Heartbreak is a many-headed beast. Sometimes it's the knife slipped between your ribs by family, sometimes it's the slow, rotting corpse of a friendship that used to breathe. But nothing cuts deeper than love turned inside out. Love that learns your weak spots and sinks its claws in. There's no pain like the one given by the hands that used to cradle you, no horror quite like watching the thing you trusted most become the thing that rips you apart.

I'm drowning in that abyss. Ten years—ten long, marrow deep years—I had spent apart from my husband, only to return and find him standing on the threshold of another life, another love. Was this the measure of his devotion? Had waiting for me become such an unbearable burden that he had simply shrugged it off, replaced me, moved on? The questions clashes in my mind, but the only answer I receive is silence. 

A sharp knock at the door snap all three of them to attention. It creaks open, and a minister steps in. He bows slightly. "Maharaja, the assembly awaits your presence." 

Vikramaditya lets out a slow breath and glances at me. "Get some rest. We'll talk when I' return."

I don't answer. Don't even spare him a glance. Just keeps staring at the floor like it holds the ruins of everything I've lost. The dull thud of the door shutting jolts me out of my trance.