The Birth of the Yuvrani
IN THE KINGDOM OF CHANDRAVALI,
The storm above Chandravali had begun before sunset.
Dark clouds swallowed the moon little by little, making the entire royal palace feel restless… as though even nature itself waited anxiously for what was about to happen inside the royal chambers.
Outside the doors of Maharani Meenakshi Devi Mahadevan’s chamber, servants moved hurriedly with bowls of steaming water, medicinal herbs, sacred oils, and fresh cloths while anxious whispers filled the hallway.
The entire kingdom knew tonight was dangerous. This pregnancy had nearly broken the Maharani.
And inside the chamber—
Another cry of pain echoed through the room.
Maharaja Veerendra Mahadevan immediately tightened his hold around Meenakshi’s trembling hand.
“Meenakshi…” his voice came softer this time, almost pleading. “Look at me.”
Her breathing had become uneven from hours of pain, strands of hair sticking to her sweat-covered forehead as another wave struck her body. Yet even through the unbearable exhaustion, she tried to steady herself when she saw the fear hidden in her husband’s eyes.
The Maharaja of Chandravali was not a man easily shaken. Because no kingdom, no army, no throne could protect the woman he loved from pain he could not carry for her.
Veerendra brushed damp hair away from her face carefully.
“You are doing well,” he whispered, though his own chest felt unbearably tight.
For months, fear had followed him silently.
He remembered every single warning the Rajvaidya had given.
The sleepless nights.
The fainting spells.
The days Meenakshi could barely rise from bed.
The terrifying evening during the seventh month, when the entire palace had panicked after she collapsed during prayers at the temple.
He still remembered carrying her unconscious body himself through the palace corridors while servants rushed behind him in horror.
He remembered sitting beside her bed the entire night afterwards, unable to breathe properly until her eyes finally opened again.
And worst of all—
He remembered the moment the Rajvaidya quietly suggested choosing between mother and child if complications arose during birth.
Veerendra had nearly thrown the man out of the palace for uttering such words.
Because to him, there had never been a choice. It was always his wife.
Now, watching Meenakshi struggle for breath again, all those fears returned together like poison.
He lowered his forehead against her hand for a brief moment, closing his eyes.
“You promised me,” he said quietly, voice strained with emotion. “You promised you would stay.”
Meenakshi’s tired gaze softened instantly.
Slowly, despite her exhaustion, she lifted her free hand to his face.
“Veerendra…”
Only when they were alone did she ever call him by name.
The word itself carried years of love within it.
“If som-something were to happen to me…” she whispered weakly, struggling for breath. “Take care of our sons… th-they are st—”
“Don’t.”
Veerendra cut her off immediately, his voice sharp with fear disguised as anger.
“Don’t ever say such things again.”
His fingers tightened around hers as he leaned closer, his eyes burning with emotion.
“Because if something happens to you, Meenakshi, then I am following you.”
The words left the chamber heavy and trembling. He meant every single word. Veerendra Mahadevan did not know how to survive a world without his Meenakshi in it.
Tears gathered in Meenakshi’s exhausted eyes as she looked at him.
(Author's Note: There is actually a separate book on Meenakshi and Veerendra’s story.
Don’t search for it yet though…
…I still haven’t published it. 😭✨)
Outside the chamber doors, however, the atmosphere was no less tense.
Thirteen-year-old Yuvraj Aditya Raj Mahadevan stood near one of the carved pillars, trying desperately to maintain the calm expected of the future ruler of Chandravali.
Beside him paced ten-year-old Aryaveer Mahadevan, restless energy practically radiating from him. Seven-year-old Laksh Veer Mahadevan clutched Aditya’s arm tightly.
The youngest prince had buried himself against his elder brother almost an hour ago and refused to move since. His wide, frightened eyes instantly filled again.
Then quietly, Laksh whispered,
“I want a baby sister”
The sudden question caught both brothers off guard.
Aditya blinked.
“Okay, but why?”
Laksh looked at Aryaveer with a pout
“Because I don’t want another brother like him.”
Aryaveer scoffed dramatically.
“And I don’t want another crybaby like you either”
That earned him an offended gasp.
