As night descended, the desert's temperature plummeted, and the sand beneath their feet grew cold. A gentle breeze whispered through the dunes, carrying the faint scent of smoke from the nearby woods, where fires crackled and spat, casting a warm glow over the desolate sand. Above, the moon hung low in the sky, a milky orb surrounded by a sprinkling of stars, their twinkling light a stark contrast to the darkness that had settled over Samarth's heart.He sat before the flickering flames, his elbows resting on his knees, his face a mask of stoic resolve. Yet, beneath his composed exterior, a mayhem of emotions seethed. His jaw clenched, his mind tormented by the haunting echo of Nizar's words, which replayed in his mind like a cruel refrain, announcing the brutal slaughter of his father.As he sat in stunned silence, the weight of his emotions threatened to consume him. Grief and anger swirled within him like a raging fire, leaving him feeling lost and uncertain. But then, he felt
Following the brutal display of power by King Agnil, the kingdom was plunged into a state of turmoil and upheaval. The days that ensued were marked by a multitude of changes, each one leaving the people increasingly shaken and uncertain about their future. The traumatic memory of witnessing Samarth's family being brutally slaughtered by the king himself still lingered, leaving a deep scar on the collective psyche of the kingdom's inhabitants. As a result of the king's actions, the commander and several high-ranking soldiers were relieved of their duties, only to be replaced by individuals whose character and loyalty were highly questionable, and who seemed to embody the same morally grey qualities as the king himself. A radical transformation swept through the worship system of Tziyonia, orchestrated by the king and his newly appointed advisors. The revered prophets of the Lord were callously imprisoned in damp dungeons, while the king, consumed by madness, wreaked havoc throug
"Our ancestors have unwaveringly devoted themselves to the worship of one true God," Inayat began, her voice laced with a mix of reverence and concern."It was King Agamya who boldly chose to forsake the idols his family had revered for generations, instead dedicating himself wholeheartedly to the Lord. And it was this unwavering faith that earned him the Lord's favor, granting him a lasting legacy — a son to inherit his throne in every generation." Inayat's gaze locked onto her father's, searching for answers to the unspoken questions that weighed heavily on her heart. But instead of finding solace, she was met with an unsettling darkness in his eyes — a cold, hard glint that made her wonder if the man standing before her was truly her father.The warmth of devotion had faded from Agnil's eyes, replaced by an unyielding resentment that seemed to defy reason. The very God who had lavished him with blessings now appeared to be the object of his scorn. "Father, you've turned away from
A fortnight had elapsed since Inayat received the devastating news of Izhar's demise. The brutal execution of Commander Kenaz's entire family still lingered in her mind like an open wound. Her heart bled for the innocent kin who had been forced to witness the carnage with their own eyes. Queen Adah's detailed account of the past events had left Inayat traumatized, but it was the loss of the man she loved that cut deepest. Even now, a month after the tragedy, Inayat sat alone in her chamber, surrounded by the opulent furnishings of her plush couch, yet drowning in a sea of memories. Tears streamed down her face as she reminisced about the joyous moments she had shared with Izhar. Her mind also wandered back to a time when her father was a just and righteous man — a mythical era that now seemed lost forever.Inayat's world had also been turned upside down. She had witnessed a profound transformation in her father since the day she declared her devotion to her faith. To avoid any
Agnil's thunderous voice boomed, shaking the surroundings. "Soldiers, get set!" The bodyguards charged into the crowd, navigating through the sea of people like a serpent. Agnil drew his sword, his eyes blazing with fury, and joined the fray. A hidden dagger provided an extra layer of protection against unexpected threats.The queens watched anxiously from a distance as the secret slayers clashed with the king's soldiers and bodyguards. The king's sons rushed into battle, wielding their swords. The air was filled with the deafening sounds of clashing steel and the cries of the wounded; victims, and the brave.As the battle raged on, men began to fall like autumn dry and lifeless leaves, their bodies crumpling to the ground as the slayers sliced through them with deadly precision. The soldiers watched in horror, their eyes wide with terror, as the slayers moved with a fluid motion, their blades flashing in the fading light. Each stroke was a masterclass in efficiency, the slayers' r
The palace was abruptly plunged into turmoil. In the blink of an eye, the tranquil atmosphere was shattered like an image on glass, as a harried messenger, fleeing from the worship grounds, burst into the palace courtyard on horseback. His disheveled appearance betrayed the urgency of his mission. Tattered robes clung to his dust-covered frame, and the straps of his garment hung limp, caked with sand and grime. The messenger's frantic demeanor commanded urgent attention, but the palace guards barred his entry. Protocol dictated that no individual bearing tidings of woe, clad in attire deemed unseemly, be permitted to enter the palace walls. The guards' firm stance, though unwavering, was tempered by a hint of curiosity, as they eyed the messenger's bedraggled form with a mixture of suspicion and annoyance. Even their eyes didn't take fondness for mourners. They scrutinized the unkempt man, they noticed the lacerations on his skin, his eyes wide with terror, and the beads of sw
