chapter 1
Chapter One
Seven Days
Luitara was a prosperous kingdom in eastern India, long before the century in which our story takes place.
It was a kingdom of rivers and forests, of endless green hills and fields of ripening rice. The great Luit River curved through its lands, carrying boats, fishermen, traders, soldiers, and stories from one settlement to another. Bamboo grew thick along the riverbanks. Wildflowers appeared wherever people had left enough land untouched for nature to reclaim it. In the mornings, mist floated over the water, and by evening, the entire kingdom seemed to glow beneath the orange sky.
From the outside, Luitara seemed almost perfect.
Its people had fertile land.
Its markets were busy.
Its soldiers were feared.
Its royal family was respected.
And its palace stood proudly above the river valley, surrounded by gardens so large that children could disappear into them for hours.
But prosperity did not mean perfection.
Luitara had old customs.
Some were beautiful.
Some brought families together.
Some were celebrated with music, food, flowers, and laughter.
And some were traditions that had survived simply because nobody had dared to ask whether they should.
One of those customs concerned girls.
When a girl experienced her first period, her family was expected to find her a suitable boy within seven days.
The seventh day was the deadline.
And once the seven days were over, when the girl’s period ended, the marriage was expected to take place.
It was an old custom.
Older than the palace.
Older than many of the families who still followed it.
And nobody in Luitara questioned it quite as loudly as they should have.
Except, perhaps, Senapati Bwiswmuthi.
He had never liked it.
He simply had not expected the custom to come knocking on his own door so soon.
“Catch me!”
Jonaki’s voice rang through the palace garden.
Jwngdao looked up.
“No!”
“Then you’re losing!”
“I am not losing!”
“You haven’t caught me yet.”
“Because you keep cheating!”
Jonaki laughed.
She was halfway up an enormous tree, her bare feet finding each branch with the confidence of someone who had climbed it far too many times.
Jwngdao stood below her, glaring.
He was dressed in the clothes appropriate for the son of the king, but Jonaki had long ago discovered that expensive clothing did not make someone better at climbing trees.
Especially not him.
“Come down,” he ordered.
“No.”
“That’s an order.”
Jonaki looked down.
“Are you ordering me because you’re the prince?”
“Yes.”
“Then no.”
Jwngdao stared.
Jonaki smiled.
“You’re a terrible prince.”
“I am going to be king.”
“So?”
“So you have to listen to me.”
Jonaki considered this very seriously.
“No.”
Jwngdao put his hands on his hips.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re Jwngdao first.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re the boy who fell into the pond yesterday.”
“I slipped!”
“You fell.”
“I slipped!”
“You screamed.”
“I did not.”
“You screamed so loudly the ducks ran away.”
“They were already running.”
“They were swimming.”
Jwngdao pointed at her.
“One day, I’m going to become king and make a law that says you have to listen to me.”
Jonaki grinned.
“Then I’ll become a criminal.”
“You can’t.”
“Watch me.”
Jwngdao tried very hard not to laugh.
He failed.
The two children had been doing this for as long as either of them could remember.
Their fathers had been friends since childhood.
King Rwngkhwma Luit and Senapati Bwiswmuthi had grown up together, fought beside each other, argued over ridiculous things, and eventually found themselves responsible for an entire kingdom.
Their children had simply inherited the friendship.
Or perhaps the chaos.
Jonaki had never cared much about the difference.
To her, Jwngdao wasn’t the heir to Luitara.
He wasn’t the prince.
He wasn’t the future king.
He was the boy who stole mangoes from the palace kitchen and blamed her.
The boy who couldn’t swim as well as he claimed.
The boy who had once challenged her to a race and then spent half the race complaining that the ground was uneven.
Her friend.
Her most frequent opponent.
Her favourite person to annoy.
Jwngdao, meanwhile, considered Jonaki to be the most irritating person in the kingdom.
He also happened to look for her every morning.
