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...

checking in (happy Diwali)

hey guys! I'm not dead, I'm still alive and thriving (kinda) after a month (or two, idk, time flies so fast). it's been quite a lot, honestly.

I'm still drafting the next chapter for IES though it comes in bits of two to three paragraphs per week or even two weeks (and this chapter is gonna be long, I hope). I wish I could write as much as I did before school, but between early morning labs, documentation practice, term papers, physical assessment practices and midterms, yeah, I am afraid that would only remain a wish until I'm less busy 🥲😅.

here I am, wishing those who observe a happy Diwali and I hope you have a nice festival/commemoration this year. I do not know when I will update but I hope to update by the middle of December. it's not a promise but I still hope I'd have finished this chapter by then.

that being said, again, I wish y'all a lovely Diwali 🪔

I was starting to lose hope that you will appear on this forum till Christmas at least.. glad that you are here and doing well 😁😁

open wounds (💖🕌🛕)

certain events cannot be truly concealed, not for long and as time passes by, Jodha finds herself coming to terms with her current reality while Jalal's grip grows tighter and more suffocating

a month later

The court proceeded as usual at the Diwan-e-Khaas—dispute over the taxes imposed on gunpowder from the Far East, another revolt in Kabul, a constant power struggle in another province, and some khat calling for another petition in a province down in the Deccan. It was almost monotonous, so dreary that if she were a common maid, Maham would have found herself dozing off right in the middle of it all, the way she imagined that barbarian of a son of hers was.

It was a wonder — a freak of nature — how she could have possibly birthed and raised a man as mindless as Adham Khan. Of course, he would have chosen this moment of all moments to miss Diwan-e-Khaas; it was no wonder Jalal, at one point, had held a council to depose him and appoint Pir Muhammad Khan in his stead.

And ya Allah, even then, the fool had been absent during that council, one that decided his damn political fate. Maham could only lament her predicament, her eyes skyward as she would often ponder where on earth that fool of a son must have hidden himself while Allah was distributing common sense and wisdom.

Did Adham not realize just how precarious his position was? Did he ever stop to notice just how closely and intently Jalal had an eye on him, as if he were a hawk tracking prey since that incident in Malwa?

Allah knew how many bandhis she had to poison, how many loose ends she had to tie just to ensure Adham still walked around with his head situated right on his shoulders. Only Allah knew how much of an act she had to put on before Jalal just so that bufoon of her son would live with his position intact.

Yet, he chose this moment to be absent in the Diwan-e-Khaas.

Maham's lips pursed, her face wearing that cool mask she has always donned in court, while her eyes remained trained even through the briefings that would send anyone dozing at this point.

Her mind whirred with multiple items, the rumoured pregnancy taking the top priority as her eyes landed on none other than that Rajvanshi begum.

Her eyes narrowed slightly in observation and part irritation — a lingering frustration at that dai, the woman who would dare stand between her and her quest to sniff out the truth and confirm if indeed someone carried the empire in her womb.

It had left her no other option but to sniff around, her eyes latching onto Hoshiyar Khan after Resham had tipped her off to the eunuch's mission to investigate the leads and find the source. Even that turned out to be abortive as her spies reported back to her that Hoshiyar had abruptly claimed it to be inconclusive.

Inconclusive? And Jahannam must be turning into Kabul, she almost sneered just at the thought. She had the inkling that someone at the top was playing mind games and pulling the strings.

Maham glanced at Hamida Bano Begum, the Malika-e-Azaam, and Mariam Makani, who sat behind the pardah, shielding the women's court from the rest of the diwan. She almost scoffed at the younger matriarch being that 'someone'.

The Mariam Makani could be stern whenever she chose to be, and by Allah, Maham can recount events when the demure woman cast aside her meekness to send a message to the empire that she was not the type they could trifle with. But, at the same time, Mariam Makani was too gentle, too straightforward to play such sick games.

Ruqaiya? Hell no.

While playing games of cat-and-mouse was right up her alley, it would be counterproductive on her part, after all, the Malika-e-Khaas was the one who had even sent Hoshiyar on that task.

No, there was only one person she could think of, the one person who gained a sick joy from this type of power play — him.

Her eyes now fell on Jalal, the young man appearing calm and settled on his takht, despite his eyes landing on the usual spot they usually did during the diwans.

It made sense to Maham as she was the one who had raised him to be like that — to see people as pawns on a grand shatranj board to toy with and keep bound to him until they outlived their usefulness in his hands.

How the student had outmastered his tutor, she could almost sneer at the turn of events, because if Hoshiyar could discontinue his investigations, then it meant Jalal was aware someone was sniffing around. It wasn't just his Zan-e-Kalan's khwajasira.

Maham could almost tear out her white dupatta-clad hair from her scalp because, while Jalal might have handed out the information on a platter, it also meant she could not do anything with it unless she had a death wish, and that placed a damper on her plans.

He's watching. Like a tiger let out on the loose, she frowned, her hardened gray eyes on him nodding at the words of the dignitary before him. She would have laughed at the irony of the turn of events if not for how frustrating she found this.

I have taught you well, Jalal.

She had taught him so well that she hadn't expected it would turn on her one day. For as long as she had applauded him taking his rightful place on the takht, she had always believed she had him wrapped right around her fingers, but this...oh, this showed otherwise.

Then, Maham's eyes glanced over at none other than that Rajvanshi woman who sat behind the pardah.

Begum Jodha.

With Jalal's string-pulling schemes behind the scenes, she could conclude without any doubt that the pregnant begum was none other than her.

Ya Allah, what was it about that woman that would have her foster son acting like a guard dog? What made that Rajvanshi witch so special that Jalal was ever ready to burn it all to the ground?

Was it her beauty?

No, it could not be possible. Jalal's harem was almost a pageant with beautiful women from Hindustan and beyond.

No, it had to be something else. Something that would allow him even to permit her to retain her foreign culture within the borders of the Empire.

She has to be a witch, reciting spells and incantations to her gods to bind him. Maham's eyes stared intensely as if wanting to burn a hole through the pardah.

Her mind was so engrossed with Jodha that she hadn't caught the silence of the court again; her attention registered back on Jalal, who had now stepped down from his takht.

