The silence stretched lazily between them as they continued their short trip to the royal kitchen, their footsteps echoing and reverberting along the polished stone floor. The sun was still high up in the sky and showed no signs of resting its blazing rays. Adeettiya was still carrying her as though her entire weight was nothing more than a silken shawl in his arms—but what struck Urvashi most was how he did it. Despite using only one arm to support her, his hold never wavered. How much strength-training would you even require to achieve this feat?, she thought. This was something she had only read in books, seen in social media...but never ever experienced in real life.

His forearm was braced beneath her with a controlled tension that spoke of years of training: muscle shaped not by vanity, but responsibility. The veins along his wrist flexed occasionally, a subtle ripple beneath bronzed skin, but his posture remained regally straight. He walked without a single stumble, without even the smallest adjustment, as though this was the most natural way to carry someone. And it was truly surprising for Urvashi.

What startled Urvashi further was the effortless rhythm of his breathing. No heaviness and no indication of burden. Just that slow, steady rise and fall that brushed her cheek every time she accidentally leaned closer. She even noticed the quiet stability of his heartbeat. It was measured and calm, echoing faintly against her side. How can someone be so cool and awe-inspiring? 

It was no understatement to say that Urvashi was weaker than the weakest prey in the food chain. Her surprise was actually justified.

Every so often, the angvastram over his shoulder brushed her arm, smelling faintly of fresh sandalwood and the brine ocean wind. And though Urvashi tried to keep her gaze forward, she couldn’t help noting how tall he truly was—the height difference exaggerated by the way he held her effortlessly above the ground. It made her feel small. And safe. A combination she wasn’t used to.

Her hands, embarrassed and unsure, had ended up gripping the fabric at his shoulder for balance. Each time she tightened her hold, he subtly adjusted his arm, ensuring she never felt the slightest slip.

If anything, he held her closer, distributing her weight so perfectly that even she began to forget she was being carried by one arm.

The only thing that remained was this sweltering silence between them.

Urvashi, unable to tolerate the awkwardness anymore, cleared her throat lightly.

“So…” She looked up at him with a tentative smile. “Do you… have any hobbies? Other than intimidating everyone around you with that royal face?”

Her tone was playful, but her voice trembled just a little.

Adeettiya blinked, startled. Then, surprisingly, the corner of his mouth curved. “Intimidating is not a hobby, Lady Urvashi.”

“Well, you seem very good at it,” she muttered.

That earned a quiet, amused exhale.

He answered after a moment, his voice returning to its calm, deep smoothness. “I play the rudraveena. And the flute. Also the veena...though I am not as skilled with it. When I was younger, I used to spend hours in the palace gardens practicing.” He paused, eyes flickering with some faraway memory. “Swimming too… especially in the monsoon. The rain made everything feel less heavy.”

“The Yuvraj swims?” Urvashi’s eyes sparkled with unexpected excitement. “That’s so cool!”

He looked down at her, surprised, again, that someone found his most mundane habits cool. Was that how the foreign word was pronounced?

“And you?” he asked softly. “What do you enjoy doing… beyond studying everything under the skies of your homeland?”

“Oh!” Her face lit up. “Drawing! I love drawing. And writing. Short stories, sometimes poems… usually terrible ones. And portraits… sketches of people I found interesting.”

“Interesting people.” His gaze lingered on her in a way that made her heartbeat flutter. “Anyone from… here?”

“No,” she said quickly, looking away, flustered. “Not yet.”

“But you will.” His assurance was quirky and strangely confident, as if he was pointing blantantly to himself.

She swallowed, steadying her breath, trying to appear calm and collected even though she was still in the firm cradle of his arm. Her fingers loosened from the fabric of his shoulder and smoothing her posture, her hands arranging themselves neatly atop her lap as though the careful placement of them alone could disguise the palpitations in her chest.

“What did you dream of becoming, Devi Urvashi? In your world.”

Her breath stopped for a moment. He rarely used her name so plainly. It felt… personal.

“Ah… that, I think I might have mentioned that.” She hugged her arms around herself briskly, her voice thoughtful. “I wanted to be a Cardiac Surgeon. A healer who works with the heart… literally.”

“I know,” Adeettiya murmured. “But I want to understand how one becomes such a healer. What path must you walk?”

Urvashi blinked at him—because he sounded genuinely… interested. No judgement and no mocking curiosity. Just a steady desire to know and understand.

So she told him.