Samarth rode forth on his steed, accompanied by a contingent of his men. The earth trembled beneath the pounding hooves. Their mission was to pursue the fleeing princess and her entourage, while the king and his family remained captive under Raj's watchful eye. The scorching sunlight beat down relentlessly, withering the plants that clung to the rocky terrain. The horses' iron-shod hooves trampled the parched vegetation without mercy.As Samarth ascended the mountain path, a messenger brought tidings that the princess, accompanied by her loyal bodyguard Kumar, had taken the winding route through the valleys of Kamalini. Renowned for their mystical beauty, these valleys were home to flowers that bloomed under the silvery light of the moon, only to close their delicate petals with the dawn's first rays. The shadows cast by the towering cliffs infused the valley with the heady scent of musk, rich earth, and dew-kissed petals and leaves, creating an enchanting aroma that filled the air
Princess Inayat was forcibly reduced to her knees, her wrists bound behind her back. Her knees hit the rocky ground, her robe rustled, stirring the dust around her. A faint cry escaped her lips, but her jaw remained clenched, resolving not to betray her vulnerability. However, the sight of her father, battered and bruised before her, threatened to undo her composure. The men of Samarth had clearly subjected him to brutal treatment during his attempted rescue of Inayat. Behind her, Kumar and their comrades lay captive, their eyes fixed on Inayat and the royal family with a mix of concern and despair."Inayat," her father whispered, his voice barely audible. His lips, swollen and split, curved into a gentle, loving smile, one that only Inayat could discern."Father," Inayat replied, her voice trembling as tears welled up in her eyes. Her heart quivered, like a bird frantically beating its wings against the confines of its cage. She gazed at her family, and the reality of their dire
Samarth's eyes, cold and blazing, darted around the chaos of the battlefield. The wedding grounds had become a warfront. Screams pierced the air, steel clashed against steel, and blood painted the floor once gilded for celebration. He turned from Sabrina with a snarl curling his lips. Without waiting, he rushed through the courtyard, his boots splashing into pools of blood and shattered petals. His guards closed around him, forming a protective shield as he mounted his horse with practiced precision. "Protect him!" Veer’s voice echoed as he engaged in fierce combat, his blade a silver blur, felling enemies two at a time. Samarth kicked into his horse's sides, surging forward with fury burning in his chest. Inayat. Aabroo. The image of them being hunted sickened him. Behind him, a dozen riders followed, their faces resolute, blades drawn. Sabrina, seeing his retreat, bellowed to her army, "Kill the rest. Let none remain!" Her voice was venom and vengeance. The tide surged against t
The day of the wedding dawned like a benediction from the heavens. The sun rose slowly, gilding the spires of the palace in soft gold, casting a warm glow over the bustling kingdom. The air was fragrant with fresh marigolds and rose petals, and the palace echoed with joyful voices, music, and the sounds of celebration. The hearts of the people beat with anticipation, for it was not merely the union of a king and his bride — it was the binding of two destinies, sanctified by faith and the will of God.From the upper balconies to the vast courtyards, all was adorned. Silk banners of ivory and crimson swayed in the breeze. Draperies stitched with threads of gold whispered against the marbled walls. Lamps flickered in readiness to be lit at dusk, casting soft glimmers upon the polished stone floors. The scent of incense and jasmine floated in the corridors as nobles and commoners alike readied themselves for a wedding that would be etched in memory for generations.Within her chamber, Ina
The desert wind was calm that morning, brushing softly over the golden sands as the sun began its slow rise beyond the dunes. The palace gates, tall and majestic, opened with a quiet groan, revealing a caravan waiting under the pearl-gray sky. Camels stood adorned in fine cloth and gold-tasselled harnesses, their hooves shifting gently on the stone-paved courtyard. The guards stood in rows, their spears gleaming with polished steel, their eyes scanning the horizon with quiet vigilance.Inayat emerged first, dressed in a layered ensemble of ivory and peach, her head lightly veiled, golden embroidery catching the morning light. Her delicate anklets jingled softly as she walked toward the lead camel. Samarth followed, his sherwani a rich cream, bordered with gold thread, a soft white shawl resting on his shoulder. His presence was commanding yet serene, and his gaze found her as naturally as breath finds the chest.They mounted their camels, Inayat with practiced grace, Samarth steady be
