The grand wedding fire still crackled in the palace courtyard as the last chants of the Vedic mantras faded into the night air. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine garlands sandalwood incense and the faint metallic tang of victory that still clung to everything in the Empire of Mahavira. Drums had beaten triumphantly throughout the ceremony their rhythm now echoing like a distant heartbeat in Princess Bindus ears. She stood motionless in her heavy red bridal lehenga the gold embroidery weighing on her like chains forged from her own defeat. The mangalsutra around her neck felt like a collar the fresh sindoor in her hair parting a brand of ownership.