Despite the royal wedding being intimate, the world's curiosity had only grown louder.

News outlets speculated. Society whispered. Fashion pages sulked about not being invited. But the palace had remained silent — until now.

That morning, a simple yet elegant press release was issued from the Royal Palace of Udaipur:

"We are pleased to announce the wedding of His Highness Veer Singh Rathore to Ms. Mayuri Pradhan, in the presence of close family. The ceremony was guided by personal values and the best interest of the royal heir, Aryan Singh Rathore. A grand reception is planned shortly."

— Office of the Royal Communications

Alongside the message, they shared a single photograph.

And that one picture changed everything.

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It was taken during the kanyadaan ritual. Mayuri was seated beside the sacred fire, Aryan snuggled into her lap, dressed in a tiny beige sherwani with a red stole. His little fingers were trying to feed her a laddoo, laughing uncontrollably as a bit of it smudged on her cheek.

Veer — usually stoic, always regal — was caught in the moment mid-laughter, eyes crinkling with pure joy. He wasn't looking at the camera.

He was looking at them.

And his smile — wide, unfiltered, deeply content — was the kind of emotion no monarchy had ever shown in public.

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Across Social Media:

The image was posted across all official palace accounts with a caption that simply read:

"Three hearts. One promise. A new beginning for Udaipur."

Hashtags exploded.

#ModernRoyalty #MayuriWedsVeer #PrinceAryan #RoyalWithHeart

People across India and abroad were stunned. Gone was the pomp. Gone were the stiff, traditional royal portraits.

Instead, there was a photo full of laughter, chaos, and undeniable love.

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The Reaction:

Fashion designers messaged:

"She's redefining bridal elegance. No diamonds. Just depth."

Celebrities reposted the photo:

"This is what real royalty looks like. Vulnerable. Human. Glorious."

Young women messaged Mayuri's account:

"You've made me believe in healing again. Thank you for choosing love without fear."

And fathers, especially single dads, wrote to Veer:

"That smile on your son's face — it's everything. Thank you for sharing that with us."

Even the Queen Mother's aides noted her eyes welling up when she saw the post. "She's finally changed the palace," one whispered.

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That night, Veer and Mayuri sat with Aryan between them, scrolling through the reactions.

He looked up at them innocently, asking, "Why are so many people smiling at our photo?"

Mayuri cupped his cheek. "Because your giggle, Aryan, reminded them what love truly sounds like."

Veer nodded. "And your mama's smile showed them what strength looks like."

As Aryan climbed into Veer's lap, half-asleep, Mayuri leaned against Veer's shoulder, whispering, "We didn't need a kingdom's approval. Just each other's."

Veer kissed her temple softly. "But you have both now."

The palace was quiet that night.

A soft wind whispered through the carved arches of the royal balcony where Veer and Mayuri stood, wrapped in silence. The moon bathed the marble in silver light. Aryan had fallen asleep hours ago, his tiny hand curled around Veer's shawl before slipping into peaceful dreams.

Mayuri leaned against the stone railing, her head tilted to the sky.

Then — her phone buzzed.

Aidan Whitmore.

The name flashed on the screen like an old wound reopening. Her breath caught for a second. She let it ring once... twice... a third time.

Veer turned to her, sensing the shift in her stillness. "Everything alright?"

She nodded. "It's him."

He didn't have to ask who.

She answered.

And instantly, his slurred voice exploded through the speaker.

"So this is how you move on? Just like that? A crown and a title and suddenly you're too royal to even speak to me?"

Mayuri closed her eyes.

"Do you know how messed up it is to marry someone you barely know?! What are you trying to prove — that you're better than me now?"

Her hands didn't tremble, but her eyes dimmed. The storm she had buried for months — it had found its voice again.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Veer gently placed his hand on hers. Without a word, he picked up the phone.

"This is Maharaja Veer Singh Rathore," he said calmly, his voice like ice cutting through fire. "You're drunk. You're disrespectful. And you've called a married woman at midnight to scream at her for healing from your betrayal."

There was silence on the other end.

Then Aidan muttered, "She was mine, man. You don't know what we—"

"She was never yours," Veer said sharply. "You lost the right to even say her name when you cheated on her. And now — she's my wife. My son calls her Mama. I suggest you fix yourself before you call again. Because next time, this won't be a conversation. It'll be legal."

And just like that, he hung up.

Mayuri stood frozen, staring ahead, tears quietly slipping down her cheeks.

Not from fear. Or sadness.

But exhaustion.

Years of being gaslit, doubted, blamed. And now, in one moment — someone had stood for her. With no demands. No expectations.

Just protection.

She finally whispered, "I didn't ask you to fight for me."

Veer turned to face her. "You didn't have to. But I won't let anyone treat you like that. Ever again."

"I'm tired, Veer." Her voice cracked. "I just wanted peace. I left everything behind. Why does he still get to haunt me?"

Veer gently cupped her face. "He doesn't. Not anymore. That call — was his goodbye."

She rested her head against his chest, letting his heartbeat calm her storm.

Behind them, a faint rustle — Aryan stirred in his sleep but settled again. The innocence of that moment, the serenity of their son, became their anchor.

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Later that night, Mayuri posted a quiet Instagram story.

No captions. Just a picture of Veer holding her hand under the stars, their wedding rings visible. Peaceful. Final.