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© Anuvuti Roy, 2025. All Rights Reserved
Author's Note
This story is truly unique and unconventional. You'll understand how it differs from most others as soon as you begin reading.
It is intended for mature readers. It contains scenes of violence and sensitive subject matter, which may be uncomfortable for some. Please read with discretion. Those with a fragile heart are advised not to proceed.
This is a tale written in the style of a dark fairytale. Any attempt to draw direct parallels with the real world would be futile. Every character, setting, and event is entirely fictional—any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental. The characters may seem unusual. As I mentioned, this is a work of exceptional fantasy and should be read as such. I urge readers not to search for realism or logic, but rather to immerse themselves in the beauty, symbolism, and imaginative expanse of the story.
I hope that, by stepping into this fantastical world, you experience a truly unique literary journey.
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Part I: The Caged Princess
Princess Trishanvita first felt the brutal weight of politics at the tender age of seventeen. Her father, Emperor Haryanal, was a noble and kind ruler of the Aranyalohit Kingdom. But after his death, a bloody struggle for the throne began.
Kayotran, a distant relative of royal blood, seized power with the support of the military, the spy network, and the former empress.
One night, his soldiers stormed the royal palace. Under the pretense of quelling rebellion, a deep and sinister conspiracy unfolded. Queen Tilottama, Trishanvita's mother, urged her to flee—but she refused. She believed Kayotran, her brother, would never harm her.
But Kayotran was no longer the boy who once picked flowers with her in the palace gardens.
> "If you choose not to flee, then you shall remain imprisoned," Kayotran had said.
At first, Trishanvita was confined to the Inner Indigo Pavilion, a section of the palace. Kayotran claimed it was for her protection, but over time, it turned into a gilded prison—beautiful on the outside, hollow with isolation and interrogation within.
Kayotran had imprisoned her because she was the true heir to the throne. He knew the people's love and a portion of the army's loyalty still belonged to her.
He wanted to use her as a symbol of his rule. If Princess Trishanvita would publicly endorse him, his reign would gain legitimacy.
To Kayotran, Trishanvita was not merely a political rival—he harbored a deep, twisted affection for her. It was not love that sought respect, but a desire for possession.
For the first year, Trishanvita remained silent. But eventually, Kayotran built her a new palace, gave her a retinue of servants, and dressed her in extravagant jewels. She became a doll-like princess—appearing free, but imprisoned all the same. She was never allowed outside the royal grounds.
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Three Years Later
Two hours had passed.
Princess Trishanvita still sat in silence, immersed in her adornments. She appeared calm, yet deep within her, a hidden fire smoldered. The sun had long set, and now the moonlight flowing through the grand dressing room window struck her jewelry, making it blaze like the touch of a fairytale queen.
A velvet veil embroidered with golden thread draped over her shoulders, trembling like a cloud in the breeze, carrying a mysterious message. Her skirt—deep ocean blue—was embroidered with golden peacock feathers, twinkling like stars in the sky. Her sheer silver stole shimmered with tiny blue gems along its edges, deepening her royal aura. She looked like a lost queen from a forgotten dream.
The dressing room was adorned with intricate carvings in flute-wood, mirrors framed in gold and inlaid with ruby lotus patterns—like drops of blood frozen in wood. On the floor lay a century-old Persian carpet, whose dyed threads captured the sun's warmth like a silent melody.
In one corner, an ornate golden chest held her mother Queen Tilottama's heirloom jewelry—rare diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and royal crowns, bangles, and chokers. In another corner, delicate bottles of attar, rose water, hair oils, and vermilion rested in neat rows—each an echo of forgotten royal poetry.
Trishanvita stood before the mirror, gazing deeply at her reflection. Her eyes were lined with kohl, lips tinted with rose, and her forehead adorned with a radiant tikli, reflecting the fullness of the moon. Her beauty inspired reverence in some, envy in others, and fear in a few.