It was almost theatrical how he paced, his juttis making a sound against the tiled floors of the Diwan-e-Khaas while his hands were folded behind his back as if in contemplation.

"The season echoes the herald of the Northern winds," he muttered, breaking the silence as he paused right in the middle. His eyes veered over outside the window, almost overlooking the Yamuna. "With the winds come the tales of a new light..."

The silence remained for a moment, the court exchanging glances, probably wondering if their emperor had imbibed the opium-consuming habits of his late father and was suddenly waxing lyrical under the influence.

If only they were not far from the truth, Jalal did have his wild days—still did, occasionally—nights filled with afyoon mixed in with sura while some women from the harem hung around his arms.

Ya Allah, even she found it terrifying how easily he could compartmentalize what part of him to put on display to the public and right now, the man standing in the middle of the court was not the one in an opium-fuelled haze.

No, this one was sane with his mental faculties fully coordinated, which had murmurs filling the air, seeking the closest interpretation to his cryptic puzzle.

"Shehenshah be ab kis paheli mein hum sab ko uljha diya hai?"

"What does he mean?"

"Subanallah, has another territory been claimed under the sultanate?"

A raised hand by Jalal had the court coming to a hush as they straightened their spines. It was a moment of blink-and-you-miss, but Maham caught it just in time—his glance steering towards the women's court, and his eyes softened. She knew who that gaze was for, and her fists clenched in response.

"The sun is about to rise on the Empire again," Jalal said softly. "My harem blooms with the coming of a child, and it is a moment before the sun shines down upon us. Khuda has answered our prayers," he concluded, a genuine smile on his face.

There it is, Maham's lips curved into a vicious grin while the court went into an uproar of 'Mubarak ho'. She finally had what she wanted—that damn confirmation, but also...

Her grin got wider as her face caught sight of a certain face—Ruqaiya. The Malika-e-Khaas held this expression of someone who had just had lemon squeezed at their face, and another emotion was buried beneath it.

Oh, there was nothing more dangerous than a person with open wounds left to fester with bitterness and unresolved grief.

Ruqaiya had always been her most effective weapon, and what other way to utilize this weapon before her?

Maham said nothing more, only clapping and mouthing 'Mubarak ho'.

Wah, how long had she finally prayed for this moment? For this confirmation that someone was with child? And with Ruqaiya's reaction, Maham smiled to herself with the knowledge that she didn't need to do anything more than what was provided to her.

To an outsider, the day would have seemed like the norm as the sun hid partially behind the clouds, allowing some of its rays to be cast down on Badalgarh.

The harem, as usual, buzzed and hummed with gossip and side talks exchanged after the recent news as reported by bandhis and some of the begums who had been present at Diwan-e-Khaas.

However, one particular section of the zenana told a different tale as the young bandhis scattered in panic, the sound of porcelain and fine china crashing against the wall grew more prominent the closer Hoshiyar found himself to Ruqaiya's hojra.

"Jao, Chale jao yaha se!" Came that furious tone Hoshiyar rarely heard from her, his eyes widening in realization of what could have prompted this meltdown.

Ya Allah, he stared up at the ceiling before another crash broke his attention, almost making him jolt out of his bones as a fleet of women came rushing out of the hojra.

One of them bumped into his shoulder, not sparing him an apology, as her prime focus seemed to be on getting out of the crosshairs of a typically restrained mistress whose rage had spilled out like a dormant volcano given the opportunity to erupt.

Another crash against the walls or the marbled floors — which one it was, Hoshiyar could not tell — had him jolt, his body moving against the tide as he got closer to her hojra.

And there it was — like a scene out of a disaster, perhaps an earthquake. It was Ruqaiya Suitan Begum.

His breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of broken vases, a shattered alabaster box that held sweet perfume from Misru, with its pungent scent causing his stomach to roil in response, and his mistress herself.

Ya Allah, he swore again, his body trembling as he stepped forward with caution, marking his steps. Within the fifteen years he'd spent serving her, he'd never seen her like this — rage rolling off her shoulders, her eyes blazing, and her hair wild. This was a far cry from the façade she'd always donned before the empire and behind closed doors.

Grasping the message that this Ruqaiya was not the type he wanted to be within proximity to, Hoshiyar stepped back — a moment too late as those eyes stared right at him, making his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly.

An unsettling grin spread across her lips as she moved closer, her pale brown eyes rooting him right in the spot he stood. He dared not move an inch in fear that she might choose to toss a projectile at him with that frightening aim of hers.

"How long?"

The question landed softly yet carried a certain kind of weight enough to crack open the grounds.

Hoshiyar knew exactly what her question was, but perhaps it was his flawed way of buying himself time or pure stupidity on his part; his lips were swift to blurt out dumbly.

"Kya, huzoor?"

If Hoshiyar found her grin unsettling, perhaps her chuckle was enough to cast fear in the hearts of the bravest of men, and even worse was that single blink as she slightly tilted her head.

"Don't play dumb with me, Hoshiyar. You know damn well what I meant. How long did you know it was her?"

And there it was — his doom in flesh and blood, staring right at him. Maybe it wasn't just the rage rolling off of her in waves, but also that look of hurt as he had betrayed her.

Ever since that afternoon at the Angoori Bagh with Hoshiyar putting together the pieces of the puzzle in identifying the pregnancy begum's identity and realizing the Shehenshah had laid down the trap in a way that he would be caught between the devil and the sea, Hoshiyar had chosen his sense of self-preservation over his loyalty to Ruqaiya.

It was not the kind of choice he'd have made if the alternative wasn't the Badshah Salamat of the Mughal Empire, whose temperament was frightfully unpredictable and worse so if he found you a liability. For if he did, it would take Allah Himself to intervene on your behalf.

The fact that Hoshiyar could even stand before his mistress was a miracle in itself. Yet, that look of hurt in Ruqaiya's eyes didn't care if he was looking out for his neck.

"You told me the search came up inconclusive. You said it was baseless rumours, just the season in transition. You knew," Ruqaiya held out a finger, the digit pointed in his direction as she fought back the ever-bursting torrent of tears. "You knew it was her, yet you said nothing. You lied to me!"

The guilt hit him square in the chest a hundredfold as he watched her chest heave.

