Ananya’s hands were shaking so hard she nearly dropped the brass lota twice while pouring water over herself.

The bathing room attached to her chamber was small, lit only by a single oil lamp. Steam rose around her naked body as she stood under the slow stream of lukewarm water, trying to scrub away the heat that had settled between her legs the moment her father’s voice had given the command. It refused to leave. Every time she closed her eyes she saw him sitting in that chair, the way his finger had hooked under her gold chain and pulled her closer, the calm, absolute certainty in his voice when he told her what to wear.