“You?! I’m better than you” Laksh protested. “You scare everyone!”
“I do not scare everyone.”
“You put a lizard in my clothes yesterday.”
Aditya intervened before the argument could worsen.
“That is enough.”
Both younger brothers fell silent immediately.
Aditya rarely raised his voice, but when he did, even Aryaveer listened. The eldest Yuvraj looked toward the closed chamber doors again, worry hidden beneath his composed face.
Truthfully…
He was afraid too.
Terrified, actually.
He remembered catching his father praying alone at the temple late one night, long after everyone had slept.
Inside the chamber—
Meenakshi clutched her husband's hand so tightly her nails dug into his skin.
But he welcomed the pain.
If he could have taken all her suffering into himself, he would have done so without hesitation.
“Veerendra…” she whispered weakly between breaths.
“I am here.”
Tears filled her eyes from exhaustion.
“I do not want our sons to hear me like this…”
His chest tightened painfully.
“They are waiting because they love you,” he said softly. “Just as I am.”
And for the first time that night—The mighty Maharaja of Chandravali truly looked helpless.
The next wave of pain tore through Meenakshi’s body so violently that her scream echoed across the entire chamber.
Inside the chamber, chaos unfolded around the royal bed.
“Careful—!”
“Bring more warm water!”
“The Maharani is losing strength—”
The Dhaima and her helpers moved hurriedly around Meenakshi while the Rajvaidya muttered prayers beneath his breath.
Veerendra never let go of her hand.
Not once.
Even when her nails cut into his skin hard enough to draw blood.
Even when fear nearly consumed him whole.
“Look at me,” he whispered desperately, brushing tears from her face himself. “Meenakshi… just a little more. Stay with me.”
She could barely hear him now.
Everything hurt.
Her body.
Her breathing.
Even her heartbeat felt weak.
But somewhere through the haze of pain, she still felt Veerendra’s hand around hers.
Still heard his voice.
Still held onto him.
And then—
A cry.
Tiny.
Soft.
Alive.
The entire chamber froze.
For one suspended moment, nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
Then the newborn cried again, louder this time.
And suddenly the tension shattered.
The Dhaima let out a trembling breath before tears filled her old eyes.
“Maharaja…” she whispered emotionally as she carefully lifted the child into her arms. “The Devi has blessed Chandravali with a rajkumari.”
Veerendra stopped breathing.
A daughter.
After years…
After prayers whispered beneath temple lamps…
After watching Meenakshi suffer for months…
A daughter.
The Dhaima carefully wrapped the newborn in soft silk before placing her gently into the Maharaja’s trembling arms.
And Veerendra Mahadevan—mighty ruler of Chandravali, the man feared and respected across kingdoms alike—looked completely shattered by love.
She was so small.
So impossibly small.
Her tiny face was still scrunched from crying, little fists curled near her chest as strands of dark hair rested against her forehead.
But then—
As the cloth shifted slightly, Veerendra’s gaze fell upon the sole of her tiny foot.
And his entire body stilled.
There, beneath the delicate curve of her foot—
Was a crescent moon mark.
Small.
Perfect.
As though painted there by the gods themselves.
Red against soft skin.
The storm outside rumbled loudly.
Veerendra stared at it silently for several moments before slowly lifting his gaze toward Meenakshi. Tears had already begun slipping from her exhausted eyes the moment she saw their daughter.
A daughter.
Their daughter.
Veerendra walked toward her slowly, almost reverently, as though afraid this moment would disappear if he moved too quickly.
The moment he reached her bedside, he bent down first and pressed a long trembling kiss against Meenakshi’s forehead.
“Thank you,” he whispered brokenly against her skin.
Two simple words.
Yet Meenakshi heard everything hidden behind them.
Thank you for giving me a daughter.
Thank you for not leaving me alone in this world.
His eyes glistened as he looked down at the child again.
Then, with an emotion so raw it silenced the entire room, Veerendra gently lifted the baby’s tiny foot and kissed the crescent moon mark first.
As though bowing before destiny itself.
Only afterward did he kiss her forehead softly.
“My little one…” he whispered.
