The Sword Bride

Chapter One: The River

The leaves rustled as he walked past.

The forest stretched endlessly around him, its tall trees standing close together, their branches weaving a canopy overhead. Sunlight filtered through the foliage in scattered patches, falling across the narrow path beneath his feet. Birds called from somewhere above, and the occasional movement of a small animal disturbed the undergrowth.

The forest knew nothing of the man walking through it.

To the trees, he was merely another traveller, dressed in ordinary clothes, carrying the dust of a long journey on his boots. Nothing about his appearance suggested that he was the most powerful ruler in the region. There were no royal insignias, no guards surrounding him, no servants rushing to attend to his needs.

Yet the man was none other than Samrat Mahendra of Devnagarh.

The emperor had chosen to travel alone, away from the formalities of his court and the constant presence of his soldiers. He had no particular interest in being recognised. For once, he wished to move without the burden of his title, to observe the world without people changing their behaviour merely because he was standing before them.

It was an adventure he had allowed himself without much thought.

Little did he know that this seemingly ordinary excursion would alter the course of his life.

He continued walking, occasionally glancing at the landscape around him. The forest was peaceful, though the afternoon heat had begun to make itself felt. He reached for the water he had been carrying, lifted the container, and tilted it towards his mouth.

Nothing.

He examined it briefly before realising that his supply had run out.

"Wonderful," he muttered.

He looked around. There had to be water somewhere nearby. The birds seemed to be moving towards a particular direction, and he noticed small animals disappearing between the trees. Following their movement, he continued along the path, hoping it would lead him to a stream or a river.

Then he heard something.

Laughter.

It was distant at first, carried through the trees by the gentle breeze. He slowed his steps, listening. There were several voices, most of them feminine, accompanied by bursts of cheerful laughter.

Women.

Perhaps some village girls had come to the water.

Mahendra was not particularly interested in disturbing anyone's privacy. He decided he would simply take another route around them, find his water, and leave without drawing attention to himself.

But as he moved closer, the sound of the voices became clearer. He could now hear the occasional splash of water and the lively chatter of several women.

He continued carefully, keeping to the trees.

A little farther ahead, he noticed soldiers.

There were quite a few of them, stationed around a large mandir that stood near the water. The temple's impressive structure was visible through the trees, its presence unmistakable even from a distance.

Mahendra paused.

He had been looking for this very mandir.

And beyond it lay the river he had intended to visit.

He had reached his destination after all.

His gaze moved briefly across the soldiers. Their presence suggested that the women nearby were not ordinary villagers. There was a degree of security around the place that would not be provided for a group of common women.

Still, he had no intention of announcing himself.

With the ease of a man accustomed to moving unseen, Mahendra made his way towards the riverbank, keeping away from the soldiers and the more open areas surrounding the temple. He chose a position behind a cluster of trees, where the thick foliage offered sufficient cover.

From there, he could reach the water without being noticed.

He stepped closer to the river.

And then he heard a splash.

Mahendra turned his head.

His jaw dropped.

For a moment, he simply stared.

A young woman had emerged from the water.

It was as though a jalpari had risen from the depths of the river, bringing with her a beauty so unexpected that he momentarily forgot where he was. Water streamed from her hair and shoulders, catching the sunlight as it fell back into the dark surface.

Her skin seemed almost luminous against the water.

The soft afternoon light touched the curve of her cheekbones, the gentle fullness of her lips and the exquisite symmetry of her features. Her dark hair was drenched, its long strands falling in heavy waves around her face and down her back. A few loose locks had escaped across her forehead, clinging to her temples.

Water glistened upon her cheeks, tracing the delicate contours of her face before gathering at her chin and falling away.

She blinked against the sunlight.

Then, with an absentminded movement, she brushed the wet strands away from her face.

Mahendra remained utterly still.

He had seen beautiful women before. He had attended royal celebrations, received princesses and noblewomen at his court, and witnessed the finest jewels and silks that wealth could procure. Beauty had never been a rare commodity in the world he inhabited.

But this was different.

His gaze remained fixed on her.

Her eyes were large and expressive, framed by naturally arched brows. There was an unusual liveliness in them, something that seemed to shift with every passing expression. Pride, intelligence, mischief and a tenderness that she perhaps did not often allow others to witness.

She looked around briefly, her eyes narrowing against the light.

Her lips parted as she drew a breath. They were full and beautifully shaped, their natural softness accompanied by the faintest suggestion of a smile.

She pushed another wave of hair behind her ear, completely unaware of the man watching her from behind the trees.

Mahendra did not move.

There was an extraordinary femininity about her. It was in the graceful movements of her hands, the effortless elegance with which she carried herself, and even the gentle tilt of her head. Nothing about her appeared deliberate. She did not seem to be making an effort to attract attention.

She simply existed, entirely unaware of the effect she was having.

Her complexion was as fair as milk, almost striking against the dark water. Her eyes reminded him of polished marbles, deep and bright, while her long, dark lashes framed them beautifully.

He found himself watching the smallest movements.

The way she lifted her hand to her face. The way her wet hair fell over one shoulder. The way she briefly closed her eyes as the sunlight touched her skin.

He had come to the river because he was thirsty.

Now he could not remember the last time he had thought about water.

