Chitra's expression conveyed her deep distress. "How could he resort to such actions?" she asked, her voice laced with dismay. "We will never condone the worship of those detestable idols – never!"Pritam sighed, his tone measured. "Our allegiance remains with the one true God, the God of our ancestors. It's perplexing that no one spoke out against this decision. How could the people acquiesce to such terms so readily?"Raj's voice was low and troubled. "The influence of Queen Adah and the other queens has swayed the king, brother. They have effectively manipulated him into embracing these abhorrent practices, which are utterly reprehensible to us.""I fear for the future," Raj added. "Before the king issues another ill-conceived edict, I intend to relocate with my family. We cannot continue to reside in a place where the king's actions will inevitably invite judgment."Samarth's expression turned solemn. "The King must come to understand the gravity of his actions, lest he invite gre
As night descended, the desert's temperature plummeted, and the sand beneath their feet grew cold. A gentle breeze whispered through the dunes, carrying the faint scent of smoke from the nearby woods, where fires crackled and spat, casting a warm glow over the desolate sand. Above, the moon hung low in the sky, a milky orb surrounded by a sprinkling of stars, their twinkling light a stark contrast to the darkness that had settled over Samarth's heart.He sat before the flickering flames, his elbows resting on his knees, his face a mask of stoic resolve. Yet, beneath his composed exterior, a mayhem of emotions seethed. His jaw clenched, his mind tormented by the haunting echo of Nizar's words, which replayed in his mind like a cruel refrain, announcing the brutal slaughter of his father.As he sat in stunned silence, the weight of his emotions threatened to consume him. Grief and anger swirled within him like a raging fire, leaving him feeling lost and uncertain. But then, he felt
Following the brutal display of power by King Agnil, the kingdom was plunged into a state of turmoil and upheaval. The days that ensued were marked by a multitude of changes, each one leaving the people increasingly shaken and uncertain about their future. The traumatic memory of witnessing Samarth's family being brutally slaughtered by the king himself still lingered, leaving a deep scar on the collective psyche of the kingdom's inhabitants. As a result of the king's actions, the commander and several high-ranking soldiers were relieved of their duties, only to be replaced by individuals whose character and loyalty were highly questionable, and who seemed to embody the same morally grey qualities as the king himself. A radical transformation swept through the worship system of Tziyonia, orchestrated by the king and his newly appointed advisors. The revered prophets of the Lord were callously imprisoned in damp dungeons, while the king, consumed by madness, wreaked havoc throug
"Our ancestors have unwaveringly devoted themselves to the worship of one true God," Inayat began, her voice laced with a mix of reverence and concern."It was King Agamya who boldly chose to forsake the idols his family had revered for generations, instead dedicating himself wholeheartedly to the Lord. And it was this unwavering faith that earned him the Lord's favor, granting him a lasting legacy — a son to inherit his throne in every generation." Inayat's gaze locked onto her father's, searching for answers to the unspoken questions that weighed heavily on her heart. But instead of finding solace, she was met with an unsettling darkness in his eyes — a cold, hard glint that made her wonder if the man standing before her was truly her father.The warmth of devotion had faded from Agnil's eyes, replaced by an unyielding resentment that seemed to defy reason. The very God who had lavished him with blessings now appeared to be the object of his scorn. "Father, you've turned away from
A fortnight had elapsed since Inayat received the devastating news of Izhar's demise. The brutal execution of Commander Kenaz's entire family still lingered in her mind like an open wound. Her heart bled for the innocent kin who had been forced to witness the carnage with their own eyes. Queen Adah's detailed account of the past events had left Inayat traumatized, but it was the loss of the man she loved that cut deepest. Even now, a month after the tragedy, Inayat sat alone in her chamber, surrounded by the opulent furnishings of her plush couch, yet drowning in a sea of memories. Tears streamed down her face as she reminisced about the joyous moments she had shared with Izhar. Her mind also wandered back to a time when her father was a just and righteous man — a mythical era that now seemed lost forever.Inayat's world had also been turned upside down. She had witnessed a profound transformation in her father since the day she declared her devotion to her faith. To avoid any
Agnil's thunderous voice boomed, shaking the surroundings. "Soldiers, get set!" The bodyguards charged into the crowd, navigating through the sea of people like a serpent. Agnil drew his sword, his eyes blazing with fury, and joined the fray. A hidden dagger provided an extra layer of protection against unexpected threats.The queens watched anxiously from a distance as the secret slayers clashed with the king's soldiers and bodyguards. The king's sons rushed into battle, wielding their swords. The air was filled with the deafening sounds of clashing steel and the cries of the wounded; victims, and the brave.As the battle raged on, men began to fall like autumn dry and lifeless leaves, their bodies crumpling to the ground as the slayers sliced through them with deadly precision. The soldiers watched in horror, their eyes wide with terror, as the slayers moved with a fluid motion, their blades flashing in the fading light. Each stroke was a masterclass in efficiency, the slayers' r