Neither of them had noticed the contradiction.
Not yet.
“I’m coming up,” Jwngdao announced.
Jonaki looked down.
“You’ll fall.”
“I won’t.”
“You always fall.”
“I don’t.”
“You did yesterday.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I was distracted.”
“By what?”
Jwngdao paused.
“Your face.”
Jonaki blinked.
Then she burst out laughing.
“That doesn’t even make sense!”
“I know.”
He grabbed the trunk.
Jonaki climbed higher.
“Hey!”
“You said you were coming up.”
“I am!”
“Then hurry.”
Jwngdao started climbing.
For several minutes, the only sounds in the garden were their laughter, the rustling leaves, and the distant calls of palace servants.
The morning sun had just begun to warm the stone pathways.
Somewhere beyond the palace walls, people were beginning their daily work.
Farmers were walking toward the rice fields.
Merchants were opening their stalls.
Fishermen were carrying baskets toward the river.
Luitara was waking.
And in one of the palace gardens, its future king was losing a race to the Senapati’s daughter.
Again.
Jonaki reached the highest branch she dared to climb.
She turned around triumphantly.
“I win!”
Jwngdao reached the branch below her.
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You started before me.”
“You were slow.”
“I was climbing carefully.”
“You were scared.”
“I was not scared!”
“You’re scared of heights.”
“I am not.”
“Then look down.”
Jwngdao immediately looked down.
The garden suddenly seemed much farther away.
He swallowed.
Jonaki burst out laughing.
“You are scared!”
“I am not!”
“You are!”
“Stop laughing!”
“Prince Jwngdao is scared of a tree!”
“Jonaki!”
She laughed so hard she had to hold the branch.
Then she stopped.
Something felt strange.
She looked down.
A small red stain had appeared on her clothing.
Her laughter disappeared.
She stared at it.
For a moment, she didn’t understand.
Then she did.
Her face went blank.
“Jwngdao…”
“What?”
“Don’t look.”
Naturally, he looked.
His eyes widened.
Jonaki immediately covered the stain with her hands.
Jwngdao’s face changed.
“Jonaki.”
“Don’t.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“I know.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Then why are you bleeding?”
“I don’t know!”
Jwngdao’s eyes grew wider.
“Jonaki!”
“What?”
“You’re going to die!”
Jonaki stared at him.
“What?”
“You’re bleeding!”
“I know!”
“People don’t just bleed!”
“They do!”
“Not like that!”
“I don’t know!”
Jwngdao had reached the only conclusion his panicked mind could find.
Disaster.
Absolute disaster.
Jonaki was dying.
And he had no idea what to do.
“Don’t move!” he shouted.
Jonaki blinked.
“Why?”
“I’m getting Father!”
“Jwngdao—”
He climbed down so quickly that he nearly fell.
“Jwngdao!”
He hit the ground.
Ran.
Stopped.
Looked back at her.
Then ran again.
“FATHER!”
King Rwngkhwma Luit had been listening to Senapati Bwiswmuthi complain about a shipment of damaged spears.
It was not an especially interesting conversation.
Bwiswmuthi had been complaining for nearly fifteen minutes.
“They were supposed to arrive last month.”
Rwngkhwma nodded.
“They did not.”
“I can see that.”
“They were delayed.”
“I can see that too.”
“They were damaged.”
“I gathered that from the fact that you brought three broken spears into my courtyard.”
Bwiswmuthi frowned.
“I brought them so you could see the problem.”
“I can see the problem.”
“The royal armourers said—”
“Father!”
Both men turned.
Jwngdao came racing across the courtyard.
His hair was a mess.
His clothes were covered in leaves.
His breathing was uneven.
Rwngkhwma immediately stood.
“What happened?”
“Jonaki!”
Bwiswmuthi’s expression changed.
“What about Jonaki?”
“She is bleeding!”
Bwiswmuthi froze.
“What?”
