The palace of Udaipur stood proud under the fading moonlight — tall, timeless, drenched in silence. But inside, behind the gold-carved doors and endless corridors, there was no silence at all.
There was only crying.
The cries of a baby — raw, helpless, endless — echoed through every marble hallway, bounced off every chandelier, and sank deep into every heart that heard them.
For one month, the royal palace had not known a moment of rest. Servants walked on tiptoes, maids whispered behind curtains, guards shifted uneasily outside the nursery door — afraid to disturb the prince, afraid to face the weight of his sorrow.
---
Inside the nursery, the once beautiful room now looked like a battlefield. Milk bottles lay half-empty, soft toys were scattered across the rug, and the air smelled faintly of baby powder and sleepless nights.
On a large armchair by the crib sat Rajveer Singh Rathore, the prince of Udaipur — his posture no longer regal, his eyes bloodshot, his once perfectly tied turban lying forgotten on the table.
He held his infant son close to his chest, rocking him gently, murmuring broken words that even he barely understood anymore.
“Aarav… shh, my boy… please…”
But the tiny baby kept crying, his little fists clenched tight, his face red from exhaustion.
Rajveer’s arms trembled from fatigue. He had carried swords heavier than this baby — yet never had anything felt so heavy.
He had attended royal banquets and diplomatic meetings without sleep, yet this single night felt endless, cruel.
---
The door creaked open.
“Rajveer beta…”
It was Rani Devika Rathore, his mother. She entered quietly, her silken saree whispering against the marble floor, her gold bangles faintly chiming. The worry lines on her face had deepened over the past month.
She walked to her son and placed a trembling hand on his shoulder.
“Let me take him,” she said softly. “You’ve been at it for hours. Go rest for a while.”
Rajveer looked up at her — his lips pressed tightly, his voice hoarse.
“He doesn’t stop, Ma. No matter who holds him… no matter what we do.”
Rani Devika reached for her grandson, gently lifting him from Rajveer’s arms. The baby continued crying, his small body shaking from the effort.
She hummed softly, her voice old yet sweet, the same lullaby she used to sing to Rajveer as a child.
But tonight, it did nothing.
The crying only grew louder.
Devika sighed, tears glistening in her eyes. “He misses her,” she whispered.
The word her sliced through Rajveer’s chest like glass.
---
He turned away, walking to the window. Outside, dawn was beginning to break over the desert sands — the sky painted in faint pink and gold, mocking the darkness in his heart.
“She left, Ma,” he said quietly. “She left us both. He shouldn’t cry for someone who didn’t want him.”
Rani Devika’s throat tightened. “Don’t say that, Rajveer.”
He let out a bitter laugh. “Why not? It’s the truth. She didn’t even look back when she walked out of those gates.”
His mother watched him silently. She had seen her son fight political battles, handle royal duties with grace, and smile for cameras no matter the pain inside. But tonight, she saw a man unraveling.
“Maybe she wasn’t meant for this life,” Devika said finally, her voice weary.
Rajveer’s gaze hardened. “Then she shouldn’t have brought him into it.”
---
The clock struck six. The palace came alive with routine — servants opening curtains, guards changing shifts, the kitchen staff preparing breakfast. But the nursery remained trapped in the same storm.
By morning, Rajveer sat in silence beside his son’s crib. Aarav had finally stopped crying, his tiny chest rising and falling softly.
Rajveer reached out and brushed a tear from his baby’s cheek.
“You deserve better,” he whispered. “You deserve a mother’s love… not this emptiness.”
His voice broke.
He leaned back in his chair, exhaustion pulling him under. The lull of the baby’s breathing was the only sound in the vast, golden room.
When he woke, hours later, Aarav was crying again.
---
At breakfast, Rajveer barely spoke. The long dining table stretched endlessly between him and the others — his parents, his younger sister Princess Meera, and the few senior staff who still dared to sit near him.
“Bhai,” Meera said gently, “we can’t go on like this.”
Rajveer didn’t answer.
“The doctors said Aarav is fine,” she continued. “He’s not sick, he’s just… unsettled. He needs care, and you need rest. Let’s bring someone new — a nanny who can stay full-time.”
“I’ve already tried that,” he said flatly. “Five of them, Meera. Five. Each left within two days.”
Meera leaned forward, her tone soft but firm. “Then we’ll find the sixth — and this time, we won’t give up. I’ve contacted an agency in Pushkar. They’ve sent me a list. One of them might be different.”
Rajveer sighed, his expression unreadable.
“Do whatever you want. Just make sure my son doesn’t cry himself hoarse again.”
---
That night, the palace was still again — but not peaceful.
Aarav’s cries filled the corridors once more, and Rajveer stood helpless by the crib, rocking, whispering, pacing. His reflection in the nursery mirror looked like a stranger: tired, unshaven, hollow-eyed.
He thought of Diya — her laughter, her perfume, the glittering heels she used to click against these very floors. He thought of how easily she had walked away.
How could someone carry a child for nine months and not look back even once?
His chest burned with anger and grief, but when he looked down at his son, all that remained was guilt.
“This isn’t your fault,” he murmured. “It’s mine. I chose her. I couldn’t keep her.”
The baby cried louder. Rajveer sat down, holding him close. “Shh… I’m here, Aarav. I’ll never leave you.”
And he meant it. Even if it meant losing sleep, losing himself, losing everything — he wouldn’t leave.
---
Outside the palace, a bus rolled into Udaipur city, dust swirling behind its tires.
Among the few passengers sat a young woman with kind brown eyes and a small cloth bag on her lap — Ananya Sharma.
Her heart beat fast with nerves. She wasn’t used to luxury or power, but she needed this job. She needed something steady, something to hold onto after years of drifting alone.
She didn’t know what awaited her behind the palace gates.
She didn’t know she was walking straight into a family breaking apart.
She didn’t know that in her gentle arms lay the power to heal not one, but two broken souls.
The palace of Udaipur was about to feel warmth again.
And it would begin with.............
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