In the heart of London, where red buses whizzed past ancient stones like sentinels of time and the scent of tea wafted through morning air like a gentle spell, the city slumbered in quiet calm. The usual bustle of this grand metropolis was yet to unfurl. In a captivating English house of whispers and shadows, a 24-year-old woman lay curled up in bed on the first floor, amidst the layout of 3 master bedrooms, 2 guest rooms, and a gym that seemed to hold secrets of midnight workouts. Downstairs, the ground floor cradled an old couple's cozy room, a kitchen brewing dreams in teapots, a small home temple glowing with quiet devotion, and a living room where shadows danced on walls.

Her face glistened with sweat like moonlit dew as she tossed and turned in the grip of a haunting nightmare. Breaths came in short, uneven gasps, and mumbles escaped her lips—fragments of a dream world wrestling with reality.

In her nightmare she saw that a 3-year-old toddler danced with joy among her sisters, her laughter like tiny bells ringing through the air. She was a whirlwind of excitement, eager to recount her day of play to her papa, who had returned from a business trip. The anticipation of his arrival had been a sweet melody in her heart as she waited patiently.

As his footsteps echoed at the doorstep, the living room pulsed with the energy of everyone gathered. The other kids spotted him first and sprinted toward him like birds taking flight, laughing as he wrapped them in warm hugs. But the little girl lingered, her eyes sparkling with a tender hope, waiting for her turn to enfold in her papa's arms. "Papa!" she called out, rushing to hug his legs as he stood up, smiling at the others.

But like a storm cloud darkening the sky, his face twisted. He pushed her away with a harshness that cut like a knife, his voice a thunderclap of anger. "Don't... just don't call me that. I am not your papa, you are nothing to me—just a curse who destroyed everything." The other family members stood frozen, unwilling to intervene, letting the tempest unfold before them.

His eyes blazed with a fierce hatred, a look that pierced the little girl's fragile heart. "How many times should I tell you not to dare call me that? Only my children have that right, and you are no one to me. Can't you understand a simple thing?" he spat, his words like shards of glass cutting deep.

A man in his late 30s stepped forward, a calm voice cutting through the tension. "Let it go. I'll handle everything." With a last scathing glance at the toddler, the father turned and left.

A woman in her mid-30s turned on the little girl, her voice shrill. "He came back after a long time, and you had to ruin everything. Can't you see him happy for a moment? How many times did we tell you not to come in front of him? But no, her highness never listens."

The toddler crumpled to the floor, tears pooling in her wide eyes as she landed on a sharp object. Her leg throbbed with a deep cut, but in the chaos of anger directed at her, no one noticed. Everyone took their turn shouting at her. She bit her hands to stifle any sound, afraid of igniting more wrath.

Eventually, they left her there, a small, crumpled figure amidst the silence. After a while, she tried to stand, faltering, but with stubborn little tries, she managed to rise. Limping, she gathered the scattered things and placed them in the dustbin, knowing no maid would help her. She limped to her room, trying to staunch the bleeding that wouldn't stop. No one came.

In the dining room, laughter and chatter swirled like a party, a stark contrast to the small, hurting figure in the shadows.

In the hush of midnight, shadows danced upon the walls as the little girl lay awake, crying silently for hours. Tears traced delicate paths down her cheeks like moonlit streams on a quiet night. She thought she heard sounds from outside, a whisper of hope that her savior, her Kaki Maa, had returned. With determination burning in her small heart, she tried to stand, but her wounded leg faltered, and she fell back onto the softness of the floor. After a few stubborn tries, she managed to rise, limping like a tiny fawn learning to walk again, and made her way to the living room.

But the living room was empty of Kaki Maa or Badi Dadi Saa. Instead, a man stood there, bathed in the silvery glow of the moon slipping through the curtains. He noticed the little girl and frowned slightly, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. After a moment of studying her, he called her to come closer, his voice a gentle summons. The girl limped toward him, a small figure in the moonlit space.

He saw the limp, the way she favored one leg, and his eyes softened with curiosity. "Why are you limping? What happened to you? And why are you crying?" he asked, his voice a tender blend of softness and firmness, careful not to frighten her into more tears.

The girl took a moment, her small chest heaving with suppressed sobs, before speaking in a voice like a whispered secret. "It's hult Bade Papa." But then her eyes widened in fear, remembering her father's rage when she called him "Papa." Hastily, she corrected herself in a barely audible whisper, "Solly, Hukum sa."

Bade Papa's expression gentled further. "It's okay, beta. You can call me Bade Papa. I am not angry. Now stop crying and tell me what happened to your leg?" His words were like a balm to her fearful heart.

She looked up at Bade Papa, a mix of wariness and hope in her eyes, then spoke with a breaking voice, the words tumbling out like fragile things. "Hume chot lag gayi jab papa ne Hume push kiya. Ab humale pair mein dard ho raha hai bahut jayada. Waha se lahu bhi nikal raha hai. Humne koshish ki par wo phir bhi nikal raha hai." Her voice cracked as she cried, trying to stifle sounds but failing.

For a moment, Bade Papa didn't speak, his gaze lingering on the little girl's hurting form. Then he asked softly, "Show me where you got hurt." His concern was a quiet thread pulling at her trust.

With hesitation, she lifted her dress, revealing her right leg to Bade Papa. But fearing he might not believe her, she spoke again, her voice a desperate whisper, "Hum sach kahe rahe hain Bade Papa. Hume bahut dard ho raha hai. Hum jhoot bol rahe hain nahi." She pinched her throat as she spoke, the words tumbling out in a mix of pain and sincerity.

