𝗣𝗿𝗶𝘆𝗮𝗺𝘃𝗮𝗱𝗵𝗮

I am a parasite.

That’s what they have always called me. For as long as I can remember, those words have clung to me like a curse, whispered in hushed tones, spat with disgust, or sometimes simply said casually, as though it was my very name. A parasite. A stain. A burden.

For nineteen years I swallowed it all in silence. I never complained when they hurled names at me, never defended myself when they pointed accusing fingers, blaming me for sins I did not commit, sins that had been written long before I even came into existence. They said I carried the weight of someone else’s shame, that my very breath was a reminder of disgrace.

My mother. I never knew her, not really. I have only ever known her through the venom of others’ tongues. They spoke of her with the same contempt they reserved for me. A servant. A maid. Nothing more than a shadow in the palace halls. Her name was erased before I could even form the strength to speak it. All I am left with are fragments of cruel stories, rumors whispered about her beauty, her mistakes, her downfall.

And my father, ah, my father was no mystery. He was the King. Raja Vikrant Singh Suryavanshi. A man draped in silks, power, and glory, the ruler who commanded respect and fear. To the world he was noble, untouchable. To me, he was the phantom responsible for the brand etched upon my soul.

No one tells me the truth of what happened between them. Was it a fleeting affair? A reckless night of passion? Or something far darker, a violation, a crime buried beneath royal pride? I will never know. All I know is that from their union, I was born.

Born as an ill-fated shadow.

Born as the bastard daughter of a king.

Born as the illegitimate parasite who carries the burden of a sin I did not choose.

Every glance reminds me. Every whisper confirms it. I am the Kalank, the blemish that stains the golden lineage of the Suryavanshi throne.

And yet, though they try to bury me under their hatred, though they wish I had never drawn breath… I live.

A life I never asked for, carrying a name I never wanted. Priyamvadha Suryavanshi, the illegitimate child of the King of Udayagrah. A name gilded with royalty, but for me, it has always been a curse.

A sudden sound tore me from my thoughts, the thunderous applause that rolled across the grand banquet hall. I blinked and pulled myself back to the present. The Raja had just finished making an announcement, his voice booming, commanding, and the entire court erupted in cheer and praise. Laughter, clapping, and the clinking of goblets filled the air, but I remained still, unmoved. I did not clap. I did not cheer.

Why would I?

I stood quietly among the line of palace maids, blending with them as though I were one of their own. In truth, my life had been no better than theirs, perhaps even worse. I was only allowed to breathe after my birth because of the people of Udayagrah. They knew their King had fathered another child, and so the palace could not risk my sudden disappearance. If I had died the same night I was born, whispers would have spread, questions would have been raised, and the people’s anger would have flared. And so I lived, not because I was wanted, not because I was loved, but because the King needed to maintain his image.

To the outside world, to the citizens of Udayagrah, I was a princess. But within these palace walls, I was treated worse than a slave. A reminder of shame. A breathing, walking sin.

The hall grew silent, the roaring cheers settling into reverent hush. My eyes followed the cause of it, the arrival of Yuvraj Vyom Singh Suryavanshi, crown prince of Udayagrah. He walked toward the dais with a grace that demanded respect, his very presence commanding loyalty from the courtiers. Vyom Singh Suryavanshi,the son of the same man who sired me, but unlike me, he bore the blessing of legitimacy. Heir to the throne. Beloved son of the Queen.

We shared the same blood, the same father, the same cursed source of existence… and yet, how different our worlds were.

But I never begrudged him for it. Not once.

Because if there was one soul in this entire palace who ever looked at me with even a flicker of kindness, it was him. Vyom never spoke to me directly, never acknowledged me openly, for how could he, without tarnishing his own honor? Yet he was my silent shield. He didn’t know it, but his presence often saved me from the cruelties I would have otherwise suffered.

As a child, I would secretly weave him rakhis during Rakshabandhan, pouring all my innocent love and yearning for a brother into each thread. I never had the right to tie them on his wrist, of course. That honor belonged to Rajkumari Vanshika Suryavanshi, the youngest daughter of the King and Queen, the legitimate princess, the one who despised me with a passion that burned in her every word and gesture.

And I never blamed her for it.

How could I? If I were in her place, I too would have hated the living reminder of my father’s betrayal.

Instead of wasting my time dwelling on the Royal family and their endless charade, I kept my eyes open, waiting patiently for the right moment. A perfect chance to slip away from the suffocating crowd who only cared about bowing, flattering, and singing praises to the royals. People like me were invisible to them. Why would anyone notice me? I was nothing more than a mistake, a burden, an illegitimate child who would never be an heir to the throne.

My fingers tightened around the edge of my lehenga as I discreetly lifted the heavy skirt, careful not to stumble, careful not to make the faintest sound. Slowly, step by step, I edged backwards toward the grand doors of the banquet hall. My heart thundered inside my chest, every beat louder than the claps and laughter echoing in the room. I stole a glance around, still, no eyes on me.

A breath of relief escaped my lips as I slipped through the gilded doors. I didn’t dare pause. My slippers barely made a sound as I hurried down the corridor, the silk of my lehenga whispering against the marble floor. The palace guards were distracted with the celebrations, and for once, fortune was on my side. No one noticed. No one stopped me.

I ran.

By the time I reached the terrace staircase, my lungs burned and my body trembled, but I didn’t slow down. My fingers shook as I pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped onto the terrace. The cold night air hit me like a slap, and for the first time in months, I felt alive. Free. Quickly, I bolted the door behind me. No one would follow me here.

I stood there, panting, the wind tugging at my dupatta as though urging me forward. I had been waiting for this moment for months, no, for years.

Today, it ends.

Today, I will finally be free. No one would whisper “disgrace” behind my back anymore. No one would call me a stain upon this palace. I would no longer live in the shadow of my father’s sin. Tonight, I would liberate not just my body, but my soul.

I had tried before, so many times. Pills, blades, poisons, silent prayers to Kanha. But fate had always mocked me, forcing me back into this prison of survival. Tonight would be different. Tonight, I would not fail.

I took a deep breath and stepped forward. The stones of the terrace felt cold beneath my bare feet, grounding me as memories assaulted my mind. The echo of my own screams when no one came. The countless nights I spent curled in the corner of my chamber, weeping until my throat gave out. The faces of courtiers who sneered at me, the maids who whispered behind closed doors. Every tear, every humiliation pressed down on me, urging me forward.

At last, I reached the edge.

The drop was steep, the palace walls disappearing into darkness below. The sight didn’t frighten me, not in the slightest. If anything, the depth felt like a doorway. An opening to freedom.

I lifted the heavy folds of my lehenga, the embroidery glinting under the moonlight. Jumping in this weight was foolish, but I had no time to change. This was my one chance. My only chance.

“Ae Kanha…” I whispered to my Lord, closing my eyes. My lips trembled as I surrendered my fate to him.

I was ready.

But just as I leaned forward, ready to let go, a voice shattered the silence.

“Excuse me?”

The single phrase pierced the night, startling me as though the world itself had yanked me back from the edge.