That fateful midnight, in the dimly lit chambers of the royal palace, Kishori stirred from her restless sleep as a stern guard's voice echoed through her door. "Randi sa, Maharaja Rana Pratap ne aapko turant apne kamre mein bulaya hai." Her heart pounded with terror. Why would the king summon her at this ungodly hour? She sat up, her heavy, milk-swollen breasts straining against her thin blouse. They ached from the earlier secret sucking by Tara, the king's guard, who had stolen tastes of the milk meant only for her lord.