"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
Princess Inayat was forcibly reduced to her knees, her wrists bound behind her back. Her knees hit the rocky ground, her robe rustled, stirring the dust around her. A faint cry escaped her lips, but her jaw remained clenched, resolving not to betray her vulnerability. However, the sight of her father, battered and bruised before her, threatened to undo her composure. The men of Samarth had clearly subjected him to brutal treatment during his attempted rescue of Inayat. Behind her, Kumar and their comrades lay captive, their eyes fixed on Inayat and the royal family with a mix of concern and despair."Inayat," her father whispered, his voice barely audible. His lips, swollen and split, curved into a gentle, loving smile, one that only Inayat could discern."Father," Inayat replied, her voice trembling as tears welled up in her eyes. Her heart quivered, like a bird frantically beating its wings against the confines of its cage. She gazed at her family, and the reality of their dire
Inayat's gaze froze on her father's lifeless body, her eyes wide with horror. Samarth's sword still pierced his heart, a merciless reminder of the brutal act that had unfolded before her eyes. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with the weight of her grief.Her breath caught in her throat, and she stumbled forward, her arms wrapping around her father's shoulders like a vice. A heart-wrenching wail tore from her lips, "Father!" The sound echoed through the eerie silence, a haunting lament that seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth.The guards and Samarth stood unfazed, their faces etched with a mixture of curiosity and discomfort, as they witnessed the raw, unbridled grief of a daughter mourning her father's senseless slaughter. But Samarth, he had nothing to show. Inayat, however, was oblivious to her surroundings. Her world had narrowed to the lifeless body beneath her touch. She cradled her father's shoulders, her fingers digging deep into his still-warm flesh, as if w
As night descended, the palace was enveloped in a deep silence. The guards, stationed at their posts, stood vigilant in their duty at night. To pass the time, they exchanged hushed whispers, sharing quiet jokes to keep each other company. On the other hand, the kingdom was alive with anticipation, the air thick with the promise of change. The reign of Agnil had come to an end, and Samarth, the newly about-to appointed king, now held the reins of power. The advisors and servants, exhausted from their preparations, slept soundly, dreaming of the momentous occasion that would soon unfold. But Samarth found no rest. His mind was filled with thoughts of the future, his heart stirred by a restless energy. He rose from his bed, his silk night clothes rustling softly as he moved. The stone floor felt chilly beneath his feet as he walked through the darkened hallway, the only sound the soft echo of his footsteps. The guards, sensing his approach, stood to attention, their eyes fixed on the
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
The sun dipped low over the training fields, bathing the courtyard in molten gold. Aabroo’s small hands gripped the sword, her breaths heaving, cheeks flushed with the fire of effort and frustration. She lunged once more, her blade clinking softly against Samarth’s sword—a dull ring that spoke of her exhaustion. “Enough!” she gasped, stumbling back and collapsing onto the grass with dramatic flair. “I shall faint, my lord, if you force me to swing this dreadful thing once more!” Samarth lowered his blade, the hint of a smile touching his lips. His hair was bound back, the sleeves of his tunic rolled to his elbows. “Oh? The Lioness of the North yields so easily?” he teased, his voice laced with warmth, though his eyes gleamed with amusement. “I’m so young!” she shot back between gulps of air. “Even the fiercest lioness needs a nap!” He laughed—deep and rare—letting the sword drop to his side. “Very well, braveheart. You are spared. For now.” As Aabroo laid herself across the gras
The hour was quiet, lingering between the warmth of the afternoon and the hush of dusk, when an attendant stepped lightly into Inayat's chamber. She bowed with practiced grace and delivered the message with calm reverence, “My lady, His Majesty the King requests your presence in the dining hall tonight.”Inayat, seated near the latticed window, looked up from the scriptures she had been reading. Her fingers gently closed the pages of the holy book, a flicker of surprise lighting her features. Samarth rarely asked to dine with her. It was not expected—she was still but a slave in the eyes of the court, though her bond with him was known by whispers.Yet, without letting surprise linger on her face, she nodded gracefully. “You may go,” she said softly. The attendant bowed once more and withdrew, her bare feet whispering against the marble.Inayat turned her eyes to the delicate stack of books before her, softly bound and worn from use. She touched the spine of one with affection before