“She is bleeding!”
“Where?”
“In the garden!”
“Is she hurt?”
“I don’t know!”
“Then why are you here?”
Jwngdao stared at him.
“I came to tell you!”
Bwiswmuthi was already moving.
Rwngkhwma followed.
Jwngdao ran between them.
“She said she wasn’t hurt.”
Bwiswmuthi stopped for half a second.
“What?”
“She said she wasn’t hurt.”
The Senapati’s expression became confused.
Then something in his mind connected.
Something he had been trying not to think about.
His pace slowed.
Rwngkhwma noticed.
“Bwiswmuthi?”
The Senapati didn’t answer.
They reached the garden.
Jonaki was standing beside the tree with her mother.
She looked embarrassed.
Annoyed.
And very much alive.
Jwngdao pointed at her.
“There!”
Bwiswmuthi looked at his daughter.
Then at his wife.
Then at the stain.
He understood.
His shoulders lowered.
Relief came first.
His daughter was safe.
Then the realization followed.
And that relief disappeared.
Too soon.
His little girl had grown up.
He had known this day would come.
Every father knew, eventually, that his children would grow beyond the years when they needed him to carry them.
But knowing something would happen someday was not the same as being ready for it.
Bwiswmuthi had not been ready.
Not remotely.
He looked at Jonaki.
She was still the girl who used to fall asleep against his chest during long journeys.
Still the girl who stole fruit from his plate.
Still the girl who followed soldiers around because she thought swords were fascinating.
Still the girl who called him whenever she had climbed somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be.
His daughter.
And now—
The old custom.
Seven days.
Bwiswmuthi’s stomach tightened.
His wife knew he understood.
She quietly touched his arm.
He didn’t move.
King Rwngkhwma looked at his oldest friend.
He knew that expression.
He had seen it before.
Not on a battlefield.
Not when enemies approached the kingdom.
Not even when Bwiswmuthi had been injured.
This was different.
This was fear.
The fear of a father watching time move too quickly.
Jwngdao looked between the adults.
“So… she’s not dying?”
“No,” his mother said gently.
Jwngdao exhaled.
“Oh.”
He looked at Jonaki.
She looked back at him.
“You ran away.”
“I got help!”
“You screamed.”
“I was concerned!”
“You told everyone I was dying.”
“I thought you were!”
Jonaki rolled her eyes.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
She paused.
“No. I don’t.”
Bwiswmuthi almost smiled.
Almost.
Then he remembered.
Seven days.
That evening, the palace was quieter.
Jonaki was inside with her mother.
Jwngdao had been sent away by his father after asking approximately seventeen questions that nobody wanted to answer.
Rwngkhwma and Bwiswmuthi sat together beneath the old trees near the western courtyard.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
The king finally broke the silence.
“You knew this day would come.”
Bwiswmuthi stared toward the river.
“I knew it would come.”
“But?”
“But I thought I had more time.”
Rwngkhwma understood.
“You always said she was still a child.”
“She is.”
“She is growing.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Rwngkhwma smiled faintly.
“No.”
Bwiswmuthi sighed.
“The custom.”
“Yes.”
“I hate it.”
“I know.”
“Seven days.”
“Yes.”
“Seven days to find a boy.”
Rwngkhwma nodded.
“And then the marriage.”
Bwiswmuthi looked at him.
His expression was hard.
“I won’t give her to some old geezer just because people have decided that’s what must happen.”
Rwngkhwma remained quiet.
Then he said,
“You can cancel it.”
Bwiswmuthi looked at him.
The king’s voice was calm.
“I would help.”
Bwiswmuthi’s expression softened for half a second.
“But?”
Rwngkhwma looked toward the palace.
“I don’t think society would let you do that.”
Bwiswmuthi’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t care what society thinks.”
“You will when they start thinking about her.”
Silence.
That landed harder than anything else could have.
Rwngkhwma continued.
