The cart creaked to a stop at the foot of the hill. Before Meera stretched the palace of Devgarh — vast, sun-washed stone that glowed like old gold beneath the late afternoon sky. It seemed less a home and more a kingdom of shadows, where voices carried only when they were meant to be heard.

She stepped down, clutching the small cotton bundle that held her entire life — two saris, a brass comb, and her mother’s anklet wrapped in cloth. The air smelled of rain-soaked earth and jasmine. Beyond the great archway, marble steps led into the palace courtyard, where servants moved like streams of white cotton, silent and swift.