“We need to give an entrance exam or pravesha pramāṇam, though I don't know if that would be the correct way to call it. Then after, It starts with medical school… years of studying the human body—every tiny nerve, every system and every reflex.” Her voice grew warmer, steadier, as if she were reciting pieces of her own soul. “Then I’d specialize in surgery… long nights in the hospital, assisting, observing, learning. After that, cardiothoracic training. Years of it. By the time I’d actually become a full Cardiac Surgeon… I’d probably be… in my mid-thirties.”

“And yet you chose it.” His tone held admiration. “Even though it requires decades.”

“Because it mattered,” she whispered. “The heart… it’s so delicate. I wanted to save lives by curing it's defects. To hold something fragile and return hope back to it.”

He studied her for a long moment, those golden-brown irises unreadable and a mystery to Urvashi who peered at them.

“A healer of hearts,” he murmured. “Strange… how fitting that seems for you.”

She looked away again, pretending to admire a mural on the wall.

“And you?” she asked quickly. “What is your… dream?”

Adeettiya let out a quiet exhale that wasn’t quite a laugh. It was the first time someone asked something s obvious, yet so very endearing.

“My dream is… simple,” he replied. “Not special like yours. As you know, I am meant to inherit my father’s throne. To rule Kalinga.” He paused. “Perhaps expand our borders. Guide my people through war and peace alike. A king’s path is predetermined. Whether he desires it or not. And, to be very honest, its not special.”

“That is special,” Urvashi said, surprisingly firm. “Maybe not to you… but it’s a dream many can only imagine.”

He tilted his head, studying her as though he hadn’t expected that answer. Were there no kingdoms to conquer and rule, in the distant future?

Their steps slowed as they neared the grand gate leading to the kitchens, warm and strong scents of spices, smoke, and freshly ground garlic, mingling in the air and beginning to drift towards them.

“But tell me,” Adeettiya said softly, “if you love healing so much… you must have loved your food too. Food says much about what people cherish.”

Urvashi laughed. “That’s such a desi way of understanding someone.”

'Desi' another foreign word, his lips twitched. “And your favorite dish?”

“Hilsa,” she answered instantly, eyes shining with homely nostalgia. “Ilish macher bhapa. Steamed Hilsa in mustard. It’s… it tastes like childhood. Like culture. Like home. My maa used to make it perfectly. It was so delicious that me and my father used to devour it like hungry animals. So much so that the plates would seem like they would need no washing at all because no remnants of curry or food would remain! But it was a simple afternoon meal, if you ask me.”

Adeettiya huffed a warm laugh, the kind that rumbled like thunder in his chest. “By the gods, Urvashi,” he said, amusement brightening his eyes, “only you could do that and still tell it like it was nothing more than a simple afternoon activity.”

His laugh was contagious because it soon made her giddy and giggling too. Adeettiya paused and studied her face—how her expression blossomed with memories, how her voice lingered on her roots—and something in his chest tightened pleasantly.

"How does it look like?"

"As far as I remember, it is a shiny, silver-colored fish that is flat from side to side and has a pointed head. My dad used to take me to the fish-market to buy that."

"Didn't you say the name is Ilish? It resounds deeply with Ilīśa." Adeettiya mused.

"Hmm, it does!"

“I would like to try it,” he said quietly. Not out of curiosity, but because it mattered to her.

She blinked at him. “Really?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

"Well, you might cry because of the jhaaj or the nose-tingling feeling."

By then, they had reached the final turn. The corridor widened, opening into an airy, vast chamber where light flickered and smoke danced. The smell of roasted spices grew richer.

The royal kitchen of Kalinga was not merely a place where food was prepared; it was an empire within an empire. Heat shimmered in soft waves above rows of clay stoves, each glowing with a steady orange heart. The hum of activity rose and fell like an orchestra: the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, the clang of metal ladles on iron cauldrons, the soft bubbling of curries thickening over fire. Smoke curled upward in graceful spirals, escaping through wide stone chimneys carved with lotus motifs.

Urvashi’s eyes widened instantly.

It wasn’t the chaos she expected. It was order—an elegant, practiced dance. Cooks moved with swift precision, their hands almost a blur. Assistants carried baskets overflowing with green chilies, fresh coriander, and gleaming silver fish still shimmering with river-water. Large ceramic jars filled with ghee and oil lined the walls, while bundles of dried herbs hung from overhead beams, swaying gently whenever someone passed.