“You know how people are.”
“I know.”
“They’ll talk.”
“Let them.”
“They won’t only talk about you.”
Bwiswmuthi said nothing.
“They’ll talk about her.”
The Senapati looked down.
Rwngkhwma’s voice became quieter.
“They’ll say something is wrong with her. They’ll say her family has rejected tradition. They’ll say you have become arrogant because you’re close to the royal family. They’ll make stories.”
Bwiswmuthi clenched his hands.
“I know.”
“And if you openly refuse?”
“They’ll blame her.”
“Yes.”
The two men sat in silence.
That was the cruelest part.
Bwiswmuthi could fight soldiers.
He could fight invaders.
He could fight anyone who stood before him.
But how did a father fight an entire society?
How did he protect his daughter from a thousand whispers?
He looked toward the house.
“She’s not ready.”
Rwngkhwma didn’t answer.
“She doesn’t even understand what this means yet.”
“She will.”
“I don’t want her life decided in seven days.”
“Neither do I.”
Bwiswmuthi laughed bitterly.
“You know what they’ll ask me?”
“What?”
“They’ll ask what family the boy comes from.”
Rwngkhwma raised an eyebrow.
“And?”
“They’ll ask how much land his family owns.”
“Reasonable.”
“They’ll ask whether he is educated.”
“Also reasonable.”
“They’ll ask about his father’s position.”
Rwngkhwma nodded.
“And eventually they’ll ask how old he is.”
The king understood.
Bwiswmuthi shook his head.
“I don’t want some man twice her age because he happens to have land and a respectable family.”
Rwngkhwma sighed.
“Then don’t choose one.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“No.”
Bwiswmuthi looked at his friend.
“Do you remember when we were children?”
Rwngkhwma smiled.
“Unfortunately.”
“You thought you were going to become a fisherman.”
“I was twelve.”
“You spent an entire summer trying to build a boat.”
“It floated.”
“For approximately three minutes.”
“It was a very good boat.”
“It sank.”
“You pushed it.”
“You were inside it.”
“That is irrelevant.”
For the first time that evening, Bwiswmuthi laughed.
The laughter faded quickly.
“We had choices,” he said.
Rwngkhwma looked at him.
“Perhaps.”
“We made stupid choices.”
“Many.”
“But they were ours.”
Rwngkhwma nodded.
Bwiswmuthi looked toward the house again.
“I want that for her.”
The king didn’t answer immediately.
Then he said,
“Then find someone who will give her that.”
Bwiswmuthi frowned.
“What?”
“Not someone who simply wants a wife.”
The king’s expression was serious now.
“Find someone who will respect her.”
Bwiswmuthi looked away.
“That sounds impossible.”
“Perhaps.”
“Within seven days?”
Rwngkhwma smiled.
“Then we’d better start looking.”
The search began the next morning.
And Jonaki hated it.
She didn’t know exactly what her father was doing.
She knew only that adults had suddenly started looking at her differently.
Women whispered when she entered rooms.
Neighbours sent gifts.
Her mother began receiving visitors.
Aunts she barely remembered suddenly appeared with suspiciously cheerful expressions.
Jonaki didn’t like suspiciously cheerful expressions.
They usually meant trouble.
“Why is everyone coming here?” she asked one afternoon.
Her mother was folding a piece of cloth.
“People are visiting.”
“I can see that.”
“They’re being polite.”
“They’re staring at me.”
Her mother paused.
“They’re curious.”
“About what?”
Her mother looked at her.
Jonaki narrowed her eyes.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“You’re doing the adult face.”
“What adult face?”
“The face where everyone knows something except me.”
Her mother smiled.
“You’ll understand soon.”
“I hate that sentence.”
“I know.”
Jonaki dropped onto the mat.
“Is Father angry?”
“No.”
“Is he sick?”
“No.”
“Did I break something?”
“No.”
“Did Jwngdao break something and blame me?”
