It wasn’t just a bedroom—it was a kingdom of opulence. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and luxury, with soft sunlight pouring through sheer curtains onto a massive king-sized bed. Beyond the room stretched a private living space, an expansive balcony, and a pool that shimmered like liquid sapphire. On the bed, a little boy stood unsteadily, his chubby feet sinking into the plush mattress. Curly black hair framed his round face as his dark eyes sparkled mischievously. A man towered nearby—broad-shouldered, commanding, wrapped in a sleek black three-piece suit with a Lahariya pagdi perched regally on his head. Every inch of him radiated control and power… except for the tiny smile tugging at his lips as he knelt to adjust his son’s pagdi. “Dada…” the boy asked in a soft, playful voice. “Can I ask you a question?” The man exhaled slowly, rolling his emerald eyes. He knew his son too well—questions never came alone. Still, his voice softened as he replied, “Yes, my champ… ask.” The boy grinned wide, excitement dancing in his expression. “How did you meet my mom? And… how did Chinu Didi come before me?” For a heartbeat, the man froze. His fingers stilled as memories—fiery, electric, and impossible to tame—rushed through him. His eyes darted to the other side of the room. There stood a woman, draping their daughter in a dupatta. Her plain cotton saree hugged her curves effortlessly, and her black bindi sat perfectly centered on her forehead. When her gaze lifted, their eyes locked. She raised a brow—an unspoken question in her glance. And then… she smiled faintly. A smile that wasn’t sweet but knowing. A smile that reminded him of nights when that saree lay crumpled at her feet. The man swallowed hard, heat creeping up his neck. The boy’s innocent question echoed in his mind. But instead of words, all he saw was her— her lips parted in desperate gasps, her fingers clawing at his shoulders, pulling him closer. "Faster… don’t stop… please…” The sound of her moans mixed with the frantic rustle of silk as his mouth devoured every inch of her trembling skin. The memory burned hotter than any fire, leaving him breathless even now. He clenched his jaw. How could he ever tell his son that story? Theirs wasn’t a love written in fairy tales—it was born in the heat of stolen moments and desperate touches. But if you wish to know how a queen and her king surrendered to their hunger… you’ll have to step into their world.