The ceiling soared high above them, held up by aged wooden pillars decorated with burnished brass rings. From these beams hung copper pots of all sizes, catching glints of firelight as they gently clinked together. Massive stone counters stretched across the chamber, dusted with flour and turmeric. The aroma here was intoxicating: a mixture of fried cumin, roasted garlic, simmering lentils, and the warm earthiness of fresh rice.

Urvashi unconsciously inhaled deeper. “Oh my god… this is—huge.”

Adeettiya watched her reaction instead of the room. The way her face lit up, the fascination shimmering in her eyes. It almost softened the sharp lines of his own features.

“This is only one section,” he murmured. “The kitchen for the royal household. The army kitchens lie farther back.”

Her jaw dropped a little more. “There’s… more?”

He nodded, faintly amused. “A kingdom runs on filled stomachs.”

A group of cooks finally noticed the prince approaching. They straightened immediately, stepping back with quick bows, their expressions shifting from focused to reverent. A senior mahanayaka-chef, an older man with peppered hair and arms strong from decades of stirring giant pots, hurried forward.

“Yuvraj,” he greeted warmly, voice thick with respect. “We did not expect your presence at this hour.”

Adeettiya inclined his head in acknowledgment, then stepped slightly aside so Urvashi wasn’t hidden behind him. “She is with me.”

The chef’s gaze flickered toward Urvashi, surprised for half a heartbeat, then respectful. “Welcome, Devi.”

Urvashi blinked, overwhelmed by the sudden formality but composed herself. “It's a pleasure to be acquainted with you.”

Adeettiya’s expression shifted subtly, as though he found her flustered reaction faintly endearing.

She took another step inside, unable to resist. Her gaze darted everywhere—towards the huge spinning stone grinder where two cooks worked rhythmically, towards the massive brass vessel where milk was being boiled down to thick kheer, towards the rows of lotus-leaf plates being prepared.

Her stomach gave a tiny, traitorous growl.

Adeettiya heard it. His lips twitched.

She slapped a hand over her abdomen, mortified. “I—,” she whispered at her own body.

“It seems someone is hungry,” he remarked. He then gestured one of the mahanayakas to take their order.

The same mahanayaka-chef approached again. “Yuvraj, what may we serve you?”

Adeettiya glanced at Urvashi.

She froze.

He was giving her the choice.

The prince of Kalinga, he who commanded generals, ruled councils, and could change the course of the kingdom with a single order, was waiting for her to decide what he should order.

Urvashi swallowed.

“Um… something… simple?”

Adeettiya raised one brow. “Define simple.”

She glanced around helplessly, then blurted, “Uh… something with rice?”

The chef bowed. “We have freshly cooked rice, Devi. Shall we prepare curries? Fried vegetables? Fish?”

"Bring out the Ilīśa which the fishermen have caught today!" Adeettiya ordered.

Urvashi startled. “You have hilsa? Here? His Highness never mentioned that?”

“I think it's the same fish. Kalinga’s rivers are generous,” Adeettiya confidently remarked.

Her eyes sparkled—like sunlight caught in water. “Hilsa. Yes. Please.”

Adeettiya added smoothly, “And deer meat for me.”

Urvashi shot him a teasing glance. “And here I thought you’d pick something fancy.”

“I prefer what is familiar,” he replied simply.

The cooks, without requiring any verbal order, moved at once, like a tide shifting direction. Pots were lifted. Ingredients gathered. Flames crackled and flared.

Meanwhile, Adeettiya guided her toward a corner where a large wooden low-table had been set. A place which was used when royalty chose to dine near the kitchens.

As they walked, the warmth of the place wrapped around them, almost like a protective cocoon. The scent of mustard seeds crackling in ghee, of hilsa being cleaned and marinated in a thick, golden paste of shorshe and green chilies—it made Urvashi’s eyes flutter shut in bliss.

Adeettiya watched her with a quiet, unreadable expression.

“You truly love this dish,” he observed.

“It tastes like childhood,” she whispered. “Like monsoon afternoons. Like home.”

He nodded, slowly, almost solemnly, as though committing every word to memory.

Urvashi sank onto the wooden bench, the warmth of the nearby stoves seeping comfortingly into her limbs. Adeettiya remained standing for a moment, as though ensuring the area was safe, appropriate, worthy of her presence. Only when she settled did he take his seat opposite her.

A brief, gentle quiet stretched between them, not tense this time, but soft, like the pause before a new note in music.