For a woman whose image thrived on control, this current image of Ruqaiya was everything but that. Hoshiyar could only pray so fervently that he'd make it out of here alive.

And to think he had feared the Shehenshah sadistically gutting him over this.

As if to further prove his point, that façade came over her face as her hand wiped out the tears that did manage to slip, further smudging her kajal. Ruqaiya's chest still heaved as her eyes fell over the shards of glass and the spilled perfume seeping into the carpet.

"It's not your fault," she muttered to herself. She sounded so calm, way too calm, that he would have believed the state of this room was her fitful contribution. "It's not your fault."

She repeated in a way that should have brought relief to him, but Hoshiyar had worked for Ruqaiya for too long to know that there was more than what met the eye when it came to her, and right now, the gears were moving in her damn head.

Ya Allah, have mercy. His eyes went skyward in a short prayer, almost whispered in bated breath. It rarely went well each time she was in this mood, which was far and in-between, but still something that had Hoshiyar on his toes like he was walking around eggshells.

"You won't betray me like this," her voice carried on with that whisper, her face twisting with bitterness. "No, you'd never. Not unless there was someone else—."

Oh shit, he almost swore out loud.

Ruqaiya was smart, too smart for the good of the damn empire itself and the fact that she could put two and two together so quickly—.

A dark, mirthless chuckle filled his ears, his fears evolved to worry as he noticed the tremble in her shoulders, the angry tears flowing unabated from her face — ya Allah, this was exactly what he dreaded, what he wished he would not want to witness.

Unresolved grief was one hell of a traitor, always lurking around the corner to lay its ambush, and Ruqaiya had held her defences for so long she could no longer do so.

She dropped to her knees in a way that would have come across as dramatic if it weren't tragic already. In alarm for her safety, Hoshiyar rushed over to her side, his hand hovering over her back in fear.

Those sobs unleashed now, her body shaking just in symphony. The Empire's ice queen gave way to the real Ruqaiya, that 9-year-old long buried beneath the Empire's expectations, only to be met with the cruelty of shattered dreams and an aggravated open wound.

Not even he could stop the tears, not at all. Fate could be such a cruel b*stard, so cruel enough to land them right in this territory.

"He moved on just like that," her voice wobbled, so unstable between the tears. "He gets to father another child while I—."

She left it incomplete, but Hoshiyar knew what she meant to say: while I am left with a wasteland of a womb.

The pain of everything about this made its mark squarely in his chest, so ironic for a eunuch who'd never marry or sire a child either. Perhaps, he could relate to that ache in some ways, but he could never equate that ache to her wounds.

He'd never sired a child, but she? She had carried one in her only for them to be cruelly snatched from her before they could see the light of the day.

He'd never understood that pain; however, along with the wave of empathy flooding his senses, there was a part of him that feared what she could do now that she knew who the pregnant begum was.

He prayed silently to Allah, if He was listening somewhere, that Ruqaiya would not do something so drastic out of her pain.

The cold biting winds blew through Badalgarh, enough to have Adham shiver if not for the warmth of his Pashmina blanket cocooning his body as he lay sprawled across the expanse.

He ought to be at the Diwan-e-Khaas, but what was the point anyway? He almost scoffed at the question as he stared at the mosaic pattern on his ceiling.

He'd been deposed of his rank as the Subehdar of Malwa, that showing up like a filthy lowering of himself before none other than him.

Yes, him.

The man who suckled from the same breasts he did, the Badshah himself, not of the same blood, yet he managed to have his Ammi Jaan's affection.

It was almost sickening, yet it had also earned him his former position as the Subehdar of Malwa — a perk of being the son of Maham Anga, the Shehenshah Jalaluddin Muhammad's wet nurse.

A perk that was meant to be the reins drawing his carriage right to the takht until someone in Malwa decided that his reign over the province would be short-lived.

Just the thought earned his ire as Adham found himself instinctively rubbing his neck, feeling the phantom sensation of cool, sharp metal which had managed to break skin.

Jalal had almost killed him after receiving the news of how he'd kept spoils of the war, and worse of all, killing as many prisoners of war while treating himself to the harem of Sultan Baz Bahadur.

Adham could almost guffaw at the irony of it all, the moral high ground Jalal could take as if he didn't own a harem, as if he did not help himself to the women residing under the roof of the Mughal zenana.

And when he had brought it up before the very irate Jalal, the blade pressed even deeper, inducing bleeding. It was either his pure luck or his Ammi's quick thinking that had him on this damn bed, only deposed of his position.

Kher, Adham rolled on his back, his eyes tightly shut as he breathed in deeply. He'd make sure he got back at Jalal, one way or the other, for that. He'd not only reclaim his position as the Subehdar, but he'd also depose him of his takht just the way he'd planned for years.

He could only imagine that stare of despair in Jalal's eyes as his hands would clutch at his bloodied neck, marked by his shamsheer, the same damn weapon he had pressed against his neck in Malwa.

Oh, by Allah, what a day it would be.

The empire, right in my palms, he grinned until his ears picked up the slap of juttis on the tiled floors and that squeal which managed to grate on his ears.

"Alhamdulillah!"

By Khuda...it was her—the stupid girl, that ditzy daughter of Baqi Khan Baqlano, whom he had the misfortune of calling his biwi. Why his Ammi would have him marry her was a wonder in itself.

Her voice was like nails scrawling on chalkboards, and her laugh, ya Allah, Adham almost groaned as he pulled the blanket down to his chest, his eyes hardened into a glare as he stared at her.

Whatever could it be that would bring joy to her, he thought as a sneer twisted his lips, with him slowly sitting up.

Javeda's face brightened with a wide smile on her face, her hand raised to her forehead to greet him, which he responded to with a lackadaisical salaam.

She needed no prompting as she began to rattle off something about the cold weather and whatever caught her attention in the Angoori Bagh...he barely paid attention to her or whatever she had to say. Who cared what she had to say?

"Khuda has smiled down upon us again. His favour rests upon the sultanate after two long years," she interjected, her voice so animated that it suddenly caught his attention.

His head snapped up as he stared at her as if prompting her to further expatiate.

Two years...what happened at the diwan today?

This was one of the few times Adham would curse himself for being a fool for missing court. Was he in trouble? Did Jalal finally—?

