The guard made an attempt to try and tell her it wasn't a good idea to be alone with him, that he had gone so rouge in the baths that they required six trained men to hold him back. And even then he had fought them every step of the way.
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That he was a rabid dog from that wretched kingdom.
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“You would do well not to require me to repeat myself.” she said simply, her voice calm. She did not take her eyes off the boy kneeling before her as the guard immediately stiffened. He stammered something and left the chambers hastily.
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They were alone.
A rabid dog of Thamravansh. The Crown Princess of Aryavartha.
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The boy didn't lunge for her throat the second they were alone. Ira considered that… promising.
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For now, bloodshed could be avoided.
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“You may lift your head.” she said to him. And the boy obediently, slowly lifted his head, still doing his best to avoid her gaze.
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“Look here, at me.” she said, looking into his deep dark eyes. They resembled obsidians. They were black. She had never seen black eyes before. The common colour in her kingdom was a deep brown. She had only heard of stories of the other kingdoms and far away lands having bright colors encircling the centers of their eyes.
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But black. Such a deep dark colour, that faintly seemed to glitter in the lighting of her room. His eyes were framed by long, dark lashes and an even darker line of khol. He had a white mark on his forehead, between his brows, she noted. A symbol of some sort. A crescent with dots around it in a pattern.
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He looked into her eyes. His expression was still impassive.
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At that moment she noticed his collar still bound to him. The chains had disappeared but the cuffs remained.
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“They did not fully remove your restraints.” she said, mostly to herself.
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He remained perfectly still.
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He had not been given a command, Ira realised. Without one, he would not move—would not speak—would not so much as shift from where he knelt.
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He was already more obedient than a dog.
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“Stand up.” she said, and he did. He was only about an inch taller than her. She did not like that. Ira was always proud to tower over most of the courtiers and men of her kingdom. Men of her court—fragile in body and ego alike—rarely dared stand against her, let alone stand next to her due to her build.
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She stood taller than the average height women had in her kingdom, built with lean muscle from her training in the grounds.
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Yet he stood at least half a head taller than her. It vexed her.
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She would best him if it came to it, she consoled herself. She could kill him if she wished to. If he gave her reason. The coolness of a blade tucked in her trousers reminded her of this.
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She reached behind her and grabbed her blade. A thin, iron-wrought knife. A deadly weapon in close combat that usually remained tucked into her waistband in the back.
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“Crouch slightly. You're absurdly tall.” The boy widened his stance, reducing his height enough so that Ira didn't have to reach up to grab the golden collar around his neck. His hands went behind his back and he looked straight ahead, at a point somewhere behind Ira. Avoiding her eyes again.
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But then again, the common folk generally never dared to meet the eye of a royal.
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She grabbed his collar.
The knife slid into the keyhole—twist.
A click.
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“Hands.” she said, and he brought forward both his hands. She did the same to the cuffs around his wrist.
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A golden collar and two golden cuffs fell to the floor, and her subject stood before her, not the smallest change visible in his expression, despite losing the heavy cuff that was bound to him.
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“You are free now. You are one of my people now. My subject.” She noticed how he seemed to be ducking his head, avoiding her eye once again.
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“Do you understand that? Use your words.”
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His head lowered further. “Ji, Rajkumari.”
“As my royal guard you stand high in the ranks among the soldiers here. You needn't take the snide comments they throw at you. I mean it. Slavery isn't a practice in Aryavartha. You will get your own chambers, and three meals a day. I shall speak to father about your payment for your work.”
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She wondered if he was understanding what was happening. If he was understanding what freedom meant. She wondered if he even knew the word.
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“You understand what this means right? You are free to leave this palace whenever you wish. You are free to do whatever you want. You are a free man now.”
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A moment of silence passed, where Ira was getting more certain by the second that this boy hadn't understood a word she had said.
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“I wish to serve Rajkumari, if she will allow it. A debt I must repay for my freedom.”
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“You needn't do such a foolish thing. There should never be a price for freedom in the first place.”
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He kneeled once again, bowing his head deeper than the first time. His voice was filled with so much conviction, Ira was slightly taken aback.
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“I wish to serve her Rajkumari. Please let me fulfill my purpose,” she shuffled back a bit, finding this entire situation foreign. No one had ever done so before to her in the past. She wasn't sure how to tell him such grave promises weren't needed. “I will lay my life at your feet, and use it to protect yours. I shall be yours to claim and yours alone to abandon. Yours to sacrifice as you wish.”
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“Please,” every word he spoke with that deep voice of his coming out rough, like stone against stone, “let me serve you, Rajkumari.”
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“What is your name?”
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“You needn't burden yourself with something as pointless as my name, Rajkumari. I will be called whatever you wish. My name is what you give me.”
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Ira frowned, “Were you not given a name at your birth?”
“I was Rajkumari.”
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“Then what is it?”
“Rajkumari, you don't have to-”
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“Are you defying your orders already?” Ira seemed to have spoken with more authority than she wanted to. She hadn't meant to scare him as such. Before she could tell him he didn't have to tell her his birth name he spoke up with a meek voice.
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“Surya forbid I show you such insolence. I deserve to rot in the dungeons,” what on earth was it with her servants and thinking they belong in the dungeons for the silliest things, she wondered.
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The mention of Surya, he had made, was not missed by her. She would ask about it later. She found it difficult to understand how a slave from the eastern kingdom could even know of her God.
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“Leave it be.” she said waving a hand in the air, “It isn't of matter to me. You may give me your name if you wish. I do not wish to force you.”
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Silence followed.
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Ira began thinking of what to name him. Something not too common. Something that suited him. Without realizing she had begun thinking of names that suited his dark memorable eyes.
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“Abhimanyu.” spoken only slightly louder than a whisper.
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Abhimanyu.
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A fallen warrior from an ancient epic. A warrior who was cursed to die in battle before he was even born. An inauspicious name.
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He was given such a name at birth.
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“I shall call you Abhi.” she said. He ducked his head lower, “May I beg Rajkumair to reconsider.”
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“Do you not like a name of familiarity?” she asked, studying him more closely now.
She never thought he would refuse something she asked of him. Not with the obedience he had shown from the start. And yet, even in this first meeting, he continued to surprise her with every word he spoke.
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“That isn't the matter Rajkumari.” he said, and explained it no further.
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“Then,” she paused for a moment, considering whether it would suit him. “Manyu.” He almost raised his head to the name, but seemed to remember himself and ducked it down again. “I shall call you Manyu from today on.It is not your name. Merely what I shall call you. And you shall serve me as my royal guard. I shall use your life, that you lay at my feet, for my protection and sacrifice whenever I wish.”
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She placed a hand on his bowed head, copying what she had seen her father do during the knighting ceremonies after the palace trials.
She would sit upon her throne as the victor approached, offering their weapon before kneeling at his feet. The Maharaj would rest his hand upon their head and recite the oath—to offer their life for the protection of the kingdom, under Surya’s grace.
The weapon would then be cast into the great torch on the trial grounds, its remnants later reforged into new steel.
Her new guard carried no weapon. So she imagined casting his strength—brute and unyielding—into the flames instead, to forge something new for her service.
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“You shall be my royal guard from this moment—from this very breath you take. You shall serve me till your death—and beyond it, if I yet breathe.”
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A pause.
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“Ji, Rajkumari.”
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and then Add to home screen.