The corridor leading to the Maharaj's chamber narrowed, as if the palace itself was holding its breath.
Golden lamplight flickered along the marbled walls, dancing over ancestral portraits-painted eyes that watched us pass with silent judgment. Incense curled lazily in the air, a whisper of sandalwood and rose attar clinging to the carved jharokha windows. The floor beneath our feet was polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the footsteps of ghosts and legacy.
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