“Not this time.”
Jonaki brightened.
“Good.”
Her mother shook her head.
“You really do think about him constantly.”
“He’s annoying.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“He’s the prince.”
“That isn’t an answer either.”
Jonaki frowned.
Her mother returned to folding the cloth.
Outside, someone called her name.
Another visitor.
Another conversation.
Another person who knew.
Jonaki was beginning to feel like the only person in Luitara who hadn’t been given the script.
Jwngdao was equally confused.
He cornered his father during breakfast.
“What is happening?”
Rwngkhwma continued eating.
“With what?”
“Jonaki.”
“Ah.”
“You know.”
“I know many things.”
“Father.”
The king looked at his son.
Jwngdao stared back.
Rwngkhwma sighed.
“Jonaki has reached a new stage of life.”
“What stage?”
“One where adults begin making complicated decisions.”
“That doesn’t explain anything.”
“No.”
“Is she going away?”
The king paused.
Jwngdao’s expression changed.
“Is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know?”
“Because her father is still deciding.”
Jwngdao frowned.
“Deciding what?”
Rwngkhwma looked at his son for a long moment.
“Whether to follow the custom.”
Jwngdao thought about that.
“What custom?”
His father explained.
Jwngdao went completely silent.
Then—
“No.”
Rwngkhwma raised an eyebrow.
“No?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s Jonaki.”
The king almost smiled.
“That is not an argument.”
“It is to me.”
Jwngdao pushed his bowl away.
“She can’t just leave.”
“People grow up.”
“She can grow up here.”
“Perhaps.”
“She can stay in the palace.”
“She doesn’t live in the palace.”
“She can.”
“Jwngdao.”
“What?”
“You cannot solve every problem by declaring that someone should live in the palace.”
“I can try.”
Rwngkhwma laughed.
Jwngdao didn’t.
He looked genuinely worried.
“What happens if they choose someone terrible?”
His father was silent.
“I don’t know,” Rwngkhwma admitted.
Jwngdao looked toward the window.
“I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I.”
By the third day, the entire Senapati’s household had become unbearable.
Jonaki was shown possible families.
She was asked what she thought.
Then she was told not to worry about it.
Then she was asked again.
She began avoiding visitors.
One afternoon, she escaped through the kitchen.
She crossed the courtyard.
Climbed the low wall.
And headed straight for the river.
She found Jwngdao there.
He was sitting beneath a tree.
He looked miserable.
Jonaki sat beside him.
“You look terrible.”
“So do you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
They sat quietly.
Finally Jwngdao spoke.
“Do you know?”
“Know what?”
“About the marriage.”
Jonaki stared at him.
“Yes.”
“Are you scared?”
She thought about it.
“A little.”
“Me too.”
“You’re not the one getting married.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you scared?”
Jwngdao shrugged.
“I don’t know.”
Jonaki looked at the river.
“Everyone keeps telling me not to worry.”
“That makes you worry more.”
“Exactly.”
They were quiet.
Then Jonaki nudged him.
“What if they choose someone horrible?”
Jwngdao looked at her.
“Then I’ll tell Father.”
“And?”
“He’ll do something.”
Jonaki smiled faintly.
“You’re very confident in your father.”
“He’s the king.”
“Your father is also the man who once locked himself out of his own room.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“He was thinking about kingdom matters.”
“He was thinking about lunch.”
Jwngdao tried not to laugh.
Failed.
Jonaki laughed too.
For a few moments, the seven-day countdown disappeared.
They were children again.
Two friends sitting beside a river.
No customs.
No families.
No expectations.
Just them.
Then a palace messenger appeared.
“Prince Jwngdao.”
Jwngdao looked up.
“Yes?”
“Your father requests your presence.”
He sighed.
“Why?”
The messenger looked toward Jonaki.
Then back at him.
“He is speaking with Senapati Bwiswmuthi.”
