"A storm does not ask permission to destroy, and neither do I."

The night air of Vardhana was thick with the scent of incense and burning oil lamps, their golden glow casting long, wavering shadows along the towering palace walls. The great halls of the palace stretched before him, adorned with intricate murals of past victories, of kings who had ruled before him—men whose legacies were etched into the very foundation of this kingdom. Men like his father, whose rule was unquestionable, whose word was law.

Prince Dev stood in the center of his chamber, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze locked onto the vast city beyond the balcony. Vardhana was not just a kingdom; it was an empire of warriors, of loyalty and blood-bound oaths. And soon, it would be his to rule.

The weight of that truth sat heavy on his shoulders.

He was raised for this. Groomed from the moment he could walk to be a warrior, a leader, a king. His days had been filled with the art of warfare, diplomacy, and strategy. His nights had been spent learning the intricate balance of power, of duty, of sacrifice. He had never known anything else.

And yet, something inside him rebelled. A whisper, a quiet thought that he buried beneath layers of discipline. Was duty all there was to life? Was he merely a figure sculpted by his father's expectations?

Dev's jaw tightened.

No. That was weakness speaking. A king could not afford weakness. He had learned that lesson well.

His father, King Veerendra, was a man carved from stone, his will unbreakable, his rule absolute. Vardhana had flourished under his reign, feared by its enemies and respected by its allies. His name alone commanded loyalty, and his presence instilled fear. Veerendra was not just a ruler—he was a conqueror, a strategist whose victories had been written in blood and etched into the annals of history. He had crushed rebel uprisings with an iron fist, expanded the borders of Vardhana through calculated wars, and ensured that no enemy dared to challenge their might.

But Dev had grown up under his shadow, shaped by his rigid ideals. Obedience. Honor. Power. These were the pillars of Vardhana, and as its future ruler, Dev was expected to uphold them.

His father did not believe in love. To King Veerendra, women were meant for producing heirs, strengthening alliances, and securing dynastic power—nothing more. He saw emotions as weaknesses, distractions that had no place in the art of ruling. Dev had grown up listening to his father's lectures, watching him dismiss matters of the heart with cold indifference. Love does not win wars. Love does not protect a throne. His father's marriage to his mother had been a political arrangement, nothing more than a necessary bond between two powerful families. Affection was irrelevant; duty was all that mattered.

His mother, Queen Samragni, had once loved his father. As a young queen, she had given her heart to him, hoping that in time, her loyalty and devotion would earn her a place in his. But Veerendra had never been a man who spared emotions for anything beyond power and war. He had given her his name, his kingdom, and his heirs—but never his heart. She was a queen, a mother, and when he desired, a companion for the night. Beyond that, she was as replaceable as the courtiers who adorned his court, as the other women who filled his bed in the name of a king's privileges. Over the years, she had learned to silence her heart, to accept the role she had been given—just as Dev was expected to accept his.

King Veerendra also held the belief that women had no place in matters of governance. To him, the throne was a man's burden, a responsibility that required strength, cunning, and ruthlessness—qualities he believed women lacked. Queens were meant to be seen, not heard; their influence, if any, should be confined to the private chambers, never extending into the matters of war, alliances, or policies. He often dismissed the voices of the royal women, regarding their opinions as naive, their desires as frivolous. To him, a woman's purpose was to bear sons who would carry the legacy forward, not to question the hands that shaped history.

He still remembered the lessons drilled into him as a child. The weight of a sword in his small hands as his father had towered over him, eyes sharp as steel.

  A king does not flinch. 

A king does not hesitate. 

A king does not dream.

 A king conquers.

And that meant sacrifice.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

The thought of marriage was not what troubled him—it was the idea of bringing someone into the world he had not chosen for himself. A world filled with burdens, responsibilities, and a path laid out long before he had any say in it. How could he share a future with someone when he had yet to come to terms with his own fate? But fate, or rather, the king, had made the decision for him.

The alliance with Indraprastha had been a necessity, a move calculated by his father and Maharaja Raghunath, the ruler of their neighboring kingdom. It was not a matter of love, or even personal choice. It was politics. Strategy. A way to strengthen both kingdoms against external threats.

And so, the decision had been made. He would marry Princess Anika. Not that he had choice rather than marring her...

Dev knew little of her. He had heard whispers of her fiery nature, of her refusal to fit the mold of a delicate, obedient princess. Rumors painted her as a woman who wielded a sword as easily as she breathed, a force of rebellion wrapped in silk.

A challenge.

A complication.

Yet, despite everything, Dev wanted something different. He did not wish to be a king who followed his father's path—a ruler who saw love as weakness and women as mere instruments of power. He wanted to change the way the world perceived love and leadership, to break the cycle of cold alliances and silent queens. But he wondered—would his future wife stand beside him as an equal ruler, or would she, too, become a follower of this injustice, bound by the very chains he wished to shatter?

He exhaled slowly, forcing his thoughts into order. It did not matter who she was, or what he wanted. This was his duty. The kingdom needed this alliance, needed the stability it would bring. He would not allow personal feelings to cloud his judgment. 

He was trained for this since childhood—putting the kingdom above himself was what made a prince a king. His wants, his desires, were insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

He turned away from the balcony, his reflection catching in the polished bronze mirror across the chamber. The flickering light cast sharp angles across his face—the face of a warrior, of a prince. A man bound by duty, by expectation.

The door creaked open, and his mother stepped inside. Queen Samragni, ever the quiet presence behind the throne, watched him with knowing eyes. She was the only person who had ever truly understood him, even when he did not speak.

"You're troubled," she observed, her voice soft, yet firm.

Dev did not reply immediately. "It is nothing, Mother."

She stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. "It is everything."

For a moment, the mask of the dutiful prince threatened to slip, but he held it in place. "The engagement is decided. The kingdom needs this."

"And what do you need, Dev?" she asked.

His throat tightened. What did it matter?

He turned back toward the city. "A king does not have the luxury of wants. Only duty."

His mother sighed but did not argue. Perhaps she knew there was no point.

A knock at the door interrupted the moment. Senapati Rudra, the commander of Vardhana's army and his father's most trusted general, entered. "Your Highness," he said, bowing slightly. "The guests from Indraprastha will arrive soon. The king expects you at the grand hall."

Dev nodded, the steel of duty settling over him once more. "I will be there."

As Rudra left, his mother lingered a moment longer. "Do not lose yourself in their expectations, my son," she whispered. "A kingdom is only as strong as its ruler's heart."

But Dev had learned long ago—a heart had no place in the game of thrones.

He straightened his shoulders and walked out of the chamber.

Tonight, he would meet his future. And there would be no turning back.

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