A sudden shrill of an alarm woke her up from her nightmare. She sat up in her bed, looked around disoriented, then realized it was just a nightmare. She was safe in London, surrounded by people who loved her and wanted her. She swung her legs off the bed and headed towards her bathroom.

After taking care of business in the bathroom, she emerged and went to her walk-in closet. Picking one of her favorite outfits, she dressed herself. Then she headed downstairs directly to the kitchen to make Prasad for Pooja. Half an hour later, she came to her home temple, cleaned the surrounding area, and started her Pooja.

It wasn't that they couldn't afford a maid—in fact, they had one. It was just that she loved to do these things herself.

She is none other than "Ishvika Singh Rajvanshi"

At 7:00 am sharp, the scent of freshly brewed tea mingled with the warmth of breakfast in the air as everyone descended to the dining area. The housekeeper had lovingly laid out a spread of fluffy pancakes, crispy bacon, and steaming eggs on the dining table. The old couple, Nanu Sanjay Ahuja and Nani in their gentle twilight years, entered first. Their eyes twinkled with affection as they greeted Ishvika with a tender "Good Morning Lado"—a term of endearment that wrapped warmth around her heart. Ishvika smiled back softly, "Good Morning Nanu and Nani," her voice a melody of respect and love.

Then burst in the whirlwind twins, Rishika and Avyansh—Rishu and Avy—shouting in unison like a playful chant, "Good Morning Didu!" Their eyes sparkled mischief and adoration as Ishvika smiled at their antics. "Good morning Rishu and Avy," she laughed gently. The family settled in, dining in a silence sacred to their tradition—no talk, no gadgets—a moment of peaceful connection.

After breakfast, Nanu Sanjay's expression turned grave, like shadows crossing a sunlit lawn. "Come to the living room. I need to discuss something with everyone," he said, his low tone hinting at weighty matters. A flutter of unease danced in Ishvika's chest as they followed Nanu to the cozy living room filled with family memories. Hesitating, Sanjay began, "There's something I need to tell you all."

Ishvika's eyes locked onto Nanu's, concern spiking in her voice, "What happened Nanu? Is everything okay? Did something happen last night?" Panic mingled with curiosity in her tone.

"No, nothing's wrong with us, Ishu," Sanjay reassured softly. "Actually, they've called us back."

In the cozy living room filled with family photos and soft cushions, Nanu Sanjay Ahuja's words hung in the air like an unanswered question. "Actually, they've called us back," he said, his eyes holding a mix of seriousness and something else—maybe a hint of urgency or expectation.

Ishvika Singh Rajvanshi's brow furrowed slightly. Though she had a hunch it was the palace, she asked anyway to confirm, "Called us back? Who called us back, Nanu?"

The twins, Rishika and Avyansh, looked at each other, their usual playful energy momentarily subdued by the gravity of Nanu's tone. Nani watched silently, her hands folded in her lap.

Sanjay Ahuja took a breath before continuing, "The palace. They want us back for the upcoming celebrations. It seems there's something important they need our presence for."

For a moment, an oppressive silence clamped down on the living room—no one dared to breathe a word. Then Ishvika broke the heavy stillness with a forced casualness, "It's okay Nanu. It's not the first time they've called you guys to visit them. You guys can go and meet them. By the way, when will you all leave for India?" Her voice was a thin veil over a tumult of emotions, ones her family knew she'd mastered over years of being "okay." Everyone looked at her with piercing gazes, thoughts colliding in their minds—how could she sound so detached, so unaffected after being left out for 15 long years? But they knew they'd helped shape this coping mechanism of hers.

"It's not like that Lado," Nani Sunaina said softly, her whisper barely audible over the quiet. "They call us back meaning they want all of us back to India, including you."

Ishvika's body turned to stone for a heartbeat. Her eyes widened in a mix of confusion and disbelief. She couldn't fathom what she was hearing. Rishika and Avy mirrored her shock; they too couldn't believe the palace finally wanted their Didu back.

A pin-drop silence gripped the room again until Rishika shattered it with a burst of indignation. Her face twisted in a furious glare at Nani, her voice a lethal mix of anger and anticipation, "Why? Why do they want her back after all these years? Like nothing happened? Like they never abandoned her! I swear Nani, if they try to hurt my Didu, I'll kill them without a second thought. And I don't get why you agreed to them."

Sanjay's voice cut through Rishika's rage, firm and measured, "Calm down Rishika Singh Rajvanshi. Don't talk to my wife like that. We didn't exactly agree—Ashika requested. She wants Ishvika back. Ashika's getting married soon. I couldn't ignore Ashika's request; it's the first time she's asked something of me."

Rishika gulped, knowing well that her Nanu never tolerated a raised voice toward Nani. She bit back further words, her anger simmering beneath a thin layer of obedience. Avy's eyes widened with curiosity and a tinge of disappointment, "Wait Nanu, what marriage? Is Ashika Di seriously getting married?"

"Yes, Avy. Ashika is getting married soon," Nani said, beaming with happiness.

Ishvika rose from her seat and went towards her room with lots of emotions swirling inside her.

Please read Author Note.

Author Note:

In The Royal Arrangement, the dynamics of family, loyalty, and past wounds are explored. This is a work of fiction, and characters and events are crafted to delve into the intricacies of human emotions and connections.

This is my first book. I'd be grateful if you give The Royal Arrangement a chance. If you find any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes, please do let me know. English and Hindi both are not my first language. I am also not from Rajasthan.