clue, but it did remind him of how—

His mind came to a stop as to the route he was about to take, and that smile fell as he drew closer.

Jodha was still lost in her thoughts; she didn't seem to have noticed his presence at all.

"On your side, Devi," he broke through the silence, his voice low and yet, managing to startle her out of her reverie that her head turned to his direction with her body following as she rolled onto her side.

"Sarkar," she whispered, trying to sit up, perhaps to meet him or something of the sort, but a simple shake of the head deterred her.

Instead, he shrugged off his jama, placing it on the divan. Then, his angarkha was next as he tugged on the strings. The flaps fell apart, and he almost shivered from the cold wind. He also set aside the fabric before moving over to the bed, where she lay watching him with those eyes of hers.

Getting under the pashmina blanket, his eyes watched for any signs of discomfort, her face serene with that lit-up glow under the lamps.

His fingers drifted to her face, initially hesitant as they hovered over her face at first. However, the back of his knuckles felt for her smooth skin, soft and bare of her usual makeup.

Her lips parted, a slight gust of air meeting his fingers.

"Kya hua, humari devi?" His voice landed softly like smooth ghee over fire, yet enough to earn him her attention. "It's unlike you...not to notice my presence," he added.

He was fully aware of his stealth and his capability of unsettling anyone—from his soldiers to the harem to the court itself.

She fell silent, her teeth catching onto her bottom lip before she'd reply.

"I have been wondering..." she proceeded, her eyes slightly staring down. "About what Sufiya Bibi said a few days prior."

His eyes followed, landing on her abdomen. His hand trailed down, stroking her waist before hovering over that flat plain. So deceptively flat that the court won't even figure out the truth of what she carried.

"What about it, Devi?" His eyes trailed back to her face as his hand pressed lightly on her, attempting to feel for that movement the dai had scouted for upon the last visit.

Speaking of..., she was hiding something from him.

He might be the emperor, he might not know the art of midwifery and birth, he might be more familiar with death than with bringing life, but he'd know if someone was deliberately keeping a secret from him.

He might not figure out exactly what it was, but one didn't rule over Hindustan for as long as he did being clueless about what could hide behind tight-lipped smiles.

The battlefield or the court, his eyes trailed on every nervous side glance, every avoidance of eye contact—signs that he considered significant enough for him to latch onto.

"It's nothing to worry about," Jodha answered, her voice low and soft. "It's just that I have been pondering...this...what next steps do we take? How long before the court figures out that—?"

"Hmm," Jalal hummed, his eyes settling on the geometric pattern on the carpet. She did raise quite the question he'd never given that much of a thought because he was busy toying with Hoshiyar like this was some jungle play.

"I know that one doesn't conceal news such as this for a long time, and I am scared," she added, dropping the bombshell as mildly as she could. "I have heard stories of queens, royal consorts. It has happened previously and...I do not want to lose them, hamara bachcha. I don't know what I'd do if I—."

He shut his eyes at that, gently pressing his forehead against hers while his thumb swiped her cheeks in reassurance because what else could he do? What words could he say? That she'd not lose their child? That he'd do everything in his power?

Even more than now, as he attempted to shut down the memory that he'd long thought he'd buried, he knew this: once upon a time, he'd witnessed with his own eyes that there were events not even his power could prevent. There were situations he could not order away with an imperial decree or with the strength of the Mughal army.

By Khuda, he was still getting used to this—the fact that he's a father. If this got ripped away from him as well, just like the last one.

His breath shuddered as his hand pushed her hair back, going through her face in soft caresses because what else could he do? Tell her not to worry? That it will be okay?

Jalal pulled away from her, his back on the bed as his eyes veered over to her gods. His face hardened into a scowl, his eyes narrowing at the two gods, still, unmoving, looking down at two imperfect souls from their perfect world.

What would they do if they were in our positions?

He had no idea; he wished he did. He wished the perfect answer would drop from Khuda or these gods he did not serve.

Did she always do this on nights when she desired the answers to questions that plagued her mind? Had she looked up at Krishna, pleading for the safest route when she initially heard the news of the pregnancy? Did she ever—?

Now, his mind went down another path, prompting him to sit up, his back against the coolness of the bed frame.

Why would this question suddenly hit him on this night of all nights have him frowning, yet he could not afford to sweep it under the rug, could he?

"That morning," he broke the silence, earning him her attention as she glanced up at him. "The morning after we consummated our union, you left."

The bed creaked from her shifting, her body in the same position as his. From his peripheral vision, he noted the point when her lips parted as if struggling to find a satisfactory way to answer.

"It's been months, Sarkar. Does it matter now?"

Jalal almost recoiled from the way she answered because she had a point. It should be irrelevant, something to be ignored as soon as it came to his mind, but now...now, he needed to know. For months, he hadn't thought to ask until now, but better late than never, as someone once said.

He turned to look at her intently, "It does matter. A lot. It matters to me, Devi."

She broke eye contact, her head down as she stared down at the back of her hands. The air tensed with silence, their breathing, the sound of cicadas and the wind blowing left as the sole sources of ambience in her hojra.

Finally exhaling, she responded, her eyes still not on him. "I was scared."

Khuda—, he almost swore, his eyes shut as soon as those words left her lips.

"I was scared of everything. Of that night, of what it meant," her voice cracked before she continued. "Of the fact that I didn't regret it. Of the fact that I wanted to do it again, what we had within the hammam."

