Vardhana was alive with anticipation. The towering palace, a marvel of ivory and gold, stood resplendent under the morning sun, its spires piercing the sky as banners of deep crimson and royal blue fluttered in the breeze. The entire kingdom buzzed with activity as artisans, servants, and soldiers prepared for the arrival of Indraprastha's royal delegation. Streets were swept clean, fragrant garlands draped over archways, and palace corridors polished until they gleamed like mirrors. The air was thick with the scent of rosewater and sandalwood, mingling with the crisp tang of freshly embroidered silks displayed for the grand occasion.
Within the heart of this grandeur, Prince Dev stood before his father in the royal court, his face unreadable, his stance rigid. King Veerendra sat upon his golden throne, his piercing gaze fixed upon his son, his presence as imposing as the great stone pillars that upheld the palace.
"You understand what is expected of you, Dev," the king's voice was firm, carrying the weight of finality. "This alliance is not merely a wedding—it is a necessity."
Dev inclined his head, his expression unreadable. "Yes, Father."
King Veerendra's sharp eyes narrowed. "Do not mistake this for a union of hearts, boy. It is a union of empires. Indraprastha is a formidable ally, and this marriage will ensure that no rival kingdom dares to challenge our strength." He leaned forward, his voice laced with authority. "You will conduct yourself with the dignity of a prince and the discipline of a warrior. There will be no rebellion, no defiance."
The unspoken words hung between them—like your mother once did.
Dev's jaw tightened. His father had never believed in love, nor had he ever seen women as equals. To King Veerendra, queens were meant to bear heirs and remain in the shadows, not share in power. Dev had grown up watching his mother's love wilt under his father's indifference, her desires crushed beneath the weight of duty. And now, he was to be bound in the same kind of loveless marriage—unless fate dictated otherwise.
"Yes, Father," Dev said again, his voice devoid of emotion.
The king studied him for a long moment before dismissing him with a flick of his hand. "Prepare yourself. The delegation arrives in three days."
As Dev entered his chamber, he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. The weight of expectation bore down on him like armor too heavy to carry. He had never seen Princess Anika, but he had heard whispers of her—a wildfire, untamed and fierce. Unlike the princesses of Vardhana, she was not one to be silenced or subdued.
Would she be like her father, bound by duty, a pawn in this game of power? Or was she different? Would she fight against the chains he himself sought to break? And if she was like him, if she too wished to carve her own destiny, then perhaps this marriage would not be the prison his father envisioned.
For now, all he could do was wait.
Far across the plains, in Indraprastha, a different kind of preparation was underway. The palace was abuzz with urgency—servants ran between halls, loading crates of silk, spices, and rare gems onto the caravans that would accompany the royal entourage. Three days of travel lay ahead, and everything had to be perfect.
Within the women's wing, Anika sat before her mother, Queen Vasundhara, as the older woman combed through her daughter's long, dark tresses with careful fingers.
"My daughter," the queen murmured, her voice soft, yet steady, "you are leaving behind the walls that sheltered you, the faces that love you. But remember this—you are not a gift to be given; you are a queen to be reckoned with. Respect those around you, but never forget that you deserve that same respect in return."
Anika swallowed hard, the weight of her mother's words pressing against her chest. She had always known this day would come, but now that it was here, reality felt cruel.
"I will miss you, Maa," she whispered.
Queen Vasundhara pressed a kiss to her forehead. "And I love you." Her voice wavered, but only slightly. "But you will never be alone. Your strength, your fire—they will be your greatest weapons."
A tear threatened to spill from Anika's eyes, but she blinked it away. "I promise, I will never bow to anyone's unwanted demands."
Her mother smiled, pride gleaming in her eyes. "Good. Because you were born not just to wear a crown, but to wield its power."
After the conversation with her daughter Vasundhara left to see the preparation for the journey.
As Anika sat in the dim glow of the lantern-lit chamber, her thoughts drifted to the marriage that awaited her. It was not marriage that she feared—it was the loss of herself. Would she be reduced to just a wife, a queen in name alone, expected to bend to the whims of her husband and his kingdom? Or was there a chance that Prince Dev was different from his father? She had heard the stories—of King Veerendra's rigid rule, his dismissal of women in power. Yet no one had spoken of Dev in the same way. Could he be different? And if he wasn't... What then?
She had promised herself long ago—she would never be caged, never be silenced. If Dev proved to be just like his father, then she would fight. She would carve her own space, with sword or wit, and ensure that no one—not even a king—would strip her of the freedom she had always held dear.
At dawn, the journey to Vardhana began.
The procession stretched long across the open roads—horses clad in silver-plated armor, soldiers marching in perfect formation, and carriages adorned with royal insignias carrying Indraprastha's nobility. The sound of hooves striking the earth echoed through the air, accompanied by the rhythmic creak of wooden wheels and the occasional flutter of banners in the wind.
Within the grand carriage at the center, Anika sat tall, her gaze fixed ahead. The road to Vardhana was not just a path to another kingdom—it was the road to her future.
And she would meet it head-on, unbowed and unbroken.
THANYOU!
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