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Chapter 5. ~ Scars That Don't Heal ~

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The week had passed, yet Dhara had not stepped foot in the palace. She was too afraid, trapped in the nightmare of that night. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't forget it. The memory clung to her like a shadow, haunting her every moment.

Why did it happen? Why did Samar do that to her? She had only gone to thank him-nothing more. Then why had everything changed in the blink of an eye?

Every night, the same moment replayed in her mind, tormenting her like a ghost she couldn't escape. She couldn't share this pain with anyone, nor did she have the strength to carry it alone.

"H... Hukum, I had only come to thank you... but why did this happen to me?" she whispered, her voice breaking as tears spilled down her cheeks.

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Samar's grandfather had been watching him closely for days. Something was wrong. Samar had been losing his temper over the smallest things, raising his voice at every little mistake. In just one week, he had dismissed several members of his personal staff.

As the doctor dressed his wound, Samar sat before him, his face as cold and expressionless as ever.

"Ranaji, I am telling you again-please don't take stress. It's harming your health," the doctor advised gently.

"I've been saying this to him for years, but he never listens," Dadamaharaj said as he entered the room, his face heavy with concern.

The doctor sighed, looking at the old king. "Maharanaji, this is the sixth attack in a week. We can't keep this a secret for long. If this continues, it will destroy Ranaji's political career. And if it worsens..." He hesitated before adding gravely, "It could even cost him his life."

Dadamaharaj turned to Samar, his voice laced with frustration and worry. "Samar, what is wrong with you? How long will I keep hiding this from the world? If the news of your illness leaks, if the media even gets a hint of it, they will ruin you. Your opponents will use it against you. Is this what you want? You have to fight this, Samar. If you don't, this disease will consume you entirely."

Samar let out a bitter chuckle, his voice laced with pain. "Then tell me, Dadababa, what should I do? I can't change who I am. You don't understand... When I feel pain, it gives me relief. When I see my own blood, I feel at peace. I have been fighting this illness since I was ten. Seventeen years have passed, and what has changed? Nothing. I am still the same. If nothing helps-neither doctors, medicines, nor therapy-then what's the point? What more can I do?" His voice cracked, exposing a rare moment of vulnerability.

The doctor's face grew serious. "It's not just the illness, Ranaji. You have other addictions too. Alcohol. Drugs. If you don't take this seriously, it will destroy you. You need to free yourself from this before it's too late."

Dadamaharaj sighed deeply, his eyes filled with sorrow. "Doctor Sahib, we have done everything we could. But his condition is worsening day by day. If this comes to light, it will not only harm Samar but also bring disgrace to Rajgardh. Samar, I did not raise you to see you like this. I fought so much to bring you here. Don't throw everything away like this."

The doctor hesitated for a moment before offering a suggestion. "Maharanaji, there is one option left. If we could find a distraction for him, something that could pull him away from all this, maybe Ranaji could heal."

Both Samar and Dadamaharaj looked at him with confusion.

"A distraction?" Dadamaharaj frowned. "I already encouraged him to pursue his music. I brought him into politics, thinking if he immersed himself in these responsibilities, he would forget everything else. But we have failed. What other distraction could possibly work? Don't you think we've tried enough?"

The doctor shook his head. "No, Maharanaji. This isn't enough. He doesn't need more responsibilities-he needs a person. Someone who can pull him out of this darkness. Why don't you get Ranaji married? Right now, he doesn't need medicine or therapy as much as he needs love. He needs someone who will care for him, nurture him, and give him a reason to heal. Only a wife can bring that kind of change in his life."

Samar's face twisted with anger. "What nonsense! Marriage? Doctor, have you lost your mind? You think a wife will cure me? What connection does my illness have with marriage? Love is a weakness. I don't need it, and I don't want it. Just shut your mouth and get out!" he roared.

"Ranaji, please-" the doctor tried to reason with him, but Samar wasn't interested.

Dadamaharaj, however, seemed to consider the idea. "Doctor, you may be right, but Samar has only just begun his political career. It has only been two years. This is not the right time to make such a big decision. I will not let anything ruin his career. Marriage can wait. If you have another solution, tell me. Otherwise, I will fight this battle alongside my grandson."

The doctor saw the determination in Dadamaharaj's eyes but knew his words wouldn't change anything. He took a deep breath before suggesting something even more controversial. "Then you have one last option... The one that many royals have chosen in the past. It might work."

Dadamaharaj's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Samar, already on edge, stood up angrily. But before storming out, he noticed his grandfather signaling the doctor to continue.

"A concubine," the doctor said firmly.

Dadamaharaj's expression remained unreadable.

"A concubine would serve his needs without obligations," the doctor continued. "She would be there when he wanted, and when the time came for marriage, she could be sent away. Isn't this the way of royals?" He smirked.

Dadamaharaj exhaled deeply. "Do you think this will truly work? Samar has never once looked at any of the palace women. The palace has many daasis, yet he has never shown the slightest interest in any of them. Even I find it strange."

The doctor chuckled. "That is because of your discipline and the values you instilled in him. Most princes are destroyed by their own desires. Had Samar wanted, he could have indulged in all of this long ago. But he didn't. That says something about his character."

Dadamaharaj nodded slowly. "I have thought about this before. But I don't want to force Samar into anything. I don't want him to be worse off because of some temporary fix. If I marry him off without his will, it won't solve anything. And if the girl discovers his illness after marriage, will she truly stay by his side? If she stays out of duty or greed, what good will that do? My grandson will still suffer, still be alone." His voice was heavy with sorrow.

"You are right," the doctor admitted. "He needs love, not obligation. But is there a woman who would love him selflessly, without caring for his throne?"

Dadamaharaj gave a sad smile. "I come from a royal family-I know how rare such selflessness is. But whatever is written in his fate will happen. One thing I know for sure-my grandson will never let Rajgardh's honor be tainted. He is a Rajput. He will fight till his last breath."

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Meanwhile, Samar sat in his chamber, pouring one drink after another, his frustration mounting.

"That fool doctor-how dare he suggest such nonsense?" he muttered angrily. His mind was already restless, and now this? And that girl... she had already disturbed his thoughts far more than she should have. "I need to get rid of her. She can't play with my mind. It was just a mistake. A stupid mistake. I need to set everything right."

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Dhara stood before him, her hands trembling.

"Why haven't you come to the palace in so many days? Do you want Rajgardh to throw you out?" Samar's voice was sharp, but his thoughts were scattered. He didn't even know what he was saying anymore.

Dhara quickly shook her head. She couldn't tell him the real reason. She couldn't tell anyone.

"Forget everything that happened that day," he said coldly. "It meant nothing. It was just a mistake. I don't care about it, and neither should you. You don't need to hide from me anymore. From tomorrow, you may return to work-but not on my floor. You will work elsewhere in the palace."

Dhara nodded hesitantly, fear still gripping her heart.

"Out," he ordered.

She turned away, but as she walked out, she realized-forgetting was impossible. Because the scars left behind were too deep.

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Azra Khanna

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Azra Khanna

"In every breath, weave a legacy of hope."