His eyes snapped open, finding unshed tears in her eyes as she slowly exhaled again.

"Besides, I had no idea what that would mean for the two of us: if it was...an attempt to, you know, get me out of your system, or if it was something more," she added, his fists clenching in his lap as he sharply drew a breath.

Years ago, he was that type of man—the kind who went into the hojras of his women, using them as an outlet for his frustrations and not caring afterwards. Could he blame her for thinking she'd have met that same fate?

"You know I would not have turned you away or shamed you. I—the morning you left, I was not truly asleep," he revealed, watching her eyes widen ever so slightly. "I wanted to hold you, to tell you that you were more than—. I'd not have pushed you away."

Her lips stretched into a smile, a sad, mirthless variant as she shrugged.

"Would it have changed the guilt I felt afterwards?" She questioned rhetorically, her head tilting slightly. "We were never taught to find joy in intimacy. It didn't even sound like intimacy; it sounded like pain from some of the women back home. 'Just lie back and think of somewhere else, ' they told us."

His jaw clenched, his eyes hardening as he thought about the times he had believed it to be a game of cat and mouse, as against what it truly was. By Khuda, he had drafted an entire tariff on her domain just to lure her out of her hiding place into the Khaas Mahal.

"The tariff—that night when we—"

"What about it?" She cut in. "I wanted it too. I didn't say no, did I?"

Of course, of course, she would get defensive over this, and he felt that surge of self-hate hit just as twice.

"You didn't say yes either, and that changes everything, Jodha."

"How?" Her voice was softer than usual, though he could tell by her tone that there was that sharp edge of an argument coiled underneath it, waiting for the opportuned time to strike. "If I didn't want you, I'd have stopped you. Why is it such an issue now?"

"Jodha—" his jaw clenched, a weary exhale escaping him as he stared at her. "Don't tell me it is not an issue; that it means nothing when it means everything. I took from you what was never mine to take. Out of my fury that you had left me that morning, I had—" He broke off, placing his face in his palm as if to block out the memory. "That night at the hammam, it meant everything to me," he turned to her, pinning her with a look that was equal parts apology and sincerity. "I know that I have lived my whole life believing women were mine to use, to command, and I do not blame you for thinking I'd still hold that believe, even after that night. But it was different, and..."

Her hand covered his, gently squeezing as her lips parted, her words trembling. "I know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just— I was terrified of what it meant, that night. And that evening, with the tariffs and us colliding in heat and fury, I wanted it. I wanted you. But maybe it was the fear of being tethered to you in ways I wasn't prepared for."

He chuckled, not bitterly, but at the irony. "And yet, here we are Devi," he whispered, his hand pressing lightly against her abdomen. "You carry me here. You are tethered to me in ways that not even a treaty or our union could ever."

Her eyes fluttered as if flinching at his words or the implications they carried. That was not his intention as he silently winced at her reaction.

His hand moved up to her face, his thumb caressing her cheek, if only to reassure her.

"You're not a vessel for my release, nor are you a womb to bear my legacy. You are more than that, Jodha," his tone softened and she nodded. "I—"

He caught himself before saying that word. That one word he had once believed did belong to his vocabulary yet was ever ready to slip from his tongue.

Instead, he smiled down at her. "I don't want you to feel like that. Ever," his thumb slid down to her bottom lip. "You're everything; meri rooh, meri devi. If it comes down to choosing, it will always be you before this damn empire, samjhi?"

She nodded, her lips pressed against his cheek and awfully close to his lips. "Does it still change everything? Us?"

Jalal could almost chuckle as he shook his head, his nose nudging against hers. "Perhaps, Jodha," he replied, his tone light but intent. "I just want you to know that you do not need to feel obligated into giving me your body when you're not sure. I would understand."

"Haan," her lips didn't say the words but her body posture did as her arms wrapped around him with the lit lamps, the mural and Kanha's murti.

Even with that, his mind still circled back on their conversation and something else—the child and the next step to take once it was visible to all within the court what Jodha carried.

He's ruled the empire long enough to know what it did to news such as this. He had been an unfortunate witness and he'll be damned if history repeated.

closing notes: I was going with the black comedy/dark humor trope for this chapter. yes, Jalal did draft a bilingual death threat. yes, it does sound absurd he’d do that considering his dyslexia, and yes, that’s the entire point 😂.

second of all, this last part—Jalal’s pov did sound incoherent to me while drafting and I had to heavily edit it. I might still return to edit. that being said, I did want to address the mature scene in ‘denial’s a river’ which had dubcon elements. it is important to note that the 16th century didn’t have the same definition of consent that we in the 21st century have (i.e. freely given, explicit, enthusiastic etc), that would translate into the scene in ‘denial is a river’ which takes place after Jodha comes in to confront Jalal over the tariffs.

while that scene is not nonconsent, it still carries a dubcon warning as Jalal engineering a tariff to lure Jodha into his Khaas Mahal is something that will not fly if it was the real world. I wrote this particular scene to have Jalal confront what he did in hindsight, that and that I don’t want to romanticize what shouldn’t be romanticized at all even if it is in dark romance.

that being said, I hope you all love this chapter and I look forward to reading your feedback 😄🥰

hey!

the tariff scene is from 'denial is a river' when Jodha stormed into the Khaas Mahal (also the infamous slap scene).

as for what Maham would do to Jodha and the pregnancy, we will see in the coming chapters...