At that moment, her chief maid Gayatri entered quietly, followed by three others. Each held silken pajama sets, gold-embroidered fabrics, and boxes of gems.
Gayatri said softly,
> "Princess, even the moonlight pales beside your radiance tonight."
Another maid added in admiration,
> "Even the goddess of beauty would envy your appearance tonight."
Trishanvita smiled faintly. But in that smile lay a quiet sorrow. For all the grandeur—this jewelry, this splendor—was nothing but the costume of a captive princess. Tonight, by imperial decree, she was leaving her prison… and stepping into an unknown darkness.
The third maid, hesitantly, said,
> "Princess Trishanvita, you must go now. The emperor has summoned you to the royal court. The kings, envoys, and ministers have all taken their seats."
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She walked through the cold corridors of the palace.
Each stone wall, layered with frost, seemed to sigh in the stillness. The vast palace courtyard twisted under the winter wind, and the long steps echoed with solemnity. The courtiers and palace staff stood aligned with ceremonial grace, awaiting her arrival.
As she passed, they met her eyes with respectful glances. Their gestures bore reverence, but also a hint of subdued pride. Some adjusted their elaborate turbans, while others engaged in hushed conversations. Beneath the decorum, an unspoken tension lingered—everyone knew this gathering was far from ordinary.
As the princess neared the gates, the royal guards announced:
> "Princess, you are welcomed in the name of the Emperor."
The armored soldiers on either side bowed in honor. Ministers stepped aside to clear her path. In the cold wind, her footsteps echoed through the hearts of the assembly.
Upon entering the grand hall, a striking scene unfolded—soldiers returning from war had left the carpet stained with blood. No matter how often it was cleaned, the marks remained—permanent shadows of history. As Trishanvita stepped across them, those crimson patches seemed to rise like silent monuments of forgotten glory.
She moved slowly. The nobles bowed as she passed. Some gave formal nods, others smiled faintly, their eyes filled with admiration. Their words echoed respect; their eyes, a kind of wistful hope.
In the dusty winter air, the scent of blood and the weight of reverence merged into an air of awe within the royal court.
---
At the center of the court, a majestic throne had been prepared in her honor. She approached it slowly. The dukes surrounding her bowed with solemn grace. Their fine garments and exquisitely crafted armor added gravity to the moment.
> "Surely, you must be pleased to see His Majesty after so long," one duke said, his voice a mix of fear and respect.
On either side, cavalry soldiers stood tall, their swords catching the sunlight in a dazzling display—an emblem of the kingdom's power.
Then, from amidst the shining blades, a handsome young royal began walking toward the stage. His eyes held the weight of future rule and unshakable responsibility. He was Emperor Kayotran—radiating majesty and command, drawing every gaze.
As his footsteps echoed across the stage, the atmosphere grew ever more solemn.
Trishanvita (bowing her head):
> "Congratulations on your victory, Your Majesty."
Though her cheeks were frozen, she thought: I must give this stubborn emperor a bright smile.
Kayotran said,
> "Say my name. Why such formality? Don't you know how I love hearing my name from your lips?"
"Kayotran,"
Trishanvita said sweetly.
> "I have missed you, Kayotran."
The Emperor replied,
> "Yes, Trishanvita."
---
Kayotran stood silently, mesmerized by Trishanvita.
He reached out toward her neck. His hand paused just above her chest. For a moment, in an unspoken language, Trishanvita's breath seemed to halt.
> "You're wearing the necklace I gave you."
His fingers touched the large diamond, set in an intricate gold band. His hand slowly moved downward—any further, and he would have touched her breast. But Kayotran restrained himself.
> "I've brought you a new gift today," he said.
---
Across the grand carpet of the royal hall, an unsettling procession approached.
It was not gold or jewels, but a parade of sorrow.
These were not treasures, but men—captives, bound and broken. Their faces were covered, eyes filled with fear and despair. Clearly, they were prisoners of war, brought in under heavy guard.
