Samhita is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands. She runs her fingers over the henna design, feeling its tightness on her skin. Her eyes follow the swirling paisley patterns until they meet in the center of her palm, where one name stands out—Vikramaditya.

A thought strikes her, making her lift her gaze. "Summon Maharaja," she orders the attendant, who nods and quickly exits her chamber.

She gets up from her seat and starts pacing around her room. Time's slipping away. She's inching closer to her marriage with Vikramaditya. With just a week left until the big day and half the traditional rituals already done, she's still unsure about what's coming next.

What really bothers her is how her excitement and eagerness to leave the palace are fading more each day. She's fighting the urge to push her thoughts towards escaping, but for some reason, it hurts to even think about it. It's like she's beginning to accept her life here, and that's what angers her the most.

The door to her chamber swings open, and Samhita's breath catches in her throat as Vikramaditya strides into the room.