Forty
“You are an illicit son of the Queen?” was the first question that flew out of her mouth as soon as Javid and Sahana had stopped speaking.
Yodhya felt the trickle of sweat droplets rolling down her back. Her breaths were uneven, her heart pounded in the ribcage, her head spun. Her dark eyes widened as a soccer ball, her mouth opened and closed on its own accord, not knowing what to make out of it.
The girl had spent more than three months in Sahababad, yet she hadn’t known even an inch of the information Javid had told her just then. Neither Farhana nor Chiara or any other person she had an acquaintance with in Sahababad had told her anything. In fact, her mentors, professors, and the books were silent over the context.
Given that, the information might indeed be confidential