The great hall had long gone quiet. The last echoes of music had faded down the corridors, and the petals that once rained upon her now rested on the cold marble, fragrant and still. But in the solitude of her chamber, Inayat lay curled upon her soft, brocade-covered bed, the warmth of celebration still glowing inside her heart.Her cheek pressed gently against a silk pillow, arms folded around it like it might float away if she didn’t hold on. Her eyes, soft and filled with starlight, remained fixed on the delicate ring wrapped around her finger. The pearl gleamed faintly in the dim glow of the single standing lamp beside her bed. It was gentle and elegant, like everything she had ever dreamed of.She stared at it, unmoving, but her mind was alive with memory.She could still feel it: his gaze. How he had looked at her in that moment. How his eyes never once left her face even as petals fell and music roared. It had been more than a gaze — it was devotion, offered wordlessly. Not the
The palace was draped in splendor, touched by the hands of artful decorators and blooming with the essence of joy. Silken banners fluttered from grand arches, embroidered in gold thread with the twin emblems of House Samarth and House Inayat. The royal hall, usually a place of counsel and command, had transformed into a sanctum of celebration. Candle chandeliers hung like floating stars, scattering their golden light over polished marble floors that reflected the excitement of the day.Every inch of space below was filled with noblemen, ambassadors, emissaries from afar, commanders, sages, and friends of the kingdom. Laughter echoed against high ceilings, blending with the distant music of flutes and harp strings. Above, on every balcony and gallery, more guests leaned against the carved railings, craning to witness what had drawn such fervor — a union the kingdom had longed for.Two priests in white and gold robes stepped forward to the center stage, where a great circular platform h
The sunlight was mellow that morning, filtered through carved jharokhas and falling in soft golden squares upon the polished marble floor. The chamber designated for the king's fitting had been transformed into a vibrant workspace. Bolts of fabric in every hue imaginable lay neatly folded on low teakwood tables, while ornate designs of embroidery were pinned across scrolls of parchment hanging against the walls. The scent of freshly brewed spiced tea lingered in the air.Samarth stood tall at the center, stripped down to a fine muslin undershirt and loose cotton trousers, the chill of the cold season barely bothering him. Around him were his closest men — Raj, the General Commander, tall and ever sharp-eyed; Veer, the tactician with a penchant for jokes; and three council ministers who had stood beside him in countless matters: Vaibhav, Amar, and Kshitij.A lean, graceful man in his late forties circled the king with a measuring tape. The master of textiles and tailoring, a famed Vast
The moon spilled its silver warmth over the palace gardens, painting the world in gentle light and shadows. The fragrance of night-blooming jasmine floated up from below, and the quiet rustle of the breeze through the silk curtains gave the air a kind of hush, like the night itself was listening. Inayat stepped into Samarth’s private chamber, her anklets chiming softly beneath the folds of her pale blue skirt. The room was bathed in warm amber light from the brass lanterns hung above. A scroll lay half-unrolled on the polished wooden table, abandoned. Samarth stood near the window, his dark silhouette drawn against the moon.She paused a moment, smiling quietly to herself before calling gently, "You look like you’re about to leap out of that window."Samarth turned, and the usual weight in his eyes lifted just a little. "If I did, would you come catch me?""No," she replied at once, walking toward him, "but I’d probably climb down and pull you back by the ear."He chuckled, stepping
The afternoon sun filtered through the carved jharokhas, casting a delicate mosaic of gold and shadow upon the marble floor of the palace’s bridal chamber. The scent of rosewater lingered in the air, mingling with the subtle sweetness of sandalwood oil and fresh jasmine garlands that had been strung up along the lattice windows.Inside the room, laughter rang like bells.Inayat sat cross-legged on a thick silken rug, her maroon skirt pooling around her like a blooming flower. Her dupatta, sheer and embroidered with silver vines, was pinned loosely atop her head, the ends cascading over her shoulder. Around her sat her trusted women — Ridhima and Leela, their eyes sparkling with mischief — while across from her, a group of skilled women from the royal atelier prepared lengths of exquisite fabric on low tables.Swatches of fabric spilled in gentle waves: ivory muslin embroidered with gold threads, pale blush silks with silver zari, delicate organzas dyed in hues of rose, almond, and cha
The golden light of early dusk filtered through the carved jharokhas, scattering intricate patterns across the marble floor. Inayat reclined gracefully against the cushioned settee, her silken robe shimmering with subtle embroidery, hair loosely braided and threaded with pearls. Aabroo sat beside her, her hand loosely folded into hers, and on the rug before them, Leela and Ridhima lounged like blooming lilies, laughter bubbling softly between them.The sound of anklets jingled as Leela stirred the contents of a small brass bowl beside her — an ointment she was making, grinding crushed herbs with steady fingers stained green. Ridhima, meanwhile, was braiding a thin garland of jasmine, the scent lifting like incense in the air.“You’re going to be Queen,” Ridhima said suddenly, teasing spark in her eye. “Just like that. One night and the heavens have shifted.”Leela chuckled. “What enchantment did you use, my lady? A glance? A touch? Or simply your silence? He was smitten like a deer ca