Nahin, he shook his head. If he were in trouble, it would be Jalal's shamsheer gracing his neck again instead of Javeda's aggravating voice. No, there had to be another reason.

"Ya kya hai?"

Expecting an immediate answer from Javeda, Adham's eyes narrowed with annoyance at the sight of his biwi looking up with a dreamy look plastered on her face as she sighed and twirled around.

He was about to interject with pure venom, demanding an answer to his question, when she chose to dignify it with a response.

"Begum Jodha bachche ke saath hai," she paused, her eyes falling on him, so that Adham had to train his face not to give away his true feelings.

A child?

That would have had him frowning if not for his present company.

Ya Allah, that stupid look Javeda had plastered on her face was almost enough to tip him off and have his hands wringing the breath out of her.

Just when he thought she could not be more irritating, her hands fiddled with her dupatta as she began daydreaming about having a 'gift' of theirs — a child, too.

By Allah, what gift could Jalal's potential heir possibly be? And how the hell was this possible? He thought his Ammi Jaan had pulled every string to ensure none of the wombs in that harem would ever carry an heir.

Turns out she overlooked one, he thought to himself, bitterness tinging his tone.

As if summoned, there she was by his door — his Ammi, Maham Anga. She was clad in her usual white outfit—almost monochromatic, if one chose to overlook the gold accents of her attire. Underneath her white dupatta, one could see her graying hair, the one thing she'd started priding herself in as she abstained from the dark henna she once used to indulge in.

Adham's eyes hardened as she sauntered into his hojra, no care in her steps as if she lacked any awareness of the severity of what this must mean.

Instead, Ammi Jaan merely put on that cool and relaxed face of hers as she regarded Javeda, sending her on some errand that would have her really busy for a time long enough for the confrontation due to come.

Javeda only smiled again, putting on the taslim gesture, before walking outside and leaving the two of them in this room.

On a typical day, Ammi Jaan would have been tearing him a new one for not showing up at the Diwan-e-Khaas when he was on very thin ice with Jalal—it was nothing he hadn't heard anyway. However, her face bore that same smile as if—

What about this news is worth smiling about?

He wanted to fume but chose to keep mute. His face said all his mouth ached to vent out, yet the smile remained.

An exhale escaped his lips as he turned, his feet on the carpets.

"It eludes me how you can still smile about this, Ammi Jaan." He scowled, his eyes boring into hers like a glare. It was ironic to him because she had acted so fast in orchestrating Begum Ruqaiya's miscarriage, yet here she stood, smiling as if she didn't recognize just how dire this situation was.

If anything, it managed to further infuriate him. This was urgent and yet—

"Aren't we going to strike while the iron burns hot? Or do we wait until she gains more power and we bow before her and her child? Is it until our ambitions slip right through our fingers?"

He gritted, finding it increasingly difficult to keep his voice levelled. The risk of being overheard by a spy—or worse, him—should have him mindful, but that stood as the last cause for concern for Adham, who grew more frustrated.

That was until—

"Adham Khan."

For once, she spoke his name without that usual undertone of disdain, irritation and weariness which was funny for Adham.

For as long as he could remember, Jalal had always been the apple of her eyes, the goose who laid the golden egg, which by Khuda, Ammi Jaan had milked to the best of her abilities to secure their present positions in the Mughal court.

Yet, Adham always found himself playing the second ektara to Jalal. It was always perfect 'Jalal, precious Jalal' for Ammi Jaan, who never hesitated to compare Adham to him.

"If you were at the Diwan-e-Khaas this morning, perhaps you'd understand, humara bachcha," she started, her smile giving way to that subtle sneer only she could grant him each time she was annoyed at him. "Indeed, this is a dire situation, but one which requires us to use our heads."

Oh, now he was pissed, as he stood to his height—something that would have intimidated anyone, except this was his Ammi who stood before him.

"Oh,I am using my head now, Ammi Jaan," he retorted. "And my head says we act fast before—."

"Jalal is no fool, Adham." Her voice took on an edge that would typically send shivers running up the spine. "He's not so stupid that he would fail to track patterns and act to protect Begum Jodha."

Now, Adham's frown deepened as his eyebrows creased even further. If Jalal was protecting Jodha, how would it benefit them?

He glanced at Ammi, who merely gave an exasperated sigh.

"Ya Allah," she muttered under her breath, her eyes almost rolling. "He'd do anything to protect her, Adham, even if it includes encroaching on her autonomy."

She paused, staring at him, and suddenly, he grasped the implications, his lips stretching into a grin. Why hadn't he even thought about that?

"Begum Jodha values her autonomy above all; she'd not let him," he added, a wild, sadistic side of him relishing his nefarious plans.

For once, it would seem that Rajvanshi woman's defiance was about to be her undoing, especially now. With the previous miscarriage, Jalal's fists would tighten like a rope around the neck and with the power of the empire, he'd—

"For once, I see your mind lost in the art of thinking, beta. Tell me, what could be running in your mind?"

Adham's train of thought came to a halt as he frowned again. Silence temporarily filled the air before he looked up.

"Divide and conquer, Ammi Jaan."

At that, she nodded, as if impressed with his achievements. It would seem like his Ammi had considered that and merely awaited his decision as well.

"A word or two, and he'll grow more paranoid now that he knows he has something to lose," Ammi Jaan paced about the room, her jootis slapping against the floor with a light thud. "And when men like Jalal wrestle with paranoia, they tighten their fists with the hope that they can bargain with Allah and prevent the inevitable."

A low chuckle filled the room, bubbling from Adham's throat as he stood up to his height.

"Begum Jodha will rebel against him," he clicked his tongue, a dark shadow falling over his face as he slowly cracked his knuckles in expectation

How long had he waited to put that Rajvanshi in her place? How long had he longed to knock her off whatever pedestal she thought she owned?

If he were Jalal, he'd have broken her already at the first sign of her defiance, but no, his milk brother just had to entertain her to the point of now having her carry his heir.

Not for long anyway.

As if she could track the direction his mind veered off to, his Ammi held out her hand to hold him in his steps. Her gray eyes seemed to say what her lips refused to articulate.

Don't do anything stupid.

