The morning light poured like molten gold across the marble corridors of Vardhana Palace. The echo of sandals and the faint chiming of anklets filled the royal hall as the court assembled, its atmosphere heavy with expectation.
Kunwar Arjun was already there, seated among the ministers. His eyes, sharp and calculating, flickered constantly toward the throne—his smile faint but venomous.
From the corridor, the sound of armor brushing against silk announced the arrival of the young Maharaj. Vivaan, dressed in regal robes of deep crimson and gold, walked forward with calm poise. His crown rested perfectly upon his head, the royal sword gleaming faintly in the morning light. Every step he took carried the authority of his lineage, yet his face still bore the quiet innocence of youth.
Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps broke the solemn rhythm.
"Bhai sa! Bhai sa, save me! They are teasing me!"
It was Vihaan, running toward him, his small hands clutching his robe. Vivaan stopped and looked down, his lips curving into a soft, patient smile. Behind Vihaan came Arish and Reyansh, both laughing mischievously.
"Don't do this," Vivaan said gently but firmly. "Don't tease my little brother."
Both of them nodded at once, their voices uniting in playful guilt, "Yes, bhai sa."
Vihaan pouted and tugged Vivaan's hand. "Come, bhai sa, we will play."
Vivaan knelt slightly and brushed his brother's hair back. "You go play with these two," he said softly. "I have work to do."
Vihaan's lips quivered. "Now bhai sa remains too busy. He doesn't have time for me anymore."
Arish and Reyansh pouted as well, lowering their heads. Behind them, Queen Yashvi appeared—her white royal saree gliding like a wave of grace through the corridor. She smiled faintly at the sight.
"Now, now," she said softly, bending to their height. "Your bhai has responsibilities—of the entire kingdom. He works so that all our people may remain safe."
The three boys nodded, understanding in their innocent way, and ran off laughing again. Yashvi watched them fondly before turning to Vivaan. Together, mother and son entered the royal court.
The servants struck the gong, and silence swept through the marble chamber. The ministers bowed. Queen Yashvi took her place just below the throne, her eyes steady, protective. Vivaan climbed the steps, turned with a calm face, and sat upon the throne. The great hall seemed to inhale and hold its breath.
A servant's voice rang clear: "The court is now in session."
Vivaan's eyes swept the court. "Today's topic is Bheema."
One minister spoke up at once. "He is cruel, Maharaj."
Another added, "A constant danger at our border."
Vivaan's tone sharpened slightly. "How is he a danger? Explain."
Before the minister could respond, a breathless servant rushed into the hall. "Maharaj! There are some common people outside. They plead to meet you."
Vivaan nodded. "Call them in."
Three villagers entered, their clothes torn, faces streaked with dust and tears. They fell to their knees before the throne.
"What happened? Why are you here?" Vivaan asked, voice calm yet heavy.
"Maharaj, our people are in danger!" one man cried. "Bheema's men took our families to his fort. His fort is on the high mountain. We are from the border village."
Vivaan's fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword. "How dare he take our people from our kingdom…" His voice turned cold, sharp as steel.
The three villagers bent lower. "Save our families, Maharaj! Please save us! He will come again… he will kill us next!"
Vivaan's gaze softened. He stepped down from the throne and said quietly, "Don't worry. I will free them. Nothing will happen to you."
But even as his words echoed, the court erupted into chaos—ministers arguing, voices clashing, panic rising. Vivaan tried to speak, but his voice drowned in the storm of murmurs. From the corner, Arjun smirked, watching the disorder with amusement.
Then—a knife flashed.
It struck between the ministers, embedding itself into the marble floor. Silence fell instantly. All eyes turned to the throne. Vivaan stood there, his expression hard, eyes blazing with restrained fury.
He sat down slowly, deliberately. "Now," he said quietly, "tell me the solution to this matter."
Queen Yashvi hid her smile behind her veil, pride glowing in her eyes.
One minister cleared his throat. "Maharaj, I think we should attack immediately—send the army and strike."
Vivaan turned his gaze to him. "We cannot attack. He holds our people captive. If we attack, they will die."
The court fell silent again. Even Arjun shifted uneasily.
Vivaan thought deeply for a moment, then said, "How about… a friendly talk?"
A murmur spread across the hall—shocked, almost scandalized. The young Maharaj was suggesting peace with his father's murderer.
One minister stood in protest. Vivaan looked directly at him. "If you oppose this, then give me another way to save my people. Tell me—how can I rescue them without bloodshed?"
The minister lowered his head in silence.
Vivaan rose from his throne. "Then it is settled. Prepare for talks. We camp near his borders tomorrow morning."
"Maharaj," one minister stammered, "you cannot go directly. There is a protocol. You must send a letter of friendship. If he agrees, then both sides meet unarmed."
Vivaan nodded, calm once again. "Do it. Send the letter. We leave by dawn."
As the court dispersed, whispers filled the air. Arjun leaned back, his eyes glinting with hatred."Look at him, playing king," he muttered. "Soon, this child will turn villain in the eyes of his own people."
That night, under a silver moon, Vivaan rode alone through the silent streets of Vardhana. His horse's hooves echoed softly against stone. He passed the sleeping villages until he reached the border hamlet, quiet and dim under the night sky.
He slowed his horse when two arrows suddenly shot through the dark—landing in front of his path. A warning.
Vivaan raised his voice calmly. "I am not your enemy. I am a traveler. It's late—I seek shelter for the night."
Two men stepped out of the shadows—twins, about twenty-six, one carrying a bow, the other a sword. Their eyes were sharp and suspicious.
After a tense exchange, Vivaan won their trust. When they learned he was the Maharaj himself, both men knelt instantly and pledged their loyalty. He named them his shadow guards, bound by silence and loyalty.
Together they rode to the next village. Vivaan had changed into simple traveler's clothes—the crown replaced by humility.
He knocked on the door of a small hut. An old woman opened it, her eyes kind but tired.
"Mother, we are travelers," Vivaan said softly. "Can you spare some water? We are thirsty."
"If you are travelers, you must also be hungry," she said, ushering them in. "Come, eat with us."
The twin guards exchanged glances, but Vivaan nodded, sitting cross-legged on the mud floor. The old woman cooked and talked as she worked, her voice trembling slightly.
"Forgive me, but this village is not safe anymore. That beast Bheema attacks again and again. We are terrified. When Maharaj Ragvendhra was alive, there was peace. But now… that child Maharaj sits on the throne. What can a child do?"
Vivaan said nothing. His eyes lowered; he simply listened. He raised a hand slightly to silence his guards.
When the meal ended, he quietly removed a gold chain from his neck and placed it beside her plate.
"For your kindness, mother," he said softly.
She looked at it, startled, but he had already walked into the night, disappearing with his guards into the darkness—his cloak fluttering like a shadow behind him.
Only the faint glimmer of his sword's hilt remained visible under the moonlight.