The night was thick with the sound of crickets and the heavy, humid air of the village. Veer moved through the dark hallways of the haveli like a shadow, his heart thudding with a ruthless anticipation. He didn't care about the risk or the fact that his wife was just a few rooms away. His mind was still filled with the image of lila at the river, and the rejection of his wife had only fueled his hunger for the girl.

He pushed open the creaky wooden door of the servant quarters. The room was small and smelled of dry straw and the faint scent of the jasmine oil lila used for her hair. She was asleep on a narrow string cot, her fair skin glowing faintly in the moonlight that filtered through the high, barred window. A thin cotton blanket covered her lush, eighteen-year-old frame.