Entering Enemy Territory

Rajgarh Palace – The Next Morning

Meera awoke to silence.

Not the comforting kind—the kind that felt too controlled.

She sat up slowly, disoriented for a moment. The bed beneath her was too soft, too luxurious. The air smelled faintly of jasmine, and the ceilings were impossibly high.

Right. She was in Rajgarh Palace.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

Meera swung her legs over the side of the massive four-poster bed, wincing as her bare feet touched the cool marble floor. Her old, worn-out T-shirt and pajama shorts felt wildly out of place against the backdrop of ancient wealth.

A quiet knock at the door made her tense.

Before she could respond, the heavy wooden doors swung open, and a woman in a pressed uniform stepped in.

"Good morning, Ms. Sharma," the woman said politely, bowing slightly. "I am Lata, your assigned maid. Would you like tea?"

Meera blinked. Assigned maid?

"Oh. Uh. No, I’m good," she muttered.

Lata hesitated. "Shall I prepare your bath, then? The Rajmata has requested your presence in the main hall in one hour."

Meera exhaled. Of course, she did.

There was no escaping this.

"No bath, thanks," she said, standing up. "I’ll be fine with a shower."

Lata looked momentarily scandalized, but she recovered quickly. "Very well. Your wardrobe has been prepared."

She gestured toward a massive wooden armoire. Meera had barely opened it last night, too exhausted to process anything. Now, as she pulled it open, her eyes widened.

The closet was filled with silk sarees, embroidered kurtas, and intricate lehengas—all of them probably worth more than her entire apartment back in Mumbai.

"You may select anything," Lata said.

Meera let out a dry laugh. "Yeah, I don’t think this is my style."

Lata didn’t react. "The Prince has requested that you look presentable."

Meera stilled. "The Prince said that?"

Lata nodded. "He expects you to conduct yourself in a manner befitting Rajgarh’s traditions."

Meera clenched her jaw.

Of course he did.

Prince Aryan Singh was already dictating how she should dress. The man had made it very clear that he saw her as nothing more than an intruder—an inconvenience who needed to be erased as soon as possible.

Which meant he was going to hate what she did next.

She grabbed the simplest outfit she could find—a plain white kurta and leggings—and ignored the heavy embroidered dupatta meant to go with it.

If Aryan had a problem with it?

Too bad.

The Main Hall – The Walk of Judgment

Meera had never been afraid of people staring at her.

She had faced down corrupt politicians, exposed billion-dollar scandals, and navigated some of the most ruthless newsrooms in the country.

But as she walked through the ornate marble corridors of Rajgarh Palace, she felt every single pair of eyes on her.

Palace staff. Royal guards. Members of the extended royal family—all of them watching.

Judging.

Whispering.

"She’s the one."

"The journalist? She doesn’t even look royal."

"What was the Maharaja thinking?"

Meera ignored them.

She kept her head high, her shoulders squared. She refused to let them see her doubt.

She reached the grand hall, where Rajmata Devyani, Aryan, and several senior advisors were already seated.

Aryan’s gaze flicked over her. His lips pressed into a thin line.

"You didn’t wear the dupatta," he said flatly.

Meera crossed her arms. "Observant."

His jaw tightened. "You’re in a royal court. You should dress like it."

Meera met his glare head-on. "And you should stop acting like I’m here by choice."

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

Rajmata Devyani, watching the exchange, finally spoke. "That’s enough."

Her voice was calm, but heavy with authority. Instantly, the room fell silent.

"Ms. Sharma," Devyani continued, "we have many matters to discuss. Sit."

Meera hesitated, then lowered herself into the plush chair opposite the queen mother.

"Let’s begin," Devyani said.

One of the legal advisors—a thin man with graying hair—cleared his throat. "Ms. Sharma, the late Maharaja’s will is final. However, due to the unprecedented nature of this situation, we must conduct a formal process to verify your claim."

Meera frowned. "Verify?"

Aryan leaned forward, his dark gaze unwavering. "We need to be sure you are who you say you are."

Meera’s fingers curled against the armrest. "And if I don’t cooperate?"

Aryan’s lips curved into something dangerous. "Then I will make sure you never set foot in this palace again."

Meera’s pulse spiked.

She didn’t want the throne. She didn’t want any of this.

But she hated the way Aryan spoke—like she was beneath him. Like he could just erase her.

So she leaned back, tilting her head slightly. "Fine. Run your tests. Check your documents. Waste your time. But when you find out I’m telling the truth? I expect an apology."

Aryan’s eyes darkened.

"Don’t hold your breath, Sharma."

The meeting dragged on for another hour.

Meera listened as the lawyers explained the legal procedures, the public expectations, the investigation into her past.

Through it all, she could feel Aryan’s gaze burning into her.

He didn’t believe her.

He refused to believe her.

And Meera realized something then—Aryan wasn’t just fighting for the throne.

He was fighting for his identity.

He had spent his entire life preparing for a role that was suddenly ripped away. And now? Now, he was being told that his father had chosen her instead.

No wonder he hated her.

But that wasn’t Meera’s fault.

And she would be damned if she let Aryan intimidate her.

After the Meeting – A Private Warning

As the advisors dispersed, Aryan walked up to Meera.

His voice was low, cold. "This isn’t over, Sharma."

Meera arched a brow. "What, the power struggle? Or your tantrum about losing?"

His gaze flickered with something sharp.

"You think this is a game?" he murmured. "This palace isn’t safe for outsiders. You don’t belong here. And if you’re not careful, you won’t last long."

Meera’s heart thudded. But she refused to let him see fear.

Instead, she smirked. "You worried about me, Your Highness?"

Aryan’s jaw tightened.

And then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

Meera exhaled slowly.

Rajgarh wasn’t just a palace.

It was a battlefield.

And she had just become the biggest target.

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