The temple was quiet.
Not the grand imperial sanctum—but a modest marble temple tucked into the edge of the forest estate where Meher had first been introduced to the royal court.
The place of her "miracle."
Where the girl with the golden braid had saved the prince, earned the empire's eye, and rewritten Anaya's fate with a single act of grace.
Now, Anaya stood on that same stone threshold—older, crowned, sharper. And not here for healing.
She was here for *truth*.
---
Meher was alone inside.
Dressed simply, in ivory cotton, barefoot on the cool stone floor. No jewels. No guards. Her hair unbraided. A shadow of the glowing royal bride she once was.
But still beautiful.
Still calm.
Still infuriating.
"You came," Meher said, rising from prayer.
"I was summoned," Anaya replied.
They faced each other—two women who had once been framed as opposites. Light and dark. Saint and sinner.
But time had blurred those lines.
"I didn't leak anything," Meher said softly. "About Chandravarna. About the rebel leader. I don't support what they're doing."
Anaya crossed her arms. "And yet they chant your name."
"I didn't ask them to."
"But they follow you."
"Because I saved one man in a forest," Meher said, voice trembling. "And they turned that into mythology."
"You mean *Veer*?"
Meher nodded. "I never meant to fall for him. And I never meant to take what you believed was yours."
Anaya's laugh was sharp. "It *was* mine."
"Was it love?" Meher asked gently. "Or possession?"
Silence.
Anaya looked away for a moment. Just a flicker. A crack.
Then: "I don't want him anymore."
"I know," Meher said.
"But I *do* want the truth."
Meher stepped closer. "Then hear it: I was never supposed to survive that forest. I wasn't some divine savior. I was trained. I had knowledge no village girl should. Because I wasn't one."
Anaya frowned. "What are you saying?"
Meher's voice lowered. "I was sent there. By someone close to the imperial family. To get close to Veer. To test the bloodline."
Anaya blinked.
The floor shifted.
"You were *placed*?"
Meher nodded. "Used. Just like you. Just like all of us."
---
The realization hit slow. Cold.
They were both tools—pieces in a story neither of them had written.
And the real enemy?
Still hidden.
Still watching.
Still *pulling strings*.
---
Anaya didn't speak again until she reached the edge of the temple courtyard.
Then, without turning back:
"I'm not your enemy anymore."
And from inside the temple, Meher whispered:
"I never was."