Meenakshi finally held the child against her chest, and the moment the baby settled against her heartbeat, the Maharani broke down completely.
Tears streamed silently down her face as she pressed trembling kisses against her daughter’s hair again and again.
“She’s here…” Meenakshi whispered tearfully. “Veerendra… she’s finally here.”
For months she had feared this day.
Feared she would never see her child.
Feared her sons would grow without a mother.
Feared Veerendra would be left alone carrying both grief and a kingdom.
But now—
The tiny warm weight in her arms felt like every prayer answered at once. Veerendra sat beside her carefully, unable to stop staring at the child.
“She has your eyes,” he murmured softly.
Meenakshi laughed weakly through tears.
“She literally just arrived.”
Outside the chamber, the three princes still waited anxiously.
Laksh had nearly fallen asleep against Aditya’s shoulder from exhaustion and crying when suddenly—
The chamber doors opened. All three boys straightened instantly. The Dhaima stepped outside smiling through tears.
“The Maharani and rajkumari are safe.”
For one second, the princes simply stared at her.
Then chaos erupted.
Laksh gasped loudly.
“A BABY SISTER? THANK GOD IT'S NOT A BABY BROTHER!”
Aryaveer looked equally shocked but he first has to scold his younger brother,
“SHUT UP”
Aditya’s entire face softened in relief so visible it nearly hurt to witness.
“Can we see Amma?” he asked immediately.
The Dhaima smiled warmly.
“The Maharaj is waiting for you.”
The three princes rushed inside so quickly that one servant nearly stumbled aside trying to move out of their way.
“Amma!”
Laksh reached the bedside first, immediately climbing halfway onto it before Aditya pulled him back carefully.
“Do not jump onto the Maharani,” Aditya scolded quietly.
“But Amma—”
“I am alright, Laksh,” Meenakshi whispered tiredly.
The moment the boys saw her conscious and smiling, relief visibly flooded through them. Then Meenakshi slowly shifted the child in her arms.
And revealed the baby.
Silence.
Complete silence.
The three princes stared at their little sister as though they had never seen something so precious before. The newborn looked impossibly tiny against Meenakshi’s arms.
A faint reddish tint still colored her delicate cheeks from birth, while wisps of soft dark hair rested damply against her small forehead in uneven curls. Her lashes were absurdly long for a newborn, casting tiny shadows against skin so delicate it almost seemed translucent beneath the warm glow of the oil lamps surrounding the chamber.
One of her little fists remained curled stubbornly near her chest while the other rested against Meenakshi’s saree, her fingers opening and closing slowly as though testing the world she had only just entered.
Tiny breaths left her parted lips softly, uneven at times, little sighs escaping between them as she shifted instinctively closer toward her mother’s heartbeat.
Laksh’s mouth slowly fell open in complete awe.
“She’s…” he whispered carefully, almost afraid speaking too loudly might somehow break her, “…smaller than my pillow.”
Aryaveer rolled his eyes immediately, though far less convincingly than usual because he himself had not stopped staring at the baby even once.
“That is because she was born today, idiot.”
“But look at her fingers,” Laksh argued softly. “They’re so tiny…”
Indeed, her fingers barely wrapped around the edge of Meenakshi’s saree, each one delicate enough to make even Aditya afraid to touch her too suddenly.
The eldest prince stood nearest to the bedside now, his usually composed expression entirely gone as he watched the little girl blink slowly beneath the lantern light.
Her eyes had not fully opened yet.
But every now and then, those dark little lashes fluttered faintly—as though she were already trying to understand the voices surrounding her.
And somehow…
that tiny princess already had the entire royal family wrapped around her smallest finger.
Meenakshi smiled softly at their expressions before gently stroking the baby’s cheek.
“This,” she whispered, “is your little sister.”
The boys moved closer instinctively.
“You must always protect her.”
The softness in Meenakshi’s exhausted voice made even Aryaveer straighten seriously.
Aditya nodded first.
“With my life.”
Aryaveer crossed his arms immediately.
“No one will even get close enough to hurt her.”
Laksh looked offended.
“You both are acting like I won’t protect her.”
Aryaveer snorted.
“You cried thirty minutes ago.”
“I DID NOT.”