He merely threw his hands up in mock surrender. His Ammi knew what she was doing, and should she need him to step in, he would.

Like he always did.

With Uzma. With Ahmed. With several other witnesses she had him eliminate.

And soon, with Jalal's Rajvanshi pet.

It was barely a week after Jalal's announcement (Jalal's pov btw)

Ek haftah.

One week.

That was how long it took for the court to buzz as bees attracted to honey as soon as he had dropped the bombshell during Diwan-e-Khaas.

That was how long it took for the courtiers, some of whom were men who served under his Abbu's regime, to lavish him with echoes of 'Mubarak ho' with tight-lipped smiles that alerted him to the fact that they might have already known exactly who that 'pregnant begum' was. And that was despite his not uttering a name for them to latch on to.

One week was enough for Abdul to linger behind him as he questioned his choice of announcing to the court that Jodha bore his child.

Jalal's grip on the hilt of his shamsheer tightened as his mind replayed the last few minutes of his conversation with the man Ammi Jaan would term his conscience, he rarely bothered listening to.

Ya Khuda, he almost swore to himself as he rubbed his chin. Could this be another moment where he could not afford to underestimate Abdul's ability to see beneath the surface?

It's been two years, Bhaijaan. It would be too naive of either of us to believe the culprit won't find a way to strike again.

An exasperated gust of air escaped through his lips, a sign of his controlled effort to curtail his vagrant emotions.

This was one of the moments Jalal longed for a moment of solitude to put his thoughts together — a moment where he could set his imperial duties aside and think.

Not as if he hadn't done enough of that before making the announcement a week ago. He'd considered every possibility of what was the most inevitable, but how successful could one be at concealing a pregnancy?

The fact that Jodha could even keep this under wraps for as long as she could was a miracle in itself. He had to give it to her, but for how long?

"The harem buzzes", Sufiya had added, her voice so soft as if her words weren't like gunpowder to a musket. Yet those couldn't be any truer, for what excuse could they throw out to the hungry tigers to feast on before they'd growl for the real deal?

So, he'd opened up and kept Jodha's identity as vague as he thought possible.

Apparently, not vague enough.

"Jahapana," a voice shook Jalal out of his thoughts, his eyebrow slightly raised as he rendered his attention.

His eyes fell on the speaker, the man not any older than his Abbujaan would have been if he was still alive—Munim Khan was the name this courtier went by, his head in a slight bow as he greeted salaam.

Nodding his permission for Munim to express his thoughts, Jalal found himself reclining against his takht.

The older man cleared his throat again before proceeding to talk.

"Mubarak ho, Shehenshah," he started, and soon, Jalal narrowed his eyes as they trained on him.

How could he already tell the court was about to follow that congratulatory statement with something that would leave him enraged in the next few minutes?

Regardless, Jalal could only stiffly nod as Munim bared his teeth in a slightly jittery grin.

"We join you in celebrating this good news, Jahapana," he continued, straightening his posture. "The empire can finally sigh in relief at the budding ray of light about to shine down upon us, after two years of darkness."

The court echoed his sentiment, but Jalal kept silent and still, awaiting the advice he already expected to hear, whatever it might present as.

And just as he had thought...

"However, Shehenshah, would it not be unwise if we refuse to implement measures?"

A blanket of silence fell upon the court now, the courtiers staring stock still at the underlying implications in Munim's words.

The older man only continued instead, as if he was talking to his Abbujaan, Humayun, and not him.

"Gustakhi maaf, Huzoor," Munim apologized. "It has been two years since Begum Ruqaiya lost her child, the one who could have been the heir of the sultanate, and it was not a mere act of God, but an orchestrated plot to poison the well. The case was rendered a cold case, Shehenshah, because the culprit stood several steps ahead of us. How do we ensure this does not repeat itself, Shehenshah?"

Just like that, Munim Khan's words got him, as if the old man knew what burdens rested upon his shoulders when he lay in bed in the cold Badalgarhi nights. However, Jalal had lived this long to know the empire didn't dangle solutions before one's eyes without a price attached somewhere.

He straightened his posture as he slowly rubbed his chin.

"So, what do you propose, Munim Sahab?" He asked carefully, his hazel eyes trained on him.

Munim Khan cleared his throat again, this time with the cautious awareness that he was about to step upon the tiger's tail.

"We may not know who exactly carries the heir to the empire," he started carefully, though Jalal could already tell — they did.

Jodha carrying his child ceased to be a secret at this point, not when her body was starting to show signs. However, he was willing to indulge in this weaponized ignorance regardless, by giving Munim the space to continue.

"But it would be within her best interest and safety if she stepped down from her post, if she holds one in the court."

At that, Jalal's eyes darkened with rage, his head hot at the realization of Munim's proposal. About to interject, Badi Ammi swiftly cut in, her lips curved into a curtailed smile as if to maintain the fragile peace of the court.

From the barely hidden looks of disapproval from some of his courtiers, Jalal could tell they still disapproved of his decision to have Maham Anga be the Wazir-e-Aliya, simply because they held onto the old ways.

Too damn bad, he almost scoffed as he needed her input in this. She was amongst the few — Abdul, Ruqaiya, Salima, Ammi Jaan, Atgah Sahab and Jodha Begum — whose advice he considered worth listening to, even if the power ultimately rested in his palms.

"Gustakhi maaf, Shehenshah," she slightly lowered her head, her right hand in a salaam. "Mubarak ho, once again. Allah has smiled down upon this empire, and for that," Badi Ammi held her palms up in a gesture of prayer. "Allah lak shukr hai."

Nodding his head, Jalal granted her the space to continue, earning him a mumble of disapproval from his courtiers—the one thing he effectively ignored as he turned his attention towards her.

"However, Shehenshah," Badi Ammi interjected. "We must not dismiss Munim Khan Sahab. As the Hindustan ka Badshah, you are well aware that we have enemies, both outside and amongst us. They will know who she is, and when they do, they will strike."

Tightening his fist, Jalal felt his heart pounding at the remaining unspoken words.

You do not want history repeating itself, do you?

"I don't want to lose them, humara bachcha," Jodha Begum's apprehensive voice flooded his memories, and with it came that solemn vow he had made under the Pashmina blanket in her hojra that he'd be damned before history would ever repeat itself.

