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Third Person's Pov:-

Paridhi sat in front of the mirror, her red wedding dress shining in the light.

Her face was covered with lots of jewelry, but her eyes looked empty and sad.

She stared at herself, barely recognizing who she saw.

This blank look wasn't new to her, but the sadness growing inside made it hard to breathe sometimes.

It felt like something heavy was pushing on her chest, making breathing difficult.

She thought about her family. They were in the next room, laughing and talking like this was the happiest day ever.

They didn't seem to care how she felt. They were just marrying her to the king for their own gain.

Her father always cared about their status and money, and marrying her to the king was a sure way to improve their position.

Her mother seemed more interested in the social benefits of this marriage than in Paridhi's happiness.

Paridhi felt very alone. She had always felt a bit distant from her family, but today it was worse than ever.

Her parents never really understood her. They always saw her as a way to achieve their goals.

Her brother was no different. He was busy with his own life and didn't notice or care about her sadness.

As she sat there, memories of her childhood came back to her.

Those days felt like they happened a long time ago.

Her life had changed so much since then. She grew up in a house where love was hard to find and expectations were high.

Her parents always pushed her to be the perfect daughter, now the perfect bride.

They had prepared her for this day, when she would marry a man they chose, a man who could bring them wealth and status.

But why did the king want to marry her?

That question had been bothering her since she learned about the marriage.

She was just a normal girl. She didn't have any special talents or extraordinary beauty. She was ordinary in every way.

So why had the king chosen her?

She had heard rumours, of course.

Some people said the king had seen her once and liked her simplicity and grace.

Others said it was a political move, a way to make alliances stronger.

But Paridhi had no answers, only questions.

She felt scared.

What kind of life would she have in the palace?

She had heard stories about the king, about his power and his anger.

She didn't know if she was strong enough to handle it. She didn't know if she would survive in a world so different from her own.

The palace was a place full of secrets and danger, where she would be surrounded by people who might not care about her wellbeing.

Paridhi sighed, her breath shaky. She felt like a chess piece in a game she didn't understand.

Her life was being controlled by things she couldn't change, and she felt helpless to stop it.

She thought about running away, about escaping this fate, but she knew it wasn't possible.

There was nowhere for her to go, no way for her to hide.

She was trapped.

Her eyes filled with tears, but she quickly wiped them away.

She couldn't cry now.

She needed to be strong, to face whatever was coming with courage. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

She had to believe that somehow, things would get better. She had to hold onto hope, even if it was just a tiny bit of light in the darkness.

Paridhi thought about the future. She imagined herself in the palace, living a life of luxury and ease.

But it was hard to picture herself in that world. She had always been a simple girl, happy with simple things.

The palace would feel like a prison to her, with its high walls and strict rules.

She wondered if she would ever be happy. Happiness seemed far away, like it belonged to another life.

She missed the days when she could laugh without worry, when her heart felt light and free.

Now, her heart felt heavy, weighed down by fear and uncertainty.

As she sat there, lost in her thoughts, the door opened, and her mother walked in. Her mother looked at her with impatience.

"Paridhi, it's time," she said, her voice firm.

"Everyone is waiting."

Paridhi nodded, herthroat tight. She stood up, feeling the weight of the wedding dress pulling her down.

She looked at herself in the mirror one last time, trying to find some trace of the girl she used to be.

But all she saw was a stranger, a bride dressed for a marriage she didn't want.

Her mother took her hand and led her out of the room.

Meanwhile, the king of Rajasthan, Abhimaan Singh Rathore, sat in the wedding area, doing the rituals with his usual blank face.

His name alone was enough to make everyone scared.

People whispered his name with a mix of awe and fear, knowing how powerful he was.

Abhimaan wasn't just a king; he was someone to be feared.

As he sat there, the air around him seemed to get heavier.

The priests, who were used to doing ceremonies easily, were clearly nervous.

Their hands shook a little as they said the prayers, careful not to make any mistakes.

They knew that one wrong move could make the king angry, and no one wanted that.

Abhimaan's eyes were sharp and piercing, showing how strict and unforgiving he was.

No one dared to look him in the eye. His presence was scary, always reminding everyone of his power.

Even his family, who loved him dearly, felt uneasy around him. They respected and admired him, but they were always a little afraid.

The people who worked at the court were also very careful.

They moved carefully, making sure everything was perfect.

The flowers were arranged neatly, the fire burned steadily, and the offerings were placed with great care.

They had seen the king's anger before and didn't want to upset him today.

Abhimaan's family sat nearby, watching the ceremony with mixed feelings of pride and worry.

His mother Maithili Rathore, loved her son deeply, but even she couldn't deny the fear he caused in others.

