The sun rose like a blood-stain over the horizon, but there was no prayer in the palace—only the sound of leather hitting skin and the rhythmic, mocking jingle of silver payals. Aadinath had not slept; his eyes were bloodshot, his royal stature replaced by a feral, unhinged dominance. He dragged her by the gold chains of her necklace through the dust of the palace courtyard toward the main gates.
"Uth, gandi randi! Pura sheher tera intezar kar raha hai," Aadinath growled, yanking the chain so hard she stumbled onto the gravel.
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