Aditya sighed tiredly.
“Can we not begin fighting in front of the baby?”
“But I want to hold her first,” Aryaveer argued immediately.
“No, I do!” Laksh protested loudly.
“You’ll drop her.”
“I WILL NOT DROP MY SISTER. I WOULD HAVE DROPPED IF IT'S A BABY BROTHER.”
“what's with that hate towards having a brother?”
“It's because of you!”
As both younger brothers continued bickering, Aditya quietly slipped the baby from Meenakshi’s arms first.
The silence afterward was immediate.
Aryaveer looked betrayed.
“Bhaiya!”
Laksh gasped dramatically.
“That is cheating!”
Aditya ignored both of them completely.
Because the moment the baby settled into his arms, her tiny fingers slowly wrapped around his index finger.
The future Yuvraj froze.
Something inside him softened instantly.
The tiny child trusted him already.
Laksh leaned closer curiously.
“She likes Aditya Bhaiya first…”
Meenakshi laughed weakly for the first time that night while Veerendra simply watched his family silently, emotion filling his chest so painfully it almost overwhelmed him.
This.
This was everything he had ever prayed for.
Then finally, after watching the child for several long moments, Veerendra spoke quietly.
“I have chosen a name.”
Everyone looked toward him. The Maharaja’s gaze shifted toward Meenakshi first before he spoke gently.
“Nandhini Devi.”
Meenakshi froze.
The room fell silent again.
Because everyone present knew that name.
Her mother’s name.
The woman who had raised Meenakshi but she is no longer in this world. The woman Meenakshi had loved more than life itself.
Tears instantly filled the Maharani’s eyes again.
Veerendra looked at her softly.
“She should carry the name of a woman who gave me my Meenakshi.”
Meenakshi could not speak for several moments.
She simply stared at him through tears before whispering brokenly,
“You remembered…”
Because twenty-five years ago, a young Meenakshi had once told him that if she were ever blessed with a daughter, she wanted to name her after her mother.
Veerendra smiled softly at the memory.
“I remember everything about you.”
A single tear slipped from her eye. She bent down slowly and pressed a trembling kiss against her daughter’s forehead.
“Nandhini Devi Mahadevan,” she whispered softly.
As though blessing the name itself.
The tiny infant stirred softly in her mother’s arms, as though recognizing the love surrounding her already.
A small sound escaped her lips before her tiny fingers curled instinctively around the edge of Meenakshi’s saree.
Laksh immediately gasped.
“She moved!”
Aryaveer rolled his eyes dramatically.
“Obviously she moved. She is alive.”
“Shut up!” Laksh argued.
Aditya smiled faintly as the baby shifted again, her little brows furrowing for a brief moment before slowly relaxing against Meenakshi’s chest.
And then—
Nandhini opened her eyes.
Dark.
Wide.
Quietly curious.
For one suspended moment, the entire room fell silent once again.
Even Veerendra froze.
Because it felt less like a newborn looking at the world for the first time…
…and more like the world itself pausing to look back at her. Outside, the storm finally began to quiet.
And somewhere far beyond the storm that welcomed her into the world—
a little prince slept peacefully beneath another kingdom’s sky.
Unaware that fate had already begun weaving his life around hers.
Outside, the storm finally began to quiet.
But destiny—
had only just awakened.
IN THE KINGDOM OF SURYAGARH,
Suryagarh awakened beneath fire-colored skies.
The first light of dawn spilled across the vast desert kingdom in waves of molten gold, setting the towering sandstone palace of the Suryavanshis aglow beneath the rising sun. Crimson banners bearing the royal emblem fluttered proudly.
Even at this hour, the palace had already begun stirring to life.
Along one of the palace courtyards, two guards continued their morning patrol beneath the shadow of the massive sandstone domes overlooking the eastern side of the palace.
The younger one looked barely older than a boy himself, clearly new to royal duty as he adjusted the spear in his hand nervously while trying to match the older guard’s pace.
“So… the first shift changes after sunrise prayers?” he asked carefully.
The older guard nodded.
“And if you are assigned anywhere near the royal chambers,” the older guard warned seriously, “stay alert. Especially if the second Yuvraj is awake.”
