Rajrani of Suryagarh

Ancient India.

It was an era where kingdoms were won by swords, promises were written in blood, and princes were willing to sacrifice their lives for their people.

Among those kingdoms, stood Suryagarh, one of the most prosperous realms in the land.

Its magnificent palace was built from towering stone, and every morning, when the first rays of sunlight touched its walls, it gleamed like pure gold.

It was early morning.

From the vast training grounds behind the palace came the sounds of clashing steel.

“THAAK!”

“THAAK!”

“THAAK!”

In the centre of the arena stood a young prince.

Rajkumar Abhishek.

He was 24 years old, tall, broad-shouldered, powerful arms, full muscles, abs, the perfect body. He had deep brown eyes, black hair, and a permanent sternness rested upon his face.

In the arena, he had only worn a dhoti (lower loose pants). His upper body was bare. Beads of sweat glistened across his body.

A soldier charged toward him with a sword.

Without the slightest hesitation, Abhishek blocked the attack.

Then another soldier came.

And another.

Then a fourth.

Within moments, all four soldiers lay defeated on the ground.

Silence spread across the training field.

Everyone feared him.

And everyone respected him.

Abhishek drove his sword into the earth and looked around.

“Was that supposed to be a battle?” he asked coldly.

The soldiers immediately lowered their heads.

“Forgive us, Rajkumar.”

Abhishek took a deep breath.

His temper was no secret to anyone.

He was not unjust.

He was simply strict.

He believed that a weak ruler brought suffering upon his people.

And he had sworn never to become weak.

Never.

At that very moment, laughter echoed softly through the royal court.

The mantri wore a knowing smile, while the Maharaj seemed unusually pleased.

“What is it?” the Maharaj asked.

The mantri bowed slightly.

“Rajkumar Abhishek has reached the age for marriage.”

A ripple of amusement spread through the court.

The Maharaj placed a hand on his forehead.

“Try telling him that.”

The entire court burst into laughter.

Throughout the kingdom, one fact was famous.

Rajkumar Abhishek did not believe in love.

Not at all.

According to him:

“Love makes a warrior weak.”

Many marriage proposals from princesses had arrived over the years.

Every single one had been rejected.

Some he had not even bothered to look at.

Several kilometres away from Suryagarh stood another kingdom.

Pushpagarh.

Its palace was entirely different.

Elegant, peaceful.

Surrounded by gardens overflowing with flowers.

Bees hummed among the blossoms.

Peacocks called from the trees.

The fragrance of jasmine drifted through the air.

In the middle of one of those gardens sat a rajkumari.

Rajkumari Nandini.

She looked as though moonlight itself had taken human form.

Her large expressive eyes, delicate features, and warm smile could brighten anyone’s day. She was one of the most beautiful women of that time.

She had a decent height, a thin waist, big breasts, long black hair - so long that it reached below her waist.

Today she wore a light pink lehenga adorned with intricate gold embroidery. Her ghaghra (skirt) had flowers embroidered. Her blouse had very intricate designs, and a similar dupatta - set on her shoulder.

She was carefully applying medicine to the wing of an injured pigeon.

“You’ll be fine soon,” she whispered softly.

The pigeon immediately seemed calmer.

Just then, a voice called from behind her.

“Nandini.”

She turned and smiled.

“Bhai.”

Rajkumar Ansh walked toward her.

The Crown Prince of Pushpagarh.

He possessed a sharp mind, a strong physique, and an endless affection for his younger sister.

Folding his arms, he said with amusement,

“You’re taking care of another animal again?”

Nandini laughed.

“What else am I supposed to do?”

Ansh shook his head.

“One day, you’ll make the entire kingdom part of your family.”

A faint blush appeared on her cheeks.

But neither of them knew that not far away, near the border of the kingdom, another prince stood watching.

Mounted on a horse. Dressed in black. Very strong and a great body.

The prince of Pratapgarh.

Rajkumar Aryan.

Jealousy burned within his eyes.

So did anger.

Greed.

And above all else...

Hatred.

He looked toward the distant horizon where Suryagarh lay.

“Abhishek…”

His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword.

“One day, everything will belong to me.”

The wind began to howl.

As though nature itself was warning of an approaching storm.

And perhaps...

That storm was much closer than anyone realized.

Because fate had already begun weaving a thread.

A thread that would one day bind the lives of Rajkumar Abhishek and Rajkumari Nandini forever.

But for now...

Neither of them even knew the other’s name.