The palace of Rajasthan rose before her like a dream she had already forgotten. Its sandstone domes caught the morning light and scattered it into fragments of gold and amber, and its courtyards echoed with the footsteps of servants who had watched her grow from a child into a woman. Amber stood at the gates, her hand resting on Kabir's arm, her heart pounding with a mixture of dread and determination.
She had not been back since the day she left. The day she had walked out of the Peacock Hall with her head high and her heart blazing, declaring herself to her parents and her ancestors and the thousand years of Rathore tradition that had tried to cage her. She had thought that was the end. She had thought her father's surrender at the hunting lodge was the final chapter. But there was one more conversation to be had. One more farewell to be spoken. One more battle to be fought.
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