With a hand raised, he silently had the court adjourned, as he stood to his height. It was about time he made good on his vows.

(spans a few weeks)

both Jodha and Ruqaiya's pov where Jodha finds herself reckoning with what it means to carry the heir apparent, and Ruqaiya's unhealed wounds lay as ammunition to be weaponized.

It was amazing sometimes, to Jodha, how time flew so fast that it felt like a span of seconds as opposed to months since she found out she was with child.

Just about a moon ago, she'd discovered the truth her mind had denied for two months prior, she had contemplated making a choice that now...now, she was joyful she'd not made the decision to terminate.

As much as she had not completely made peace with this, she'd wondered if she'd truly be at peace if she'd gone ahead with terminating this pregnancy.

A sigh escaped her lips as she looked down on her abdomen, her palm feeling for the slowly growing bump that set her apart in the harem — again. It would seem that the harem now turned to her, not just with envy, but with something close to awe.

The gossip, the not-so-subtle investigation and speculations ceased, evolving into interest. The begums and concubines all stared at her like she was the first moon sighting after Ramadan; they would greet her with salaam, their right hand in front of their eyes with their palm facing towards them.

Every salaam dripped with the one title she'd dreaded since discovering this pregnancy — Mariam-uz-Zamani. It wasn't the title alone that had Jodha almost queasy, but the undertone.

Their eyes held that look of envy and contempt, as if bemoaning the fact that the outsider now carried the symbol they had always fought for — not as if the side glances hadn't started ever since she and Jalal had this...what label could she even put to this, whatever was between them?

It wasn't only the harem, but also the court, the empire itself in human form, upheld by the gatekeepers — advisors who had lived since the reign of Humayun, to the ulama themselves.

Jodha doubted this pregnancy would warm her way into their hearts; they would still view her as the outsider who chose to defy the status quo and refused to assimilate like a stubborn stain on white.

But now that they had their confirmation, with their glances zeroing on her despite Jalal not disclosing her name to the court, only Kanha would tell when they'd squeeze around her like a constrictor.

***

For Ruqaiya, on the other hand, receiving the confirmation via the lips of the man she'd believed she had always known throughout the years managed to rip the bandage open, revealing the festering wounds she had long covered up to anyone who cared to see them.

Her heart hollowed out, her eyes staring ahead like a catatonic soldier, except her sight was focused on a certain target out in the Angoori Bagh — that Rajvanshi begum.

I should have known. I should have—, the tears threatened to burst through her ducts and smudge her kajal all over again.

Two years ago, she had remembered staring into those deceptively innocent dark brown eyes that did nothing to hide the blatant defiance as Begum Jodha was meticulous in making her contempt for Jalal known to her.

The then-recent queen hadn't feared his retaliation at all. She did not even cower at the thought of a potential banishment to the Cold Palace — no, she had laid it out explicitly for her, and any eavesdropper, that she wanted nothing from the Shehenshah himself.

Including his attention.

Well, damn that two-faced, duplicitous Rajvanshi.

Damn her to Jahanam, Ruqaiya clenched her fist against her gharara, her glare even more pointed as she began to ponder if all that had been a ploy to gain Jalal's attention all along.

A gust of cold breeze blew through the corridor, prompting Ruqaiya to drape a pashmina shawl over her shoulders, a shudder passing through her in response to the cold.

Sometimes, she wished she were not the type to overthink such things, but everything had ceased to be that cursed day Jalal decided it would be the best of ideas to bring in a bride without at least updating her.

Ruqaiya should have known that it spelled doom that evening she had told Jalal everything his new queen had told her, only for him to swirl that sura in his cup, his hazel eyes brimming with amusement.

She had expected his rage, done everything in her power to fan the flames of his ego with the expectation that his imperial rage would spill on Begum Jodha.

But no, by Allah, he'd merely chuckled, that dark and low sound rumbling through her hojra that it felt like cold water was tossed out on her.

I should have known, Ruqaiya swore under her breath, her eyes brimming with tears of rage.

What bad luck had Allah cursed her with that the woman she'd made a rival of would be the one the harem regarded as the Mariam-uz-Zamani?

Of course, no one could determine if Begum Jodha carried a son in her womb, but the possibility hung heavily in the air, further solidifying the rancour in Ruqaiya's heart.

And to further drive the stake, Jalal stood like a guard dog, going as far as ensuring Hoshiyar would never reveal that Jodha carried his heir.

It stung worse than salt rubbed on wounds and festered like an untreated infection.

***

It never started all at once. Like an analogy Dadi Sa once drew, it was like slowly boiling a frog, you just never noticed the heat...until you did.

Jodha, for once, would admit her shortcomings in that regard as she never noticed the python slowly constricting...until she finally did.

It started with a subtle change of her entourage, one she wouldn't have caught if she hadn't had an eye out for slight changes in details.

For one, she'd noticed a new face amidst her dasis, her face creasing at the new presence and the explanation — the Shehenshah had assigned her to Begum Jodha's hojra.

Jodha had found it odd that Jalal hadn't thought to at least involve her in matters of her care, but she had let it slide, believing it to be a one-time event.

Then, one bandhi became two.

Then three.

Then four.

Until it wasn't just four new bandhis serving with her dasis, but two khwajasiras who tailed behind her like her shadows.

As if the urdubegis who'd served her for two years since she set foot in Badalgarh were not enough to ensure her safety.

Oh no, it felt like the security around her quadrupled, because it ceased to be a matter of her safety and security.

No, this was state-sanctioned surveillance.

Not even Moti and Reva were spared from the additional scrutiny as they were reduced to mere suspects and traitors bound to stab her in the back if provided the ample opportunity.

But Jodha's known them, grown up with them long enough to know they'd not betray her, which is why that flash of pain mixed with rage struck her square in the chest upon seeing them being forced to taste her meals.

Did he truly believe that they'd do that? To her and their unborn child?

Yet the final straw that would break her...

That had led her right to the Khaas Mahal.

***

Ruqaiya should have learned by now that certain people within the harem looked upon her boundaries with disdain. She also ought to have known that Maham Anga would be bold enough to openly flout them by making her presence known without prior permission.

