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
As the flickering torches cast a warm glow across the chamber, Sagar, a loyal attendant, approached the throne with a reverent bow. "My lord, I bring tidings of the anticipated arrival. King William of the realm of Everia has sent word that he comes in peace, bearing a desire to pay his respects to your majesty tomorrow."Samarth's eyes, those meadow green beauties, shone with approval as he nodded graciously. "You may withdraw, Sagar. Your diligence is appreciated." With a quiet bow of reverence, the attendant departed, leaving Samarth to his contemplations.As the night's velvety darkness gathered outside, Samarth sat in solitude, his thoughts consumed by the weight of responsibility that rested upon his shoulders now. The kingdom of Tziyonia, now under his stewardship, was abuzz with activity. Messages of felicitations had poured in from neighboring kingdoms, their monarchs eager to congratulate Samarth on his ascension to the throne.Many had been taken aback by the overflow of
Samarth's smile grew, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity. "Don't try to defy me, my dear," he whispered, his voice dripping with sensual menace. "It will only make me go hard and harder on you for the rest of our night. And I doubt you'll enjoy the consequences."As he finished speaking, he gently reached out and tucked a stray strand of Inayat's silky hair behind her ear. His fingertips grazed her smooth skin, sending a shiver down her spine. "It would be wise for you to comply willingly, Inayat," he whispered, his voice low and persuasive.Inayat's eyes flashed with defiance as she met his gaze. "Or else?" she murmured, her tone barely above a whisper, as if sharing a distasteful secret.Samarth's lips curled into a subtle smile. "Ah-huh, I will make you, as I've said earlier." He leaned in closer, his breath caressing her skin, and Inayat's heart skipped a beat.As he kissed her cheek, Inayat's eyelids fluttered closed, and she felt a rush of fear mixed with trepidation. Sam
Inayat strolled through the palace courtyard, under the warm sunlight of late afternoon. The sweet fragrance of blooming lotuses wafted through the air which was heightened by the coolness of the water pool and wet soil, and fresh green leaves, but her mind remained consumed by the memories of the previous night. Samarth's touch lingered in her thoughts, and with each recollection, a shiver coursed through her body, taunting her with the realization that her body, once reserved for Izhar, was now being claimed by his elder brother.The gentle rustle of the palm trees in the courtyard made a silent and soothing whisper in the slowly passing summer sir, but she couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach. Months had passed since she began to emerge from the anguish of Izhar's death, but only she knew the countless hours she spent crying and reminiscing about their laughter, their moments of love, and the memories they shared. Each day, she liv
The grey fingers of dawn slowly stretched over the vast waters of Tziyonia’s ocean, stirring its restless tides into shimmering ripples of silver and blue. The air was cool and fragrant with the scent of salt, damp wood, and the faint sweetness of wild coastal blossoms that grew along the craggy shores. Mist clung low over the waves, breathing mystery into the morning, while the cries of seagulls swept across the water like wandering spirits.Upon the rocky coasts, life had long awakened.The fishermen, rugged and diligent men, were dragging their heavy nets back to shore, their simple boats creaking under the burden of the night’s catch. For them, this was the hour of labor and gain, to return with fishes fresh and for the morning trade.Among them, a man named Vihan worked silently, hauling a woven net filled with the glinting bodies of fish. His tunic was soaked to the knees, and his hands, calloused from years of toil, gripped the ropes with a sure strength. As he heaved his boat
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