Jwngdao stood.
“About her?”
The messenger didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
On the fifth day, Bwiswmuthi had rejected three families.
The first boy was wealthy.
The second came from an influential military household.
The third had a father who owned more land than anyone else in the district.
Bwiswmuthi rejected all three.
Not because they were necessarily bad boys.
Because he knew almost nothing about them.
“How am I supposed to hand my daughter over to someone I barely know?” he demanded.
Rwngkhwma sat across from him.
“You aren’t.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
“Keep looking.”
“We’re running out of time.”
“Yes.”
Bwiswmuthi leaned back.
His expression was exhausted.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I hate that the deadline matters more than whether the boy is right for her.”
“I know.”
“I hate that people think marriage is something you can arrange like a shipment of rice.”
Rwngkhwma smiled slightly.
“You’ve complained about rice shipments for years.”
“This is different.”
“Yes.”
Bwiswmuthi stared at the king.
Then an idea occurred to him.
He frowned.
Rwngkhwma noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That expression is never nothing.”
Bwiswmuthi shook his head.
“No.”
“What?”
“No.”
Rwngkhwma leaned forward.
“Bwiswmuthi.”
The Senapati looked at his friend.
“You were going to say something.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
Bwiswmuthi looked toward the palace.
Then at the king.
Then away again.
Rwngkhwma followed his gaze.
And suddenly understood.
His expression changed.
“Absolutely not.”
Bwiswmuthi blinked.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“I merely—”
“No.”
Bwiswmuthi folded his arms.
“Why not?”
“Because you know what people would say.”
“So?”
“So your daughter and my son have grown up together.”
“Exactly.”
“They’re friends.”
“Exactly.”
“They’d have to marry.”
Bwiswmuthi looked away.
Rwngkhwma’s voice softened.
“Bwiswmuthi.”
The Senapati didn’t answer.
He knew.
He knew exactly how ridiculous the thought sounded.
He also knew exactly why it had entered his mind.
Jwngdao was not a stranger.
He knew his character.
He knew his family.
He knew the king.
He knew the queen.
He knew the palace.
He knew that his daughter would not be entering a completely unfamiliar household.
But there was another problem.
Jonaki and Jwngdao were friends.
What if marriage ruined that?
What if the one person Jonaki trusted most became another person she had to obey?
Bwiswmuthi didn’t want that.
He didn’t want his daughter losing the freedom she still had.
Rwngkhwma seemed to understand all of it.
“My son is still young.”
“So is my daughter.”
“They’re children.”
“Yes.”
Neither man spoke.
Then Bwiswmuthi said quietly,
“Perhaps that’s exactly why we shouldn’t do it.”
Rwngkhwma nodded.
“Perhaps.”
The door opened.
Jwngdao stood there.
He had heard enough to know that they were talking about him.
“Father?”
Both men looked up.
Jwngdao frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
Rwngkhwma glanced at Bwiswmuthi.
Bwiswmuthi looked away.
And for the first time, neither father had an easy answer.
On the sixth day, Jonaki finally found out.
Her father called her into his room.
She stood before him.
He looked at her for a long time.
“What?”
Bwiswmuthi sighed.
“Sit.”
Jonaki sat.
He looked uncomfortable.
That worried her more than anything.
“Father?”
“I’ve been speaking with the king.”
“About?”
“You.”
Jonaki groaned.
“Everyone is talking about me.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
Bwiswmuthi hesitated.
Then he said,
“Because we need to find you a husband.”
Jonaki stared.
The words sounded strange.
Not because she didn’t know.
She did.
But hearing them directly from her father made everything real.
“A husband.”
“Yes.”
“Within seven days.”
“Yes.”
“And then…”
He couldn’t finish.
Jonaki did.
“I’m married.”
Bwiswmuthi nodded.
She looked down.
For the first time, neither of them knew what to say.
Then Jonaki asked,
“Have you found anyone?”
