The grand hall was abuzz with preparations — scrolls of golden invitations, jewel-toned fabrics being unfurled, and royal designers whispering furiously over sketchbooks.

But Mayuri stood quietly beside Veer on the palace balcony, watching the flurry below with a distant expression.

Veer glanced at her. "Is something troubling you?"

She didn't respond right away.

Then, taking a breath, she turned to him, her voice steady but soft.

"I have a request. A personal one."

He straightened, his expression serious. "Of course."

Mayuri looked out at the gardens, where Aryan was chasing a butterfly with his usual giggles.

"I don't want a big wedding," she said.

Veer blinked. "You don't?"

She shook her head. "I know tradition demands it. That the royal wedding of Udaipur must be a spectacle. But I've lived through enough spectacle in my life. I don't want the cameras... the gossip... the scrutiny."

Her voice grew quieter. "And most of all... I don't want Aryan to feel any of it."

Veer followed her gaze. Aryan had fallen to the grass and was laughing, utterly carefree.

Mayuri swallowed hard. "He's just begun healing. One wrong whisper... one ugly comment about his mother, or me... and he'll hear it. Even if we think he won't. Children always hear more than they're meant to."

There was a beat of silence.

"I want to marry you, Veer," she said, looking into his eyes. "But I want it to be quiet. Intimate. Just close family. Let's give the world their celebration later — a grand reception if they want it. But the wedding... let it be for us. For Aryan."

Veer didn't speak for a moment.

Then he stepped forward, took her hand gently in his, and nodded.

"You don't need to explain yourself to anyone, Mayuri. Least of all to me. If this is what you want — then this is what we'll do."

She exhaled in relief.

"I'll handle the family," he added with a wry smile. "Let them grumble into their royal wine."

Mayuri laughed softly, the tension in her shoulders easing.

Just then, Aryan ran toward them, his hands stained with flower petals. "Papa! Dost! Look what I made!"

He held up a small garland, messy and lopsided, strung together with chubby fingers and love.

"For you," he beamed, placing it around Mayuri's neck.

She bent to kiss his forehead, whispering, "This is better than diamonds."

And as Aryan grinned between the two people he loved most, Veer knew that this quiet wish — this modest wedding Mayuri desired — would not just protect Aryan.

It would honor the memory of his mother.

And make room for a new beginning.

The palace, usually grand and glowing with a thousand lights, was unusually quiet.

Only a soft line of diyas lit the cobbled path that led to the lake. The wind was cool. The stars above shimmered like the royal jewels that lay untouched in velvet boxes — left behind by choice.

Mayuri stepped out of her chamber, draped in a saree the color of old rose — simple, elegant, unburdened by gold. Her jewelry was heirloom, passed on by her mother — not for wealth, but for meaning.

Veer waited by the water, dressed in a cream sherwani with an ochre stole across his shoulder. His eyes never left her as she walked toward him, each step echoing with grace and quiet purpose.

But in another part of the palace, Queen Mother Devyani stood with pursed lips, watching from the corridor. The absence of music, guests, and fanfare gnawed at her expectations.

"This is... the royal wedding of Udaipur," she murmured to her brother, the former minister. "It should've been grand. Historic."

The minister smiled gently. "Sometimes, Didi, the most historic moments are the quiet ones."

Still, a frown lingered — until Aryan appeared behind her, holding a small tray of marigold petals.

He looked up at her and asked softly, "Dadi... do you think Mama would've liked it like this too? Just us?"

Devyani turned slowly.

Aryan looked up, blinking those big eyes, so much like Veer's, yet filled with Mayuri's gentle honesty.

"She didn't like crowds," he said. "They made her nervous. And Mayuri said... that we should marry Papa quietly. So people don't say mean things when I'm around."

That was when the Queen Mother's eyes finally softened.

She knelt before him, touching his cheek. "Then it's perfect, my little prince. Just like your mother would've wanted."

She rose and nodded to the staff. "Let's begin the rituals."

⸻

Down by the lake, the sacred fire had been lit. The gentle chanting of the priest echoed under the open sky.

There were no thousand guests. No camera flashes.

Just family — Veer, Mayuri, Aryan, the Queen Mother, the minister, and two maids who had served the family since Veer was a boy.

As the rituals began, Aryan sat between Veer and Mayuri, holding both their hands. The priest chuckled, allowing it.

"Let the boy stay. He is the light in both their lives," the priest said warmly.

When Mayuri circled the fire for the pheras, Aryan tried to follow — causing laughter to ripple through the quiet ceremony.

And in the final vow, when Veer tied the mangalsutra around Mayuri's neck and placed sindoor in her hairline, she did not look down.

She looked up — into his eyes — steady, strong, and kind.

"I promise," he whispered, "to be your calm... when storms come."

She smiled.

"And I promise," she whispered back, "to be your voice... when silence surrounds you."

⸻

As the rituals ended, Queen Mother walked over and placed her hands on Mayuri's head.

"You've brought peace to this palace, child," she said. "And a mother's smile back to my grandson."

Mayuri folded her hands in a namaste, tears pooling in her lashes.

That night, under the ancient moon of Udaipur, a new queen was crowned — not with gold, but with grace, gentleness, and love that chose silence over spectacle.

And for the first time in years, the royal lake glimmered — not just with reflection, but with quiet magic.