Sharvani stood at the edge of the overlook, the stone beneath her feet jagged and cold, the wind curling around her like a whispered omen. The dawn stretched thin across the sky, streaks of violet and gold bleeding into the lingering darkness. Her dark hair whipped against her face, but she did not move to brush it away. Her eyes—sharp, predatory—were fixed on the valley below, though her gaze was turned inward.
She had felt it.
A rupture in the fabric of the world. A pulse, ancient and potent, reverberating across the land. The night had trembled, the air itself had thickened, and deep in her bones, she had known what it meant.
Vihan.
Her nails bit into her palm, a faint sting grounding her as the truth settled like iron in her chest. The bond had formed. That wretched healer had taken him from her. Not just his body, not just his heart—his very soul.
The pain was not unfamiliar. She had endured pain all her life—had grown sharper, harder because of it. But this… this was different. It was not merely the loss of a man. It was the loss of ownership. Of control. Vihan had been her greatest weapon, the fire she had harnessed to bend the world to her will. Together, they had stood above all others. His strength had fortified her power. His victories had been hers. And now, all of it had been ripped away.
Her lips pressed into a thin line as the wind howled through the cliffs. She would not break. She was not some frail-hearted woman to crumble under the weight of rejection. She was a lioness. And a lioness did not grieve. She hunted.
Behind her, the faint shuffle of footsteps disrupted the wind's song. Devraj approached cautiously, his movements practiced and quiet—like all her chosen shadows. He knelt a few paces away, eyes lowered in respect, though she knew his gaze flickered with unease. The men had felt it too. They had not spoken of it openly, but she had seen their whispers, their wary glances.
"My lady," Devraj began, his voice low, measured. "The scouts confirm Varun's movement. He and his warriors ride to join Vihan."
Of course, Varun would move. Loyalty was his curse—an admirable trait to lesser men, but to Sharvani, it was a weakness that bound him like a dog on a chain. He would rally to Vihan's side now that the bond had formed, strengthening their unity. The Phoenix and the Peacock. A poetic tale for the bards. Disgusting.
Sharvani's gaze remained on the horizon. "How many?"
"Fifty warriors. Well-armed. Loyal." Devraj paused. "Unbreakable."
Sharvani's jaw tightened. She knew Varun's kind. Honor-bound, driven by duty, men who clung to brotherhood as though it could shield them from the world's cruelty. She had bent men like him before—but not Varun. His devotion to Vihan had always placed him beyond her reach. A thorn she had learned to tolerate. Until now.
"Let them gather," she said coolly, her voice like tempered steel. "Let them celebrate their union. Let them believe they are safe." Her eyes narrowed, a faint smirk curling her lips. "Comfort breeds weakness."
Devraj's brow creased, but he did not speak. He knew better than to question her when her eyes burned like that.
Sharvani turned, the wind catching her cloak as she strode past him, down the worn path leading to her encampment below. Warriors stood at attention as she passed—her warriors. Hardened fighters, thieves turned loyalists, men who had sworn their lives to her not out of love, but fear. She had forged them from ruin, given them purpose. She had taught them strength through obedience. And they adored her for it—because they had no other choice.
As she entered her tent, the heavy fabric walls muffling the wind outside, she allowed herself a single breath of stillness. Then, her eyes flickered to the map spread across the table—Vihan's location marked, Varun's path traced. The pieces were moving.
She sat, fingers tracing the route her enemies would take. They would soon believe themselves untouchable—a united force blessed by the heavens, shielded by this bond of spirit and flame.
Fools.
Sharvani knew the truth. Power born from passion was unstable. Love made men reckless. It softened their edges, clouded their judgment. Vihan had always been strongest when his heart was closed. She had seen to that. She had made him steel. But now, this healer—this peacock—had filled him with softness. With hope.
Sharvani would turn that hope into his undoing.
Her mind unraveled the plan swiftly. She would not strike now. No—she would wait. She would let them gather, let them grow comfortable in their belief that fate had shielded them. She would study Aaravi—watch for the cracks beneath her gentle facade. There were always cracks.
Givers like her—they bled too easily.
Sharvani would find the place where Aaravi bled the most. And she would carve her open.
A flicker of satisfaction coiled in her chest as she pictured it—the devastation in Vihan's eyes, the agony of watching his precious healer broken beyond repair. The bond between them would snap like a frayed rope. And when it did, he would have nothing left but the ashes she offered him.
A voice interrupted her thoughts.
"My lady," Devraj's voice was quieter now, hesitant. "And what of the gods' blessing? The bond is said to be… protected."
Sharvani's eyes flashed. She rose slowly, stepping toward him until they were close enough for him to see the danger etched into her features.
"The gods bless the strong," she said softly, but there was venom beneath the silk. "And I am stronger than her."
Devraj lowered his head, retreating.
Sharvani exhaled, her heart steady, her purpose clear. She had loved Vihan once—in her own way. Or perhaps she had loved owning him. It made no difference. He was hers. And if she could not have him…
She would burn everything he loved to the ground.