“The little prince?” the younger guard asked curiously.
The older man gave him a look full of suffering.
“You are new here, so you still have hope in your eyes.”
The younger guard looked suspicious.
“What did he do?”
“What did he NOT do?”
“That bad?”
"Bad is a word too good to use on him"
The younger guard shook his head with a quiet laugh before casually glancing upward toward the higher sections of the palace.
Then paused.
His brows furrowed slightly.
For one moment, he stared toward one of the upper domes of the palace where a dangerously narrow sandstone ledge curved around the structure high above the courtyard.
A tiny figure sat there.
The younger guard blinked once.
Then immediately looked away.
Silence.
“…No.”
The older guard frowned.
“What?”
The younger man laughed nervously to himself.
“For a moment, I thought I saw the second Yuvraj sitting up there.”
He pointed casually toward the upper ledge near the dome.
Then snorted softly.
“How would a five year old child even climb that? I must still be half asleep.”
The older guard frowned suspiciously before finally looking upward himself.
And froze.
The blood drained from his face instantly.
Because sitting several feet above them upon the dangerously narrow sandstone ledge near one of the upper palace domes—
was Rudra Veer Pratap Suryavanshi.
Dangling his legs peacefully over the edge. The older guard smacked the younger one across the back of his head so hard his helmet nearly shifted.
“IDIOT,” he hissed in horror. “HE IS REALLY THERE.”
The younger guard looked up again. And physically stopped breathing.
“Oh gods.”
“Yuvraj!” the older guard shouted upward immediately, panic taking over his voice. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING THERE?!”
Several nearby guards turned instantly at the commotion before following their horrified gazes upward.
“WHEN DID HE GET UP THERE?!”
Above them, however, five-year-old Rudra looked entirely unbothered with the choas he had just caused.
A few thin clouds drifted slowly across the desert horizon.
Still too high.
Rudra pouted harder.
“…Why are they still so far away?”
“CALL THE SENAPATI!” a gaurd shouted desperately. “NOW!”
One of the younger guards finally broke from the horrified crowd below and sprinted across the courtyard as though he was being chased by a ghost.
Above them, however, none of the panic seemed to concern Rudra Veer Pratap Suryavanshi in the slightest. Morning winds swept through his dark curls as he stared upward toward the pale golden sky with visible disappointment that the clouds are still too far away to touch.
Meanwhile—
inside the military quarters near the western wing of the palace—
Senapati Bhairav Singh Rathore was finally about to experience peace. Or so he believed.
The towering commander of Suryagarh’s royal forces sat alone at the long wooden table inside his chambers, still dressed in half of his training armor from dawn drills. His heavy sword rested nearby while sunlight filtered through the sandstone lattice windows beside him.
Before him sat a fresh plate of steaming bajra rotis, spiced potatoes , personally prepared by his wife after nearly twelve days of military border inspection duty.
Twelve days.
Twelve painful, tragic days without home-cooked food.
Bhairav closed his eyes briefly, inhaling the heavenly smell with the emotion of a man reunited with lost love.
“Finally,” he muttered with deep feeling, tearing a piece of roti carefully. “After days..my wife's food.”
He dipped the first bite into the curry slowly.
Lovingly.
“Peace,” he murmured emotionally, “is a beautiful thing.”
And then—
“SENAPATIIIIII!”
The chamber doors burst open so violently that Senapati Bhairav dropped the first bite of roti straight back onto his plate before it even reached his mouth.
Bhairav froze.
The guard stumbled inside breathless and traumatized.
“The second Yuvraj—!”
Bhairav sighed instantly. Not even surprise. Just exhaustion.
“The second prince is starting early today,” he muttered darkly, already setting the food down untouched.
The guard gulped.
“He climbed the eastern dome.”
Silence. Bhairav slowly lifted his head.
“…What?”
Then the Senapati stood up so abruptly his chair scraped loudly against the floor. For one brief moment, genuine fear crossed even his battle-hardened face.
Because if Maharaj Vikramaditya discovered that the second prince had somehow climbed onto the eastern dome under military watch, the king would most likely strip half the guards of their positions by sunset.
