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“RAJKUMARI IRA PRABHĀVATĪ AGNIVAṀŚĪ, THE CROWN PRINCESS OF THIS SUN-BLESSED KINGDOM, IS ENTERING THE ROYAL COURT!”
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Ira walked into the court, her father’s close attendant at her heels, passing through enormous doors hand-carved from sāla wood by the royal artisans of her kingdom. With each step, the murmurs of the court faded, until only the soft sound of water remained—streams running along either side of the stone path, their slow movement echoing faintly through the hall as she approached the throne.
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It was late noon. The great sun had made its way past the highest peak and had begun making its way back towards the horizon. The hall was still considerably warm, the running water doing little to cool the air.
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The Mantri-Pariṣad, atotal of fifty noble men, were standing in respect to the crown and its princess. They stood on the steps that climbed the palace walls on either side of the water streams. This was perhaps the first time Ira saw all fifty of them in attention for the session.
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It seems she was not the only one unnerved by this move Thamravansh had made.
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As she walked by they fell into a deep bow, joining both their hands before their chests, their palms flat against each other.
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A sign of respect from their side—
and of Ira’s power on hers.
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She would not have left the training grounds if it hadn't been for the news that a messenger had entered the royal sun-blessed court of Aryavartha, with a present in tow.
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A slave in tow.
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She despised them. Their king, drunk on the power of his crown, was no ruler in her eyes. What they had done to the people of her kingdom—
to her family.
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She strode in, her movements determined, her swords sheathed at her hip, the leather embedded with golden beads in the pattern of a sun glinting enough in the warm lights of the courtroom to make a few courtiers flinch.
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“What possessed you to enter the royal court in such a state?" Ira formally bowed in the direction of the furious whisper, her lovely step mother. Normally her step mother would have made a scene in front of the court for such unacceptable behaviour on Ira's part.
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But the enemy kingdom had sent us a gift. It seemed only right for her to be the most interested in it.
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Ira proceeded to turn towards her father. She decided she was far more curious about how today's events unfolded, rather than bearing her step-mother’s unneeded incessant remarks.
It was not like she had worn her usual training attire on purpose.
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Her antarīya that stopped an inch above her ankles, a tightly pleated white cloth, now dusted with sand from the training grounds, was tucked in and allowed her to move far more freely than her official royal garbs ever did.
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As she climbed onto the platform right below her father’s throne, she had spared the slightest glance at the ‘slave’ Thamravansh was presenting to her kingdom.
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He was built like a warrior. She admitted it. Tall, perhaps slightly more than her even, broad shoulders, lean muscle, Ira guessed.
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He had a collar and cuffs made of gold that closed around his neck and wrists, the bands of gold connected by golden chains. He was wearing a black scarf that was tightly wrapped around the bridge of his nose. His dark hair was cut short, not as long as she was used to seeing the nobels styling, short enough to still fall slightly over his lost eyes.
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He did not seem to have the slightest hint of an essence of life within him.
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“Pitāmaha, I was summoned by you.” Ira bowed before her father, her left hand wrapped around the front of her waist, a warrior's greeting. She heard her step mother scoff at the ridiculous, as she would consider it, display of her customs.
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Her father simply waved a hand in her direction, which prompted her to bow lower and take her place on the crown princess’s throne, beside her fathers.
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Her throne, set just below the Maharaja’s, marked a privilege few before her had been granted. The crown princess, the Rajkumari of Aryavartha, ruled from a throne carved from stone and decorated with pure gold that sat a step below the two rulers.
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Despite being the crown princess of her kingdom she had a place higher than most in this court. That was a privilege not easily granted to those of her family that came before her.
Custom had it so that the Rajkumaris or any unmarried female of the royal family would have to stand in the balcony that ran around the entire court, covered by thin planks of teak carved so that it had an intricate design with spaces in between that allowed the royals to peep and witness the court proceedings.
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She got to sit beside the Maharaja himself, despite barely being of age.
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“Maharaj! As I was saying, the kingdom of Thamravansh is yielding. We are emptying our side of the battlefield. I am certain you would have received the news by now, of how peaceful the lands of war have become.”
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A pause. Ira supposed he was desperately trying to sell his case.
She schooled her features against the urge to laugh at him.
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Overselling it was exactly what would make the king disagree. She spared a glance at her father’s impassive face.
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She was certain her father was only entraining whatever pitiful display this messenger had brought him for the sake of formalities.
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“The kingdom of Thamravansh yields.” he got on his knees and touched his forehead to the cold stones he stood on, “The kingdom of Thamravansh, forged from blood and the strongest iron of the east, retreats from the war against the sun-blessed kingdom of Aryavartha.”
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He spoke every word with conviction and desperation.