Emperor Kayotran spoke in a deep, authoritative voice that thickened the air around them.
> "These are the brave experimental creatures created by the Western Kingdom."
"Courageous experimental creatures"—yes, that was a perfect description.
Some kingdoms, who harbored deep hatred for Kayotran and considered him their mortal enemy, had secretly established laboratories. In those clandestine chambers, they attempted to create lethal human weapons—beings that could one day wipe out the royal bloodline of Aranyalohit.
"These men," he said, eyes blazing with the fire of triumph, "they were once the pride of their kingdoms. Handsome princes, noble commanders, indomitable warriors who had conquered hundreds of battles. Their language was command, and their hearts burned with the flame of pride. But that pride now lies shattered at my feet. I defeated them in battle. I conquered their lands, crushed their arrogance. And today, I bring them in chains—for a very special purpose—"
Princess Trishanvita listened intently to every word of the emperor. All the courtiers present feared the emperor terribly. They, too, bowed their heads and silently absorbed his words.
Emperor Kayotran said, "You remember, don't you, last year I sent a few such captives to your palace? They were experimental creatures from Nilanthara—princes, warriors, and handsome generals."
Kayotran's voice carried the color of a mysterious stillness.
"Today, none remain."
Trishanvita's breath seemed to halt in some unspoken sorrow.
---
Suddenly, Kayotran grabbed Trishanvita's hand.
His iron fingers slipped between her soft ones—like shackles. That gripping pain radiated across her skin, paralyzing her completely.
Emperor Kayotran: "To save the lives of these prisoners, the traitorous kings fell to their knees. The Aranyalohit dynasty, too, deserves its due reward."
Trishanvita: "Reward…?"
"Yes, Trishanvita. I shall give them all to you, as slaves of your bedchamber—as I always have."
Slaves of the bedchamber…
In this free Aranyalohit Empire, only Trishanvita could utter those words.
For in Aranyalohit, keeping any human as a bedchamber slave was strictly forbidden.
It was a symbol of power, dominance, and loyalty. Sometimes, it was also the flame of a strange, consuming emotion…
After a moment of unmoving silence, Kayotran cast a deep, unsettling glance around the room and gave a slight nod.
"Take them to Trishanvita's palace."
His voice carried an air of supreme indifference—as though this decision had been made long ago.
The newly arrived slaves were led away through the cool corridors of white marble, toward the inner sanctum of the perfumed palace.
From afar, a few royal attendants and aristocrats watched silently.
They whispered among themselves—
—"Are they new?"
—"Yes. I heard they're a prince from a wealthy kingdom and the son of a chief commander."
—"Both look like gods of beauty… but now, they're Trishanvita's slaves."
—"Ah! Such fortune! Handsome princes, and yet slaves to Trishanvita's bedchamber!"
The two men stood with an imposing calm—
One had a complexion pale like burnished conch, his eyes were oceanic blue, his jaw sharp and proud.
The other was dusk-toned, glowing under the sunlight, with eyes like controlled fire—burning without destroying.
Their muscular, sculpted bodies were barely concealed beneath thin silk garments.
There was no fear in their eyes, nor curiosity—only pride, and a quiet defiance.
To be Trishanvita's slave, one needed only one qualification—extraordinary beauty.
But this beauty was not merely physical; it bore a kind of valor, a peculiar arrogance that came with princely blood.
Trishanvita's palace resembled a living painting—crafted from aesthetics, desire, and silent dominance.
But from the outside, its tales were of a different hue.
In the royal court, elderly nobles would whisper in sharp tones—
"A princess who rules men with beauty in her own palace is a stain on the nation!"
Yet they were careful.
Their words never reached the emperor's ears.
"Trishanvita," Kayotran said as they walked toward the grand banquet hall, where the victory celebration was in full swing,
"Tonight will be a joyous one for you."
To be continued…