But if the Crown Prince found out first…
He would remove them from existence.
Yashvardhan Suryavanshi, the elder brother of Rudra, may have been calm by nature, but everyone in Suryagarh knew the quickest path toward Yashvardhan’s fury was frightening Rudra.
The Senapati pointed sharply toward his untouched breakfast.
“If I die today,” he informed the servant solemnly, “tell my wife I love her cooking.”
Then he marched out immediately.
By the time Bhairav reached the eastern courtyard, complete chaos had already consumed the area. And high above them—sat Rudra.
Perfectly comfortable.
Bhairav stopped walking. For one long moment, the Senapati simply stared upward in exhausted disbelief. Then he inhaled sharply.
“YUVRAJ!”
Rudra did not even look down.
“Hm?”
“What,” Bhairav asked slowly, “are you doing up there?”
Still staring at the sky, Rudra answered with complete seriousness.
“I wanted to touch the clouds.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Bhairav blinked once.
“You… what?”
Rudra pointed upward seriously toward the drifting morning clouds.
“They looked closer from this point when I saw from the ground.”
One guard physically turned away to hide his laughter. Bhairav rubbed his forehead slowly.
“Yuvraj,” he began with painful patience, “that is not how clouds work.”
Rudra frowned as Bhairav continued
“Clouds are far above the palace.”
The child looked deeply suspicious of this information. Thinking. That alone terrified the guards more. Then Rudra nodded once very seriously.
“Then I will climb the waterfall.”
Bhairav blinked.
“…What?”
Rudra looked pleased with his own solution now.
“The waterfall near the western cliffs,” he elaborated helpfully. “So that I can touch the clouds.”
“Yuvraj,” he said gravely, “if you ever decide to climb a waterfall—”
he continued firmly, “you will inform me beforehand.”
Rudra tilted his head curiously.
“Why?”
“So I can resign from my position.”
A stunned silence followed.
Then several guards outright choked trying not to laugh. Then finally, for the first time since this entire disaster began, Rudra leaned slightly forward and peered properly down toward the courtyard below.
Several guards gasped in horror immediately.
“DON’T LEAN—”
But Rudra wasn’t listening anymore. Because he had just noticed something fascinating. His eyes widened slightly.
Then suddenly—
he giggled.
Bhairav immediately narrowed his eyes.
“What?”
Rudra pointed downward toward him from the ridge.
“Senapati looks tiny from here.”.
One servant bit his own hand to stop himself from laughing aloud.
Far below, Senapati Bhairav Singh Rathore—the six-foot-five commander capable of terrifying entire battalions into obedience with a single glare—looked personally offended.
“…Did that lilliput just call me tiny?”
Rudra giggled harder.
“You look this small,” he declared proudly, pinching two fingers together in demonstration.
Bhairav stared upward at the tiny menace sent specifically to destroy his peace.
And then—
a new voice cut across the courtyard.
“What,” the voice asked slowly, “is my brother doing up there?”
The effect was immediate. Every guard froze so abruptly it almost looked rehearsed. Even Senapati Bhairav Singh went completely still.
Because that voice belonged to only one person in the palace.
Yuvraj Yashvardhan Suryavanshi.
The Crown Prince of Suryagarh.
At thirteen years old, there was already something unnervingly steady about him. Something composed in a way boys his age rarely were.
He had clearly arrived directly from training. A practice sword remained strapped diagonally across his back. Loose strands of dark hair had fallen untidily across his forehead, likely from rushing here the moment he heard the commotion.
The moment his gaze landed upon the tiny figure perched dangerously high above the courtyard, something shifted almost imperceptibly in his expression.
Not panic.
Yashvardhan rarely panicked.
But the calmness around his eyes sharpened instantly.
A tension settled across his shoulders so slight most would never notice it.
Most.
But Bhairav noticed.
Because he had spent years watching the Crown Prince grow from child to future ruler.
And he knew exactly how fiercely Yashvardhan loved his younger brother.
Above them, however, Rudra reacted very differently.
The second the little prince spotted his elder brother below, his entire face brightened so suddenly it transformed him completely.
“Yash Bhaiya!”