On a good day, Ruqaiya would have poised her features until they took on a court-appropriate façade to portray before anyone.

Especially when Hoshiyar tailed behind her.

However, within the past few weeks, since Jalal had announced a certain begum's pregnancy, her mood had taken a sour tone as she grew curt and biting with anyone who dared test the last of her patience.

For goodness's sake, she had just returned from reprimanding one of the begums who had decided this was the best time for her to lose her royal upbringing by stooping to the level of a concubine over a piece of silk — silk, dammit, of all the things one could squabble over.

Ruqaiya just wasn't in the mood to deal with Maham Anga of all people, and she did not bother hiding that as her glare fixated upon the white-clad woman.

"Adaab, Begum Ruqaiya," the older woman greeted with an accompanying taslim, her lips curved in a smirk as if satisfied that she'd managed to further sour her mood.

Ruqaiya returned the gesture, albeit curtly and with a glare that could curdle milk, as she took off her dupatta, setting it down on her bed.

"I wonder what it must be that brings you into my chamber so unprompted and without my permission. It must be quite unprecedented, don't you think, Maham Anga?" She bit down rather sardonically, putting on the fakest smile she could muster.

Maham chuckled in response, lightly tapping her left temple almost apologetically.

"Gustakhi maaf, Begum Ruqaiya. What I had to tell you was so urgent that it had just slipped my mind to request your audience."

Humming as she slowly tilted her head, Ruqaiya took her seat on a divan close by.

"Isn't it amazing how it works, Maham? Your manners and courtesy always seem to slip your mind for some unknown reason," she added, a mocking tone in her voice. "Kher, there must be a good reason why you're here anyway, let's hear it."

She waved away, almost in dismissal at the Wazir-e-Aliya who stood there mute for a while until Ruqaiya noticed she was staring at Hoshiyar like he was some noxious presence and not her khwajasira.

Rolling her eyes, she called out to him, her voice calm as she dismissed him with a 'Takhliya'.

The tall eunuch bowed slightly with a silent taslim before making his way out of her hojra. The slight decline in amplitude of his juttis against the tiled floors was enough to signal his absence, and enough to have Ruqaiya pick up a mango slice from the tray of cut fruits before her divan, awaiting whatever urgent message Maham Anga had to deliver.

"Your hojra smells different, a bit stronger if I might add, Begum Ruqaiya," the older woman pointed out, making the Malika-e-Khaas raise an eyebrow.

Surely, Maham wasn't here to discuss scents, was she? But who was Ruqaiya to not indulge?

"A mishap. I had the girl flayed for her recklessness," she lied, a coy smile stretching her lips.

Maham tsked, her tongue making a tut-tut sound against her soft palate.

"A shame, don't you think? Shehenshah Jalaluddin Mohammad had purchased it from Misru, only for such expensive perfume to be wasted."

Ruqaiya hummed again, mindlessly reaching for a grape and then popping the crunchy purple fruit into her mouth.

"However, I refuse to believe it was a mishap, Begum Ruqaiya. The facts feel a little...how do I say it?" Maham paused, in search of the right word. "Contrary to your claims."

The queen's eyes slowly widened, her posture straightening as she stared at Maham, the Wazir-e-Aliya grinning down at her.

"For one, I haven't observed a change in your attendants," the older woman pointed out as she took a step closer. "That and that a little bird reported a little earthquake within this hojra around the same day Shehenshah Jalaluddin would reveal that one of his queens bears his seed. An interesting coincidence, if I ever hear of one, don't you think?"

Dammit, Ruqaiya swore to herself now, looking away from Maham.

"I'd appreciate it if you kept your spies out of my space, Maham Anga."

Maham laughed in dismissal, her tone treating her statements with the same regards one might give a madman.

"You forget this is Badalgarh, Begum Ruqaiya. Spies are almost as inevitable as air itself, though I could say that Jalal really did his best in holding off the inevitable for as long as he did."

That alone had Ruqaiya bristling with irritation as her latent rage made its slow comeback.

"Don't remind me," she muttered, her nails digging into the divan.

"I wish I didn't have to, Begum Ruqaiya, but once upon a time, I warned you about something like this happening on the day Jalal brought in Begum Jodha as his new bride," Maham continued, stopping just right before Ruqaiya like she was Shaitan on the left shoulder. "You were always amongst the first, if not the first, to know what his next plans were. But on two counts, Begum Ruqaiya, you were left blindsided by him."

Oh, she knew that. She knew it more explicitly than she wished to.

"There's something about that Rajvanshi girl. Something about her—," Ruqaiya trailed off, her face fixed into a contemplative stare.

"That, or that she's bewitched him," Maham interjected, her voice posing it as a suggestion. "So many unprecedented events have taken place within this palace, all thanks to Jalal, who's wrapped around her little finger. She asks for an inch, he grants her a damn mile. She asks for the earth, he gives her the whole damn universe. She requests her pregnancy be made private, and he does so to the point of threatening Hoshiyar."

Ruqaiya felt her heart pounding as her breath quickened at the implications, but she trusted Maham to spell it out for her regardless.

"The protection you never had during your pregnancy," she started, her tone so soft yet cruel like a dagger to the spine. "He's handed it over to her. It is like he's learned from your miscarriage and drawn plans to protect her from that same fate."

Ruqaiya blinked, hurt stinging not only her heart but also her eyes as her sight grew blurry with unshed tears.

He's moved on and left you behind, was all she could hear. You're all alone now.

She exhaled shakily, holding back those tears as she held her head high.

"Takhliya, Maham Anga. I need space."

The older woman could only muster a nod, her hand to her forehead as she muttered under her breath.

"Khuda hafiz."

Then, she left the room.

That was safe enough for the tears to roll down Ruqaiya's face uncontrollably, silent and hot.

Had Jalal truly moved on?

Did he really leave her in the dust while she was left to bear the burden all alone?

Could he truly have done this to her?

***

Growing up, Maa Sa had always told her she was a little flame spewed from the lips of Agni Himself, small but capable of dealing enough damage if given the potential. That was a warning for the young Jodha, the few she'd taken the time to actually adhere to the closer she was to the Khaas Mahal.

Perhaps two years ago, she would not have hesitated to walk in and give him a piece of her mind, but things had changed now that she carried his child.