“No.”
She looked up.
“No?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Bwiswmuthi almost smiled.
“Good?”
“I don’t want some stranger.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t choose one.”
“It isn’t that easy.”
“It should be.”
He stared at her.
Jonaki’s voice softened.
“Father… I don’t want to leave.”
Bwiswmuthi looked away.
Neither of them noticed the figure standing just beyond the doorway.
Jwngdao.
He had come looking for Jonaki.
He had heard enough.
He stepped back before either of them saw him.
His heart was pounding.
Because suddenly, an idea had become very real.
And he didn’t know whether it was the worst idea in the world—
or the only one that could keep Jonaki from becoming a stranger to him.
The seventh day arrived with rain.
Luitara woke beneath a grey sky.
The river moved faster.
The palace gardens were wet.
The roads became muddy.
And the household of Senapati Bwiswmuthi was silent.
There was still no boy.
No wedding.
No decision.
Only one day remaining.
Bwiswmuthi stood beneath the veranda, watching the rain.
Rwngkhwma joined him.
Neither spoke for a while.
Then the king said,
“My son asked me something yesterday.”
Bwiswmuthi glanced at him.
“What?”
“He asked whether he could marry Jonaki.”
The Senapati went still.
The rain continued falling.
Bwiswmuthi looked toward his friend.
“And what did you say?”
“I told him it wasn’t his decision.”
Bwiswmuthi nodded.
“What else?”
“I asked him why.”
“And?”
Rwngkhwma smiled faintly.
“He said, ‘Because I know her.’”
Bwiswmuthi looked away.
That answer hurt more than he expected.
Because he knew exactly what Jwngdao meant.
He didn’t mean that Jonaki belonged to him.
He didn’t mean that he deserved her.
He meant that if she had to be married because of a custom neither of them had chosen—
then perhaps she should at least be with someone who knew her.
Someone who knew how stubborn she was.
Someone who knew she hated being told what to do.
Someone who knew she would rather climb a tree than attend a formal gathering.
Someone who knew she laughed when she was nervous.
Someone who knew her before anyone had started calling her a bride.
Bwiswmuthi closed his eyes.
He hated the situation.
He hated the custom.
He hated the deadline.
But most of all, he hated that his son’s suggestion made sense.
Rwngkhwma spoke quietly.
“I won’t force either of them.”
Bwiswmuthi looked at him.
“Neither will I.”
“And if Jonaki says no?”
“Then no.”
The king nodded.
“And if Jwngdao says no?”
“Then no.”
They stood together.
For once, they were not king and Senapati.
They were simply two fathers.
Trying to protect their children from a tradition neither had created.
Behind them, the palace doors opened.
Jonaki stepped onto the veranda.
She looked at both men.
“Why are you two whispering?”
Neither answered.
Jonaki narrowed her eyes.
“That means something is wrong.”
Jwngdao appeared behind her.
He looked at his father.
Then at Bwiswmuthi.
Then at Jonaki.
Jonaki turned.
“What?”
Jwngdao swallowed.
“I need to tell you something.”
She folded her arms.
“Okay.”
He took a breath.
“Father and Senapati Bwiswmuthi were talking about…”
He stopped.
Jonaki waited.
Jwngdao looked at her.
“About us.”
“Us?”
“Yes.”
“What about us?”
The king sighed.
Bwiswmuthi closed his eyes.
And somewhere in the palace, the last day of the old custom had begun.
Jonaki had seven days behind her.
The decision ahead of her would change the rest of her life.
And she had no idea that the boy standing in front of her—
the boy she had raced through gardens with,
the boy she had teased since childhood,
the boy who once believed a little blood meant she was dying—
was about to become the most unexpected answer to a question neither of them had ever thought to ask.
Who should Jonaki marry?
The answer, perhaps, had been standing beside her all along.
But whether that answer was truly hers to choose—
was another question entirely.