The excitement in his tiny voice rang across the courtyard without the slightest trace of fear or guilt.
As though he had not just reduced half the palace guard to near death.
As though he were simply greeting his favorite person in the world.
Several guards visibly sagged in relief.
Because finally—
finally—
someone had arrived whom Rudra might actually listen to.
Yash walked forward slowly until he stood directly beneath the dome itself, his eyes never once leaving Rudra’s small figure seated upon the narrow sandstone ridge high above them.
The height looked even worse from directly below.
Nearly five stories.
Yash did not move.
Then finally, he spoke.
“Rudra.”
Not loud.
Not angry.
Yet somehow the courtyard fell even quieter afterward.
The little prince immediately sat straighter.
“Yes?”
“Come down.”
Rudra blinked once before immediately attempting to defend himself.
“But Bhaiya, the clouds —”
“Come down.”
The interruption was calm.
Simple.
But final.
And the effect it had upon Rudra was nothing short of miraculous. The younger prince stopped mid-sentence. Actually stopped. A stunned silence rippled across the guards below.
“…That worked?” one of the gaurd whispered.
Because twenty armed guards, several servants, and the Senapati himself had spent the last half hour desperately negotiating with the child.
Meanwhile the Crown Prince had solved the situation using two words and ten seconds.
Above them, Rudra pouted and sighed dramatically but despite the pout still lingering on his face—
he obeyed.
And that alone nearly shocked the courtyard into silence again.
Rudra carefully shifted closer toward the carved sandstone supports lining the dome structure before beginning his descent with alarming confidence.
Immediately, Yash moved closer beneath him.
Ready.
Prepared.
As though if Rudra slipped even slightly, Yash intended to somehow catch him despite the impossible height between them.
And perhaps the strangest thing was—
everyone present believed he would try anyway.
Meanwhile Rudra descended without fear while everyone else developed it on his behalf.
“Slowly,” Yash instructed calmly from below.
“I know.”
“Use the side grip near the carving.”
“I KNOW.”
“Rudra.”
“I said I know!”
The younger prince sounded deeply insulted by the implication that he required assistance while he climbed without one.
Bhairav rubbed his forehead tiredly.
“These princes,” he muttered, “will be the end of me.”
Halfway down, Rudra suddenly paused.
Yash’s expression sharpened instantly.
“What happened?”
Rudra looked thoughtful.
“Bhaiya?”
“Yes?”
“…Senapati looked smaller from above.”
A dangerous silence followed.
Below them, Bhairav looked betrayed again. Yash stared upward for one long second before a short breath escaped him suspiciously close to laughter.
The Senapati pointed upward immediately.
“Do not encourage him, Yuvraj.”
“I did not laugh.”
“That entire family lies with confidence,” Bhairav muttered under his breath.
The final stretch of the descent was somehow the worst part. Perhaps because everyone below had finally begun foolishly hoping the disaster was ending peacefully.
Or perhaps because the second prince of Suryagarh possessed an unnatural talent for creating panic exactly when people relaxed.
Only a few feet remained between Rudra and the lower sandstone platform connected to the palace corridor when the child suddenly glanced downward once—
and jumped.
One servant sat down on the ground in shock.
Senapati Bhairav felt his soul leave his body for a full second.
But Yash moved before anyone else even processed what had happened.
The Crown Prince caught Rudra against his chest with frightening speed, one arm wrapping securely around the smaller boy before his feet had properly touched the ground.
The impact forced Yash back half a step across the sandstone floor.
Rudra, meanwhile, looked delighted with himself.
“I landed.”
“You jumped.”
Yash’s voice came dangerously calm. The moment Rudra stood properly again, Yash immediately caught hold of his ear.
“OW—Bhaiya!”
“You jumped,” Yash repeated slowly.
“I was already close to the ground!”
“You were still several feet above it!”
“But I knew you would catch me.”
The answer came so quickly—
so naturally—
that for one brief moment, Yash visibly faltered.
Just slightly.
Because there had not been even the smallest trace of doubt in Rudra’s voice.
Absolute trust.
As though failing to catch him had never once existed as a possibility in that child’s mind. Yash exhaled sharply through his nose before crouching slightly in front of him.
