Kaya tilted her head, eyes going a little wet, voice softening just enough to sound hurt.
"Veer’s father," she said quietly, "could it be... you don’t actually want to marry your son? You only said that so you could kick out?"
The room shifted.
She didn’t raise her voice, but the way her shoulders dipped, the slight tremble at the edge of the words, made it land harder than a shout. People often react more strongly to perceived sadness than anger; the mix of lowered gaze and wounded tone is a classic way to trigger guilt.
For one beautiful second, Veer’s father saw red.
Two quick steps forward, hand half‑reaching for her throat. He could shut her up in a heartbeat. One squeeze, no more problem. His fingers flexed in the air.
Veer’s glare hit him like a slap.
His son’s eyes burned bright amber now, heat coiled just under the surface. Veer’s jaw was clenched, chest tight, that ready‑to‑fight posture written from shoulders to fists. He didn’t say a word, but the ssage was clear: ’Touch her, and we have a different problem.’
Veer’s father’s outstretched hand froze.
His lips pulled back in what might have been a snarl, then twisted into sothing that wanted to look like a smile. He dropped his hand from her neck to her shoulders instead, patting them—too hard to be gentle, too soft to be called a hit.
"No, no, dear," he forced out. "I was just saying... it would be good. I really want you as my daughter‑in‑law."
Kaya’s face lit up like he’d handed her the moon.
"Gods, and here I thought you were lying," she said, clapping her hands once, bright and pleased. "Of course I want to be your daughter‑in‑law. Dad."
She dragged the word out sweeter this ti, like honey poured over a knife.
Veer’s father felt sothing in his chest lurch. For a heartbeat he honestly thought he might cough up blood. Behind him, Robert flinched like he’d been shot. A couple of elders suddenly beca very interested in the ceiling.
Veer’s father grabbed his son’s chest plate, using it as an excuse to steady himself.
"I think I should go now," he said through gritted teeth. "You should rest more. We’ll... talk about the wedding later."
Kaya nodded, all polite eagerness.
"Yeah," she said. "But let’s make it as fast as possible."
That almost did it.
Veer’s father spun on his heel and all but bolted for the exit, robes snapping behind him like angry wings. Robert scrambled after him on trembling legs, one hand still glued protectively to his bald head.
The remaining vultures stayed where they were for a breath, staring at Kaya, then at Veer’s disappearing father, then back at Kaya.
In every single one of their minds, the sa thought wrote itself, clear and permanent:
’Never. Ever. Piss this woman off.’
The cave felt too quiet after Veer’s father and the elders left.
Kaya walked over to the low stone table, dropped down cross‑legged and rested her elbows on her knees. Sa posture, sa flat eyes. Whatever bright, shy bride act she’d put on was gone now. Veer, Cutie, and the sparrow just stared at her, trying to match the woman from a mont ago with the one sitting there now.
Veer cleared his throat.
"Sweetheart," he tried, voice a bit high, "are you... sick?"
Kaya cut him a cold look. "Have you gone crazy?" she said. "Of course not."
Veer gulped. "Then... do you, uh, have a fever? Sothing wrong with your head?" He waved a hand helplessly at her face. "Because that smile—"
Her glare sharpened. The words died in his throat. He shut up.
Cutie, still standing near the doorway, swallowed.
"Um," he said quietly, pointing at Veer, "you really want to marry... him?"
Veer snapped around. "What do you an ’um’? And why are you pointing at like I’m so kind of trash?"
Cutie blinked back, expression flat, saying ’you kind of are’ without a word, then turned away from him and focused on Kaya instead.
"If it’s because of Veer’s father," he said softly, "we can leave. Go back to Nikala. The house is still—"
"No," Kaya cut in.
He stopped.
"It’s not because of him," she said. "I really want to settle down now."
The room froze.
"What," Cutie breathed.
Kaya sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
"You see," she said, "I’m tired." Her voice was low, not dramatic, just worn. "And it’s not a bad idea. Veer and I are always together. We’ve already slept beside each other on the road. I don’t think it’s a big deal if we get married or whatever."
Veer stared at her like she’d grown a second head.
"Sweetheart," he said slowly, moving closer, "for , marriage isn’t a joke."
He crouched down in front of her so they were eye level.
"If you want to marry because of pressure, or because you want a place to crash, or because you’re just... tired," he said, jaw tight, "I don’t like it. I want to marry you because I love you. But that doesn’t an I’m forcing you. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to my father. We can tell him to shove his—"
Kaya’s hand shot out and caught his wrist before he could stand.
She shook her head.
"My first marriage was a love marriage," she said. "We went on one date, got married. I wouldn’t say I was happy, but it was... fine. Not too happy, not too sad."
Her mouth twisted.
"He betrayed in the end. Left to die. But I never really put my heart in, so I’m not that sad now."
Veer’s fingers tightened under hers.
"And you," she went on, lifting her eyes to his. "We know each other like the back of our hands. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to just get married."
She squeezed his wrist once.
"Anyway, if you don’t like later, we can just... stay apart in the sa tribe or sothing," she added, practical as ever. "I’m not asking you to chain yourself."
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