She knew he loved her too, but there was always a distance between them that even she couldn't cross.

She remembered when Abhimaan was a little boy, full of energy and mischief.

Those days were long gone, replaced by the image of a stern and powerful ruler.

His father, Abhimanyu Singh Rathore, had been a strong king himself, but even he had seen that his son was stronger and had more willpower.

After Abhimaan was born, he had told Maithili that Abhimaan would be a king like no other, a ruler who would make people respect and fear him equally.

And he had been right.

Abhimaan's younger sister and cousins sat quietly, looking at him now and then.

They loved their brother, but they also knew not to upset him.

His brothers Abhay Rathore and Shivansh Rathore, admired Abhimaan's strength and wanted to be like him someday, though the thought of having so much responsibility made them feel both proud and scared.

His sister, Yashvi Rathore, loved him but often wished he could be a bit gentler, a bit easier to talk to.

The guests at the wedding were the important people of Rajasthan, nobles who had come to see their king marry Paridhi.

They kept their distance, speaking quietly. Their eyes showed both respect and fear.

They knew that being in the king's good books could bring them great success, but one mistake could ruin everything.

As the ceremony went on, Abhimaan's face didn't change.

He knew how he made people feel, but he had learned to live with it.

Power came with a price, and he had accepted that long ago.

He understood that fear was needed to keep control and order.

But that didn't mean he didn't have feelings. He loved his family deeply, even if others couldn't see it.

He thought about his bride, Paridhi.

His Pari.

He had chosen her for reasons only he knew.

He knew she was scared, but he hoped she would understand him over time.

He wasn't an easy man to love, but he believed Paridhi was strong enough to see past his tough exterior.

"Nervous, bhai sa?" Abhay whispered with a grin breaking his trance.

Abhimaan shot him a hard glare which made him gulp. He shuttered.

"I know! Why would you be nervous? Right! You make people nervous instead"

He whispered last line to himself while grinning at Abhimaan.

Before Abhimaan could retort, a hush fell over the crowd.

He looked up to see his siblings eagerly following Paridhi's sister-in-law and mother, who were escorting the bride to the mandap.

The soft jingling of ankle bells grew louder, and suddenly, there she was.

Paridhi entered the area, a vision in red and gold. Her lehenga sparkled under the lights, and her veil was adorned with intricate embroidery.

Abhimaan's breath caught in his throat as their eyes met for a brief moment before she quickly looked away.

As she made her way towards him, Abhimaan couldn't tear his gaze away.

She moved with a grace that seemed almost ethereal, each step measured and deliberate.

When she finally took her place beside him, he found himself stealing glances at her angelic face.

"Bhai sa," Abhay's voice cut through Abhimaan's reverie.

"You might want to pay attention to the priest. He's asking for your hand. Please move your attention away from Bhabhi sa"

He shot a warning glare to his brother then he turned his attention to the priest, but not before stealing one more glance at Paridhi.

"Now, the bride and groom must join hands," the priest's voice broke through his thoughts.

Abhimaan reached out, his hand enveloping Paridhi's smaller one.

Her skin was soft, but he could feel a slight tremor. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, hoping to offer some comfort.

Paridhi looked up at him then, her dark eyes meeting his.

For a moment, Abhimaan thought he saw a flicker of something

fear?

Hope?

"Paridhi," he whispered, low enough that only she could hear.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Yes, Rana sa," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the chanting of the priest.

Abhimaan's heart skipped a beat at the use of the endearment.

It was tradition, of course, but hearing it from her lips made it feel more real somehow.

The priest continued with the rituals, guiding them through each step.

As they circled the sacred fire, Abhimaan found himself hyper-aware of Paridhi's presence beside him.

The warmth of her hand in his, the soft rustle of her lehenga, the sweet scent of jasmine that surrounded her it all threatened to overwhelm his senses.

"Now, the groom will apply sindoor to the bride's hair," the priest announced.

Abhimaan's hand shook slightly as he took the small container of vermilion powder.

He turned to face Paridhi, who tilted her head slightly, allowing him better access to her hairline.

Their eyes met once more, and this time, Abhimaan saw something unmistakable in her gaze a profound sadness that made his heart ache.

He wanted to reach out, to comfort her, to promise that everything would be alright. But the words stuck in his throat.

Instead, he carefully applied the sindoor, his touch gentle. A small amount fell onto her nose, and to his surprise, a single tear escaped Paridhi's eye, rolling down her cheek.

The priest exclaimed.

"It's a good omen. Your married life will be filled with love and happiness."

Abhimaan saw Paridhi's lips curve into a small, bitter smile.

He longed to ask her what was wrong, to understand the pain he saw in her eyes. But this wasn't the time or place.

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