Then, without another word, he began checking Rudra over himself. Hands moved quickly across his arms, shoulders, wrists. Checking for bruises. Scratches. Anything.
The movement was practiced enough to suggest this was not the first time Yashvardhan Suryavanshi had inspected his younger brother after a disaster.
Rudra stood there patiently during the inspection, although his pout deepened dramatically once Yash brushed dust from his cheek a little too roughly.
“I am fine.”
Yash finally straightened again after confirming the child was unharmed.
“You are forbidden from climbing the eastern domes again.”
The order was immediate. Rudra blinked once. Then—
“So I can climb the western domes?”
Bhairav physically covered his face.
Yash smacked the back of Rudra’s head immediately.
“OW.”
“No domes.”
“But you only said eastern first.”
Another smack.
The younger prince whined and immediately clutched the back of his head dramatically. Yash finally grabbed hold of his wrist firmly before his younger brother could invent new ambitions.
Then, without another word, the Crown Prince began dragging his younger brother across the corridor toward the inner palace sections leading to the royal chambers.
Behind them, the entire courtyard remained silent for several moments.
Then Senapati Bhairav finally exhaled heavily and looked toward the guards surrounding him.
“…Double the palace watch.”
One soldier blinked.
“For intruders, Senapati?”
Bhairav stared in the direction Rudra had vanished.
“No,” he replied tiredly.
“For that lilliput.”
Meanwhile, Yash dragged his younger brother through the inner sandstone corridors toward the royal chambers.
Above them, from one of the carved sandstone balconies overlooking the inner courtyard, Maharani Devyani Suryavanshi watched the scene unfold with helpless fondness in her eyes.
Devyani did not even need to ask.
The sight alone told her enough.
A faint smile tugged helplessly at her lips despite herself.
Because after five years of raising Rudra Veer Pratap Suryavanshi, the Maharani had learned one undeniable truth—
if Yashvardhan was dragging his younger brother through the palace this early in the morning…then her younger son had undoubtedly terrified half the palace already.
One hand rested gently over the swell of her stomach beneath the rich crimson silk draped around her while the other remained against the carved balcony railing.
The morning sunlight softened the sharp authority she usually carried so naturally.
Her sons.
So different from one another.
Yash had always been calm, disciplined, composed beyond his years even as a child.
And Rudra…
Rudra had arrived into their lives like sunlight that refused to sit still.
Her hand moved unconsciously over her stomach.
Another child.
Another piece of their family.
Softness flickered through her gaze as she watched her sons disappear farther down the corridor together.
Please let them always remain like this.
Happy.
Together.
Safe.
The silent prayer settled heavily in her heart. Unaware that fate had already begun preparing to break it.
Warm arms wrapped carefully around her from behind.
Devyani relaxed almost instantly.
Maharaja Vikramaditya Suryavanshi rested his hands gently over her stomach, careful as always these past few months.
“You should not stand this long, Devi” he murmured near her ear.
His voice carried the deep calm authority of a ruler accustomed to command, yet around her it always softened slightly. Devyani leaned back against him faintly.
“You returned early from court.”
“The ministers were becoming irritating. I needed my wife”
“That quickly?”
Devyani said with a quiet laugh. For a few moments, neither spoke. They simply stood there together watching the warmth of their family move through the palace below.
Then softly, almost absently, Devyani whispered,
“I just wish things remain like this.”
Vikramaditya’s expression shifted slightly.
She continued quietly,
“Peaceful. Happy.”
Her fingers tightened faintly over the balcony railing.
“Unlike the early years after our marriage.”
The softness faded from the air almost immediately. Because both of them remembered. Those years had not been peaceful. Not even close.
Fear.
Manipulation.
Blood.
And one man whose shadow had once nearly destroyed everything they loved. Vikramaditya’s arms tightened protectively around her.
“That man no longer has any place in our lives, he is dead now” he said quietly.
There was no softness in his voice now. Only certainty. Devyani lowered her gaze.
Far below, Yash disappeared around the corridor with Rudra while the little prince continued protesting dramatically. And for one fragile moment—
the royal family of Suryagarh still looked untouched by tragedy.
