บททั้งหมดของ The Rule: บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

The sun had barely risen above the sandstone ridges of Tziyonia when the first trumpet call rang through the eastern gates. A long, golden note, echoing down into the city’s heart, stirred the air like prophecy. With it came heralds in royal blue and silver, their steeds dusted with travel, banners gleaming under morning light.By mid-morning, the kingdom had shifted. Market women paused their counting; armorers stood straight at their anvils. The very stones of the streets seemed to hum with the weight of announcement. At every intersection and courtly corridor, voices rang loud and jubilant:“By royal decree, a feast in the king’s honor!”“All noble houses are summoned to prepare their fairest daughters!”“Let the daughters of Tziyonia and distant lands present themselves in splendor — for the eye of the king shall look among them.”The city’s pulse quickened. Seamstresses were summoned before breakfast had settled. Silk merchants saw their stalls stormed. Jewels were polished until

Night draped itself over the palace like a velvet shawl, the corridors hushed in reverence for the hour. In Inayat’s chamber, silence reigned — gentle and untouched — as if the stars themselves held their breath. The breeze of the waning year slipped through the open lattice, stirring the gossamer curtains and dancing with the perfume of sandalwood and rose that lingered faintly in the air.Inayat sat before her mirror, quietly unclasping her bangles. Each one gave a soft chime as it slid down her wrist, stacking beside the others on a silk cloth. Her golden blouse clung to her frame, the dark green of her saree pooling softly around her like a garden at twilight. There was no rush in her hands, no nervous tremble — just the quiet contentment of a long evening finally put to rest.The door creaked open behind her.She didn’t turn immediately. She knew the sound of that step — the measured, sure rhythm that carried the weight of a king and the heart of a man. Samarth entered, closin

Night had woven its silken veil across the kingdom, and within the warm amber light of the palace’s grand dining hall, King Samarth sat at the head of a long, embellished table. Gold-rimmed goblets gleamed under the chandeliers’ soft flicker, and silver plates reflected the glow of brass oil lamps. Servants moved noiselessly, placing the last courses before the royals and ministers gathered.Tonight, Inayat was absent. Again. So was Aabroo, Samarth’s young sister, who had sweetly requested to dine with Inayat instead. The king, as usual, had smiled and nodded, indulgent of her affection.Now the chairs were filled with the prominent officials of the court, their murmurs gentle under the clinking of cutlery. Among them sat Lord William, the man who had orchestrated the grand feast just days ago — a spectacle of splendour that had drawn noble houses, princesses from neighbouring lands, and esteemed merchants under one roof.Samarth leaned slightly forward in his seat, his voice calm,

The world around her shimmered with an unfamiliar hue — neither memory nor waking reality. Inayat stood in a place she had never known, yet something in her soul felt tethered to it, as though she had been summoned not by accident but by love. The sky above her stretched vast and unbroken, blue like the lapis of old scriptures, brushed lightly with golden sun. The ground beneath her was velvet with grass, speckled in wildflowers that danced gently in the breeze. It was not the palace garden. It was not anywhere she could name. But it was beautiful.And there, under the shimmer of light and shade, was a child. He ran barefoot, chasing butterflies. His laugh was high, innocent, the very sound of joy unfettered. His golden curls bounced on his head as he stumbled across the grass, cheeks flushed, lips parting in a delighted gasp every time he came close to catching one of the winged creatures.Inayat watched, her lips curling into a smile. Her hands clasped softly before her, but her

The night had settled heavily over the palace, its stillness pierced only by the flickering torches and the whispers of dread carried by the wind. Inside, silence did not bring calm — it brought fear. The court still buzzed with unanswered questions and shadowed glances, and beyond the walls of the king's private chamber, a storm of hearts waited in despair.From the far end of the corridor came the sound of hurried steps. Aabroo — little, tender, and shaken — burst through the hallway, her sobs echoing against the marble. Her hair fell loose from its braid, her cheeks flushed and wet with tears."Move aside!" she cried out, pushing through the startled guards and ministers. "Let me through! I want to see my brother! Please! I want to see him!"Gasps fell from the lips of many present, and the crowd parted like the tide before her broken wail. But before she could press past the heavy doors of Samarth’s chamber, Raj appeared. His expression bore both sorrow and patience, and he knelt