The sting remained, the hurt lingered even beneath the cool mask she had on her face as she stood before the durbaans.

The men uttered no words as they quietly stepped aside, opening the brazen doors to ease her entrance.

It's now or never, she exhaled slowly, her left foot taking the first step into his territory.

Each step went one at a time until she was further away from the entrance into the heart of the khaas mahal. It would seem Fate was on her side as he sat on the divan, alone and focused as he stared long and hard at the scrolls before him.

If she didn't know better now, she'd have believed he was merely taking his time instead of what it truly was—him struggling to decipher whatever was written on them.

Perhaps she'd gotten him at the wrong time, her face turning away until all it took was his voice to stop her.

"It would be a waste of time if you turned away, Jodha Begum. You're here already; it must be urgent."

Her feet paused, and the sound of papers being shuffled was all it took for her to turn towards him.

There was this aura she'd rarely detected from him, his face worn out and his lower eyelids slightly sunken, that she would have almost gasped out in shock.

"Adaab, Jodha Begum," he greeted, a weary smile on his face as he held out an arm for her.

No, she wanted to respond, knowing fully well how it was going to go should she take a step towards him. She needed a clear state of mind, none tangled with more emotions than what she carried with her into this room.

"I'm good right here, Shehenshah. I won't even take much of your time," she replied instead, watching his fingers close around nothing as he slowly placed his hand on his knee, adjusting his posture.

"Boliye, what has brought you here?"

For a moment, all that was left was a moment of silence, only the sounds of their breathing filling the room as Jodha slowly calculated her next words, settling for just one.

"Why?"

Jalal's eyebrows shot up in query as his hazel eyes focused on her, almost as if he had no clue what she was referring to.

"Why the surveillance?" She repeated, her voice softer than it would have typically been. "Why all this? I have noticed this distance between us; you barely show up again. When you do, you treat me like I am a fragile porcelain vase bound to break just by any slight mishap."

Those hazel eyes looked away from her, his jaw slightly clenching as he answered, "The burdens of the crown and the sultanate would not permit me. That and the fact that I must protect you and our child."

"Protect?" Jodha almost scoffed in disbelief as she glanced back at him in incredulity. "Does that include treating me like some hostage, too? Like, I am a prisoner? Because it feels like that too."

"Jodha—."

"No, don't 'Jodha' me, Shehenshah," she cut in abruptly. "Don't. Have I lost my freedom because now I carry your child? Because it feels like I can't move, eat or, hell, breathe without one of your spies reporting back like I have committed an unforgivable offence."

He bristled at that, his eyes snapping up at her.

"You know, a few days ago, I had received a khat from the docks about the cargoes needing my signature before they took off to Ahmedabad, and do you want me to repeat the words the khwajasiras you placed at my doorsteps relayed to me?" She questioned, her eyes looking for any sign of faltering on his face, only to find none. "I was told that they had special orders from the mouth of the Shehenshah himself to never let me out of the premises of my hojra. Do you understand how humiliating that was, Shehenshah?"

She found herself hyperventilating, her eyes teary as she awaited his response — none coming from him, which made it all the more infuriating. This was one of the many moments she wished she could read him so easily, but of course, when have the gods ever made it so easy for her?

The room stood deathly silent, so silent that it became additionally suffocating to stand in this room with him.

When he stood to his height, her breath caught in her throat, her feet almost taking a step back had she not willed herself to stay rooted to her spot. Time stood still as he moved closer to her, his eyes unmoving as they remained focused on her.

"Do sal pehle, Jodha Begum," he started, his voice rather low. "Someone within this palace had orchestrated Ruqaiya's miscarriage by pouring in datura ark into her food, and got away with it by eliminating any potential witness we could have gotten our hands on. Do sal, Jodha Begum, and whoever that b*stard is, they roam freely within this palace. Genuinely, do you think they would not target you too?"

What? She wanted to interject, her lips parting as if to interject, not like he would grant her the space if he could help it.

"They could be anywhere here, lurking for the perfect opportunity to put you in harm's way — food, the stairs, assassins...anything," he paused, exhaling both weary and more willing to go on the defensive.

"I know I have enemies, Jodha. But with Ruqaiya's pregnancy, I had underestimated their proximity to me, and look what happened. What do you think would happen again if I let you meet that same fate? What do you think people are going to say? That I can't protect even my unborn children from harm? That I cannot protect my empire? Do you think it pleases me to do this?"

Jodha knew it didn't; she understood his logic and reasoning, but ouch, there was a way he said it that had her shaking her head.

Like I am imperial property whose safety exists to soothe his ego.

And that was worse than if he had just left her open to attacks.

She shook her head again, taking that step back.

"Is this what it is? About you and the empire?"

His eyes widened by a fraction as if slowly realizing the exact moment where he slipped, as he inched forward, but stopped as soon as she raised her hand.

"You know, I do not know what to fear even more — the possibility of being poisoned or whatever this is. Once upon a time, you told me it was me before the empire and that I was more than a vessel for your seed. Now, I wonder if that's what it truly is, or if I am a mere fragile vessel to be kept away from danger while my autonomy is treated like an afterthought."

Jalal inhaled sharply, ever quick to fix things.

"Jodha—."

As much as it would have been comforting to hear it, she was not in the state of mind, as she slowly withdrew both emotionally and soon-to-be physically, her hands pressed in pranaam before turning.

"I will take my leave now, Shehenshah."

Then, she departed.

closing notes: given the direction IES is going, I have decided to make Javeda less of a comic relief here, though she is still a bit ditzy. additionally, I chose to have this last part of this chapter split between Jodha's and Ruqaiya's pov (it helped with my motivation to complete this chapter just in time for Christmas). I decided to split this chapter into two, which was initially not my intention, but with how long this was going, I had to do it.

how was this chapter? hope it was to your satisfaction, though it might have felt rushed in some places, and there are the abrupt time skips and me trying to fit in Jodha's and Ruqaiya's povs in the last section. this has gotta be my longest chapter till date 😩🥲

also, merry Christmas to those who celebrate, and happy holidays to those observing other festivities that fall within this period. I pray it is a blessed one, and we enjoy a smooth transition into 2026