Chapter 17: A Thread of Rebellion

A few quiet days had passed since the storm.
Since the moment Iva had chosen to stay, the palace had shifted — subtly, silently — as if holding its breath around her decision. Rajmata Vendanti had left Agnivarsha the morning after the confrontation, and with her departure, the tension that clung to the air had finally begun to fade.

Iva was moved back to her original chamber, the one with the tall jharokha windows and a view of the courtyard trees. The silence that followed wasn't lonely — it was chosen. She didn’t have to see anyone unless she wanted to. The guards near her door had been replaced with subtle watchmen she barely noticed. The maids only entered when she called.
No expectations. No sudden questions. No eyes burning into her back.

It was clear that Ashvardan had arranged this — not with words, but with quiet decisions. He hadn’t visited, hadn’t summoned her. He simply let her be.

And in that stillness, something inside Iva slowly began to shift. The edge in her breath softened. The weight behind her eyes lightened. She laughed once when she spilled ink on a cushion. She smirked at a mirror when her hair refused to braid. She started humming old songs to herself while pacing the courtyard barefoot.

She was still far from figuring it all out — this strange world, these heavier emotions — but for the first time in days, she wasn’t just surviving.