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His king must have threatened to lop his head should he return with a refusal from our side
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She noticed how despite the messenger groveling on the floor, the slave did not so much as move a hair width’s distance to show the royals before him an ounce of respect.
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He did not care what became of him. He's given up. He has no will, at all.
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“As per our customs, we offer to the king of Aryavartha our finest slave. Trained to be a steadfast soldier. As silent as the Koruvans that hunt on the darkest nights, the finest weapon ever forged by the might of Thamravansh. A slave more loyal than a dog." The messenger slightly raised his head and dared to glance at the Rajkumari. Ira felt herself stiffen at the fact that his attention had gone to her at all.
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“A gift especially for the Rajkumari”
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Ira found it increasingly difficult to stop herself from showing her disgust and confusion on her face.
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“Our benevolent ruler regrets the actions he has taken in the past. Along with this slave, gifted as a royal guard for Rajkumari of this great kingdom, the king of Thamranvansh gives Maharaj his word that he shall build for your late wife, the late Maharani of Aryavartha may the sun bless her soul, a monument.”
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Silence befell the usually jostling court.
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Ira couldn't believe what she was hearing. From the looks of it, no one in the court could believe the audacity Thamranvansh had mustered to pull something like this. To bring such a message through a messenger, give us their slave, and finally this.
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A monument, for her honour.
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Ira thought she would hurl her lunch any second now.
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“A statue of her, to showcase her bravery and the terrible tragedy of her loss. Made of the finest iron mined from the ores owned by the royal family.”
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“Where, does your king plan to raise this,” the Maharaj paused, seemingly trying to get her bearings back, “monument.” he might as well have spit the word out. Spit it out of grief, or of anger one could not tell.
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The loss of the queen had been one of the greatest tragedies the kingdom of Aryavartha had seen since the dark ages.
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“Whereever the Maharaj wishes.” the messenger had pressed his head to the stone floor at the sound of the king’s words.
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The faint sound of crackling wood filled the hall. Not even a whisper could be heard.
Ira was still trying her best to understand what was happening. No matter how much she twisted and turned the idea in her head, she couldn't quite figure out an ulterior motive that the cunning king of that blood soaked land hid behind this facade.
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“Go back to your kingdom,” a courtier from the crowd of turbans shouted, voice crackling and dripping with rage, “and find the audacity your king had when he sent you to this blessed land to make such lowly claims!”
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A cheer of agreement rang through the hall. Men began shouting at the messenger, cursing the kingdom of Thamravansh. Asking him to drag his slave back to his master, the Rajkumari of this kingdom did not want a dog from their kingdom.
That raising a monument after ten years changed nothing.
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Ira couldn't quite think at that moment. She simply wanted her father to stop letting this spectacle drag out longer than it had and kick the messenger out.
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The slave hadn't moved at all. He had a faint white mark on his forehead, between his dark eyes lined by thick brows.
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He seemed a little lost, tired.
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Just as Ira thought of how funny it would be to have such a boy in charge of her defense, as if she was a meek little girl who needed protection within the walls of her kingdom, the court fell into another moment of quietness.
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The king had raised his hand.
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The king would declare his final command.
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The silence that followed was filled with tension. Ira calmed her racing heart down, telling it father would perhaps make a spectacle of this and send both of them back to that lowly kingdom.
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“The Maharaj of the land of the first Sun accepts the truce offered by the royal king of Thamravansh.” Ira heard her father's voice, carrying the weight of his decision with such authority no one in the room could move.
“The war shall cease effective immediately.” he paused, “As per the ancient books of words that tie all the kingdom of this land, Aryavartha will empty the battlefields in three days' time.”
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“SVĪKṚTAṀ!” His loud voice, filled with command that instantly made everyone in the court stand a little straighter, echoed through the stone walls.
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It is accepted.
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Ira couldn't help herself from turning back to try and meet her father’s eye. The father she knew would have found this entire ploy ridiculous. She failed to read her father’s impassive face, and decided to go meet him in his chambers once this was over. She couldn't have a boy from Thamranvansh shadowing her every move.
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She turned back to look down at the slave once more, in his flowy dark clothes, his shabby hair and black scarf. His eyes, framed by the dark kohl he wore, stood out in contrast with the little tan skin the cloth covering his face exposed.
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He stood stiller than ever, not even showing a change in the expression of his eyes at the acceptance of the royal truce. He simply stared down at the stone floors, just as he did when he first walked in.
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Perhaps he really was more loyal than a dog.
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She felt her hand grip her throne tighter, as she heard a unanimous chorus ring out in the courtroom,
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“ĀJÑĀPITAM!”
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It shall be as you command.
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Rajkumari Ira had been given a gift.
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From that godforsaken kingdom of blood and misery, and he was to be her Aṅgarakṣaka.
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Aṅgarakṣaka- An official royal guard for the princess.182Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡra5nWOLQvk
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and then Add to home screen.