The palace was abruptly plunged into turmoil. In the blink of an eye, the tranquil atmosphere was shattered like an image on glass, as a harried messenger, fleeing from the worship grounds, burst into the palace courtyard on horseback. His disheveled appearance betrayed the urgency of his mission. Tattered robes clung to his dust-covered frame, and the straps of his garment hung limp, caked with sand and grime. The messenger's frantic demeanor commanded urgent attention, but the palace guards barred his entry. Protocol dictated that no individual bearing tidings of woe, clad in attire deemed unseemly, be permitted to enter the palace walls. The guards' firm stance, though unwavering, was tempered by a hint of curiosity, as they eyed the messenger's bedraggled form with a mixture of suspicion and annoyance. Even their eyes didn't take fondness for mourners. They scrutinized the unkempt man, they noticed the lacerations on his skin, his eyes wide with terror, and the beads of sw
Samarth rode forth on his steed, accompanied by a contingent of his men. The earth trembled beneath the pounding hooves. Their mission was to pursue the fleeing princess and her entourage, while the king and his family remained captive under Raj's watchful eye. The scorching sunlight beat down relentlessly, withering the plants that clung to the rocky terrain. The horses' iron-shod hooves trampled the parched vegetation without mercy.As Samarth ascended the mountain path, a messenger brought tidings that the princess, accompanied by her loyal bodyguard Kumar, had taken the winding route through the valleys of Kamalini. Renowned for their mystical beauty, these valleys were home to flowers that bloomed under the silvery light of the moon, only to close their delicate petals with the dawn's first rays. The shadows cast by the towering cliffs infused the valley with the heady scent of musk, rich earth, and dew-kissed petals and leaves, creating an enchanting aroma that filled the air
The morning sun stretched its long golden fingers across the palace grounds, brushing over stone and silk, glinting off armor and glass. Yet within the shaded corridors, the air remained cool, heavy with a quiet that spoke of unspoken tensions.Inayat moved swiftly, her white robes swaying as she carried a scroll against her chest, heading toward the council wing for matters that could not wait. Her steps echoed softly along the marble floor.But before she could turn the corner, a familiar presence filled the space ahead — a shadow tall and commanding. Samarth stood there, his arms crossed, his dark eyes heavy with something far colder than mere disapproval.Their eyes locked.A pause, stretched thin as a drawn bowstring, hummed between them.“Inayat,” Samarth said, his voice low, almost too calm. “A word.”There was no request in his tone — only command.Inayat halted, lifting her chin, her heart already tightening at the storm she sensed rising.Samarth stepped forward, closing the
The afternoon sunlight was gentle, spreading across the stone terrace. A warm breeze stirred the sheer curtains that hung from the arches. On a low marble platform, shaded by the curving vines of a flowering tree, Inayat and Aabroo sat together, their iktaras resting lightly against their knees.The melody rose, simple and sweet, as Aabroo plucked the strings carefully, her small fingers finding their place with growing confidence. A smile flickered across Inayat’s face as she guided her, letting her own fingers dance more freely across her instrument, filling the air with a melody that wove itself between the columns and drifted into the blue sky.For a time, they said nothing, letting the music speak what words could not.Then, almost shyly, Aabroo’s voice broke into the stillness, low and uncertain, as if she feared her own thoughts.“He seems... very occupied these days,” she said, keeping her eyes on the iktara, her fingers still moving over the strings. “My brother.”Inayat’s fi
The night had laid its heavy cloak upon the palace, and the moon floated like a solemn sentinel in the velvet sky, its pale light spilling across the marble corridors. Samarth walked alone, his robe whispering against the polished floor, his hand trailing lightly over the cool stone of the columns as he passed beneath them. Above, the stars shimmered like ancient witnesses to the turmoil brooding in his heart.He gazed heavenward, his steps slow and measured, the weight of kingship pressing heavily upon his shoulders.“What is this plague that stirs in the heart of my kingdom, O God?” he spoke into the silence, his voice low, yet thrumming with restrained anguish. “One night was enough to throw order into chaos. I sense the serpent has entered with a lifted brow, sure of its strike. I am not blind, nor am I unaware of its design — to bleed this kingdom, to strike me down. And yet... who is it?”He paused beneath a great arch, the moonlight pouring around him like a silver river.“Cou
