Yudhajit snorted. “Did you really believe that at the swayamvara Father would let you have any choice among your suitors? None of us have a real choice. My first marriage has been arranged since I was seven years old. As a third wife, you may not have power, but you will have freedom.”
I shook my head. What a fool he was, believing that some small portion of freedom was a better prize than power. “You don’t understand. You’re not a woman.”
“Perhaps not,” Yudhajit said. “But I understand you, Kaikeyi. This is best.”
“I know what’s best for me, not you, not Father, not anybody,” I snapped. “Do not force me to go through with this!”
“I’m not forcing you to do anything. Father has made this choice. I am simply trying to counsel you in this matter.”
“I don’t need your counsel.” I met his gaze squarely. “In fact, I don’t need you at all.”
Yudhajit reared back as if I had slapped him. Bitter satisfaction flowed through my veins as the cord connecting us, once full and vibrant—the strongest bond I had in the Binding Plane—began to wither like a dying flower. “You’ve always needed me. But the truth is I’ve only ever had myself.” It wasn’t true, not exactly, but I knew how to hurt him and so I did.
Yudhajit just stared at me, eyes wide.
“Get out of my room.”
He blinked. I saw a tear upon his eyelashes. Another blink, it rolled down his face. He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands and looked back up at me, pleadingly. Our bond, now a delicate thing, quivered.
“I said, get out.”
He went.
The next morning, several attendants were sent to my room to prepare me for court. I felt numb as I watched them unfold my sari, a bejeweled length of shining red silk adorned with delicate blossoms of gold. They wrapped it around me, the material surprisingly soft, although the regimented fan of knife-like pleats restricted my movements far more than I would have liked.
They pulled my dark hair back, coiling and pinning and coiling and pinning until it sat in a heavy bun against my nape, then covered it with one end of the sari cloth, leaving only a few strands free to frame my face.
They laid an ornate ruby necklace around my throat in an attempt to draw attention away from my too-wide shoulders. Its gold links were studded intermittently with small red stones, and the large gem in the center gleamed like a drop of blood against my collarbone. I was grateful for the years of training that allowed me to stand tall beneath its weight. A delicate gold pendant hung down onto my forehead, all of Kekaya’s supposed riches now on display for this mighty raja.
They applied rose water to my wrists and dark kohl to my eyes and painted my lips in a sticky red dye. I had to remind myself every few seconds not to rub the heaviness from my face.
When I looked in the mirror, I was surprised that I could still recognize myself. But all of my features were slightly altered, my eyes larger, my mouth more… noticeable. The drape of the sari pallu brought out my curves. For previous appearances at feasts and important occasions, I had been dressed well, but as one would dress a child, with little face paint and simple jewelry. But now—I looked like the other noblewomen of the court. And, with a jolt, I realized I looked a bit like my mother. She had been considered very beautiful, and I could see that maybe, accentuated by all this finery, I could be too.
I would not want to look like this every day. But it was nice, if strange, to see this other version of me.
I walked to the court accompanied by two guards, my chin lifted in a passable imitation of a radnyi. The finery gave me confidence to face whatever came next, like a thin layer of armor between me and the world.
A herald announced my entrance to the throne room, and I swept in with all the grace I could muster, avoiding the urge to look to the various nobles who lined the walls to gauge their reaction to my new appearance.
My father stood upon my arrival, as did the stranger next to him. I checked the cord connecting Yudhajit and me and found it recovered from yesterday. But it had undoubtedly diminished. I forced myself to look away from my twin and instead turned to the foreign man.
The first thing I noticed was that he was much younger than my father, and I might have sagged in relief. My lips quirked upward before I could stop my reaction, and his own mouth twitched in response. He was watching me intently, spine straight as a spear. I saw something in his expression, a ferocity, that I recognized as kin. But with a belated start, I realized everyone was waiting for me as I studied this man. I pressed my hands together and bowed to my father, and then to Raja Dasharath, my husband-to-be.