Samrat Mahendra of Devnagarh had never been captivated by a woman's beauty. He had never been the sort of man who lost his composure at the sight of a pretty face.

Yet here he stood, hidden among the trees, unable to look away.

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Rajkumari! Hurry up, your mother must be waiting!"

The call came from somewhere near the riverbank.

The beautiful woman turned her head towards the voice.

Rajkumari.

Mahendra's eyes narrowed slightly.

So she was a princess.

That explained the soldiers and the security surrounding the mandir. These were not ordinary women who had come to spend an afternoon by the river. They belonged to a royal household.

His gaze returned to her.

He did not know her name yet, but the title alone had already changed the way he looked at the scene. A princess. A woman born into a world of privilege, guarded by soldiers and surrounded by people who would obey her every command.

He imagined stepping out from behind the trees.

He imagined walking straight into the water, reaching for her, pulling her into his arms. He wanted to feel her against him, to kiss those full lips that had caught his attention, to carry her away from the river and take her with him to his palace.

The thought came with an intensity that surprised even him.

He could almost picture it.

Her startled expression. Her hands against his chest. The weight of her wet hair beneath his fingers.

His jaw tightened.

No.

He did not want a fleeting encounter.

He did not want to take her from the river only to leave her behind when the excitement of the moment passed.

He wanted her as his wife.

The thought settled in his mind with a certainty that left little room for consideration. He would have her in his palace, beside him, bearing the title of his queen.

And he would make sure of it.

Mahendra watched her for a few moments longer before finally forcing himself to turn away.

He had to discover who she was.

And he knew better than to approach her without knowing the circumstances surrounding her family. A princess was not a woman one simply walked up to, particularly when she was surrounded by soldiers.

He moved away from the riverbank as quietly as he had arrived.

The soldiers were still stationed near the mandir. Mahendra approached them with an unhurried gait, adjusting his expression into that of an ordinary traveller.

He had spent years learning how to read people, manipulate situations and conceal his intentions. Disguising himself as a commoner was hardly a challenge.

As he neared one of the soldiers, he offered a weary smile.

"Bhai sa, do you have some water? I have been travelling for long, and my supplies have run out."

The soldier looked at him.

For a brief moment, Mahendra wondered whether he would be questioned. But the man merely glanced at the container in his hand and then reached for his own water supply.

"Of course, bhai sa. As soldiers of Surajpur, we must always be hospitable."

Mahendra accepted the water.

"Surajpur?"

He raised his brows, taking a sip before looking back at the soldier.

"Isn't this the territory of Jamnapur?"

The soldier chuckled.

"Arre bhai sa, where are you from? Don't you know? Since his childhood, Rajkumar Chandrabhan has been betrothed to our Rajkumari Nandini. The family ties are strong."

Mahendra's hand tightened slightly around the water container.

The soldier continued, entirely unaware of the change in the stranger's expression.

"We are here to celebrate his Yuvraj Abhishek."

For a moment, Mahendra said nothing.

The forest seemed quieter than before.

Nandini.

The name had finally been given to the face that had occupied his thoughts since the moment she emerged from the river.

Rajkumari Nandini of Surajpur.

And she was betrothed.

To Chandrabhan.

Mahendra's jaw tightened.

He looked down at the water in his hand, his expression giving nothing away. The soldier had already turned his attention elsewhere, satisfied that he had helped a fellow traveller.

But Mahendra was no longer listening to the sounds around him.

He was thinking.

The woman he had just seen, the one whose face he could still picture with unsettling clarity, was promised to another man.

A prince.

A future Yuvraj.

The announcement of Chandrabhan's coronation was apparently the reason for the gathering at the mandir.

Mahendra took another sip of water.

A betrothal.

He slowly lowered the container.

She was not married.

That was what mattered to him.

A mere betrothal was not going to stop him.

His expression remained composed, though something had hardened in his eyes. He had not come to the forest looking for a bride. He had not planned to become interested in a princess of Surajpur, much less one who was already promised to a prince of Jamnapur.

But circumstances had changed.

And Mahendra was not a man who abandoned something simply because it had become inconvenient.

He thanked the soldier and continued speaking with the men for a little while longer, carefully concealing his interest. He asked a few ordinary questions, allowed the conversation to move naturally, and made sure he did not reveal more about himself than necessary.

He had no reason to draw suspicion.

Eventually, he excused himself and walked away.

The trees closed around him once again as he returned to the forest path. The laughter from the river had faded into the distance, but the image of the young woman remained.

Nandini.

He repeated the name silently.

He had come to this region with an interest in the river itself. The stretch of water had long been on his mind, and he wanted it within the boundaries of his territory. Jamnapur, too, was already on his radar.

But now there was another reason.

A far more personal one.

He continued walking, his expression unreadable.

The afternoon sun fell across his face as he passed beneath the trees. Somewhere behind him, the mandir stood beside the river, and a princess named Nandini was still unaware that a stranger had watched her emerge from its waters.

She had no idea who he was.

She did not know that the ordinary traveller who had asked a soldier for water was the emperor of Devnagarh.

And she certainly did not know that the man who had just walked away was already considering how to make her his wife.

Mahendra had arrived in the forest seeking water.

He was leaving with something else entirely on his mind.

A princess.

A betrothal.

And a kingdom that stood between him and what he wanted.