The night was a tapestry of stars, scattered across the velvety sky like shimmering pearls on black silk. The wind whispered through the palace courtyard, carrying with it the cool breath of the desert that melted against the warmth of the stone walls.Inayat sat beneath the open sky, her shawl wrapped snugly around her shoulders, her gaze fixed on the stars. She had become familiar with their constancy, their quiet brilliance in the vast, uncertain night. There was a peace in the heavens that escaped her own world, one filled with turmoil, choices, and a future uncertain. The stars, though, they always remained — timeless, patient, and steady.It was during this moment of serene contemplation that she heard the soft creak of the door, followed by the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps. She didn’t need to turn her head to know it was him.Samarth’s presence was as familiar to her as her own breath, and yet, tonight, there was a stillness about him that unsettled her. He approached h
The morning sun rose pale and weary over the kingdom, as if even the heavens sensed the unrest brewing within the palace walls. The great court of King Samarth was summoned early, its gilded doors thrown open to a gathering of trusted men — advisors, royal architects, the taskmaster, scribes, war strategists, shipwrights, and lords of the high council.A heavy, expectant silence weighed over them all.Samarth entered, clad in a dark, rich robe, a gold sash crossing his broad chest. His presence silenced every whisper instantly, for it was not merely the title of King that commanded such awe — it was the storm burning in his eyes, the gravity of his being.He seated himself on the high throne, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.“Speak,” he commanded, his voice deep, steady, filling the hall.One of the elder advisors, his hands trembling slightly with age, stepped forward.“My lord… troubling news. The fleet dispatched for Velendor… has been lost to the ocean.”A murmu
The night was heavy with silence, save for the distant howl of desert winds against the stone of the palace. Moonlight pooled like silver on the marble floors, casting soft, rippling reflections against the walls.Inayat sat by the low burning lamp, her slender fingers threading idly through the fabric of her shawl. Two nights had passed since that storm of fury between her and Samarth, yet the sting of his anger still burned somewhere inside her, tender and raw.And then — footsteps. Slow, deliberate, certain.Her heart seized without permission. She didn’t have to look up to know it was him. The scent of sandalwood and earth that clung to him drifted toward her, a herald of his arrival.Samarth entered, dressed not in the royal armor or heavy robes she was accustomed to seeing him in, but in a simple white kurta and a dhoti, the fabric clinging lightly to the hard lines of his body.He looked utterly, ruinously beautiful — masculine strength carved into mortal form, yet dangerous, l
The evening breeze fluttered the silken drapes of Inayat’s chamber. A faint scent of rosewater lingered in the air, mingling with the mellow gold of the setting sun. She sat by the low marble table, her fingers tracing idle circles on the rim of a silver goblet, waiting.She had arranged the evening carefully—tea steeped with cardamom and cloves, figs and almonds laid out, a lamp lit with jasmine oil, and herself clad in soft ivory silk. A quiet moment. A little peace with him.But the sky had darkened, the tea cooled, and Samarth had not come.When the door finally opened, it wasn’t the quiet creak of a man entering with apology. It was the confident thud of boots and the rustle of a heavy cloak — the sound of a king who did not know he was late.“Inayat,” he said casually, his voice low and assured. “I had to meet with the merchants from Althar — they are proposing to lend two ships toward—”“The tea is cold,” she said, not looking at him.Samarth paused. He studied her — the way sh
The courtyard was embraced by the warmth of late morning. The scent of roses floated through the open corridors, stirred by a passing breeze. Aabroo’s laughter echoed faintly from the other side of the palace gardens, while somewhere in the inner quarters, the distant sound of a tanpura hummed low and steady like a prayer.Ridhima walked slowly, the end of her dupatta dragging gently across the marble tiles as she passed the arched entry to Inayat’s chambers. She had meant to bring a fresh bundle of rose petals for the footed brass bowl placed near the bed. But as she neared the door, she paused.There was a quiet voice—no, two. And one of them did not belong to Inayat.“…you mustn’t forget what you came for. Your softness will undo you.”Ridhima’s brows drew together faintly. The voice was barely more than a breath, cloaked in tension. A woman’s voice—but not Inayat’s. The tone held a sharpness, the kind that glides like a blade.Ridhima moved no closer. Her ears sharpened like the
The marketplace of Tziyonia shimmered with a thousand golden glimmers as lanterns swayed above, casting warm pools of light on sandstone paths. Faint music lingered in the air, a distant melody. Vendors called out in melodic chants, selling figs dipped in honey, clay pots painted in cobalt swirls, and vibrant silks. Smoke rose in tendrils from open-air stalls where meats sizzled and spices filled the air with an intoxicating perfume.Samarth and Inayat emerged from the jewel seller’s shop, her fingers still brushing the pendant resting over her heart. It was carved from the finest Alexandrite, a stone that shifted its hues under different lights—green by day, red by night. Just like the quiet war within her. Samarth had paid the jeweler in gold coins, heavy and old, etched with his crest.Inayat mounted Cyclone, the white stallion, but her gaze lingered on Samarth as he secured his own steed. Thoughts churned within her. The change in him, his softened gaze, the way his words folded