The car ride to Jaisalgarh had been long, quiet, and oddly suffocating. The grandeur of the Shekhawat estate was unlike anything Meher had ever seen. Towering sandstone walls with ancient carvings, lush courtyards that seemed untouched by time, and silence—an eerie, grand silence that blanketed everything in royal stillness.

She was led through intricately carved hallways by a female attendant who remained respectfully quiet. Every corridor smelled faintly of mogra and sandalwood. There were old oil paintings on the walls—former kings and queens staring down at her with impassive, knowing eyes.