The sun rose pale and uncertain over the sandstone walls of Udayagarh, as though even the heavens hesitated to look directly upon the gathering storm. The palace awoke slowly, servants padding down corridors with brass lotas, the scent of incense drifting like fragile threads through latticed windows. But within the private chambers of the Yuvrani, the morning light seemed heavy, not bright — thick with unspoken fears and hidden truths.
Anushka Devi woke with nausea gripping her like a fist.
It had become familiar in recent days — the sudden rolling wave, the metallic taste, the trembling hands gripping the edge of the bed as her world tilted. She pressed a palm over her abdomen, fingers trembling. Again… It was becoming impossible to deny now. Her cycles had stopped. Her body spoke before she was ready to listen.
She was carrying Samrat Veer Singh's child.
And no one could know.
A soft knock sounded at the door. "Yuvrani-sa? The attendants wait." It was Meera, her most trusted maid, concerned warmth in her voice. "The Council of Nobles convenes today. The Prince Samrat has already gone to the Sabha Hall."
The words struck like thunder. She was meant to be there — Regent in all but name, the one whose presence calmed factions and steadied nobles drunk on ambition. But the room spun again. She forced herself upright, and darkness crowded her vision in bursts of gold and black. Cold sweat gathered at her temples.
Not today.
She swallowed, closing her eyes. She could picture the council chamber clearly: banners, the marble floor, the heavy scent of sandalwood oil lamps, the eyes of every noble watching her — weighing her strength, waiting for cracks. Rumors of her closeness to the Maharaja, of the night of consummation whispered like buzzing flies through the palace. And now… if word of pregnancy escaped…
Her hand curled protectively around what she could not yet see.
If they discover this, I will become nothing but a womb to them. A vessel. A means to claim power over the future heir.
Her decision hardened like steel.
She would not tell Samrat Veer Singh. Not yet. Not until she knew whether she could protect both the throne and the life growing within her. The thought hurt — hiding truth from the man whose touch still warmed her dreams — but she had learned in this palace that love was not fragile silk. It was armor and wound both.
There came the nausea again — harsh, sudden. She barely reached the basin.
Meera rushed forward. "Yuvrani-sa! Shall I call the royal physician?"
"No." The refusal was instant, sharp enough to cut the air itself.
Meera froze. "But—"
"No physicians," Anushka repeated more quietly, breathing slowly to steady herself. "They gossip in whispers. Their wives gossip louder. Their servants gossip loudest of all."
Meera bowed her head, chastened. "As you command, Yuvrani-sa."
Anushka wiped her lips, composed herself, and forced calm onto her features like donning armor. "Tell them I am unwell and confined to chambers. Nothing more."
"And the Council?"
Her heart clenched.
The Council meant politics — old men with jeweled turbans and greying mustaches, each convinced himself indispensable, each hungry for regency, each thinking he could mold the state in his own shadow while the Maharaja struggled beneath illness and collapse.
They already doubted her place. Doubted her youth. Doubted her intelligence.
Some still doubted her loyalty despite the blade she had taken to save the Queen Regent.
If she did not appear today, whispers would grow teeth.
But the child…
Her voice came soft but resolute. "I will not attend."
Meera hesitated only a second before nodding. "Your will is law, Yuvrani-sa."
Anushka turned away so the girl would not see the tears she refused to shed.
The Council Gathers
The Sabha Hall breathed power.
Pillars wrapped in golden carvings of elephants and lotus flowers reached high into vaulted ceilings. Nobles sat in arcs, turbans like colored waves, jewels glinting beneath lamplight. At the center seat, slightly elevated, sat Samrat Veer Singh — not just king but storm contained in flesh.
But he did not sit easily.
His eyes, sharp and searching, flickered to the empty place beside him prepared for the Yuvrani. The brocade cushion remained undisturbed, the silver water cup untouched.
She was not here.
A furrow creased his brow. She never misses council. Not unless…
The memory of her faint pallor that morning crept back. The way her hand had drifted unconsciously toward her abdomen when she thought no one was watching. He had opened his mouth to ask, but duty called him away. Now unease gnawed at him.
A noble cleared his throat — thick, self-satisfied — cutting into his thought.
"Since Her Highness the Yuvrani appears to be… indisposed," drawled Thakur Ajay Singh, thin eyes glinting beneath his green turban, "perhaps it is time we discuss whether her presence in state affairs has been… overstated."
Murmurs rippled like wind across dry grass.
Another noble added, "Her absence today suggests frailty. The regency must be strong."
Samrat Veer Singh's gaze hardened, voice cutting through whispers like a blade.
"Choose your words with care."
Silence fell at once.
Yet beneath silence, ambition swirled like monsoon currents. The Maharaja had collapsed days earlier. Though recovered somewhat, every noble saw mortality in his still-pale complexion. Power smelled close — close enough to taste. The question clawed at them:
Who would truly rule if the Maharaja weakened again?
The Queen Regent?
The Council?
Anushka?
Or those who schemed louder than they prayed?
Anushka's Chamber — Decision
Anushka sat at the jharokha window, watching pigeons swirl above the courtyard. Voices floated faintly from distant corridors — council heralds, armed guards, the murmured music of palace life untouched by her inner storm.
She pressed fingers into her temples.
Her body ached with exhaustion. Her heart ached with something far deeper — the knowledge she was walking a path both sacred and terribly lonely. She whispered into the stillness:
"Little one… forgive me. I must protect you by silence."
Her mother's voice from memory rose like a ghost: A queen protects with words she never speaks.
She closed her eyes.
She chose secrecy.
Back to the Council
Arguments burst like sparks.
"The treasury requires oversight!"
"The British trade caravan demands terms."
"The Maharaja's health needs regency!"
At last the Queen Regent herself spoke — power wrapped in silk, eyes sharp as kestrels.
"Regency shall not be decided by hungry tongues," she said calmly. "Nor by those who mistake patience for weakness."
Her gaze rested meaningfully on Ajay Singh.
He dropped his eyes.
Still… she too noticed the absence of Anushka, and something troubled her — not distrust now, but an intuition honed by decades in the labyrinth of power. The girl who threw herself before a blade was not one to hide without cause.
Samrat Veer Singh spoke again, voice resonant.
"The Yuvrani is unwell. She will return when strength permits. The council will proceed without questioning her loyalty or capacity."
He meant to end the matter.
But whispers would not be contained. They slithered into corners, gathered in tapestries, ran like veins beneath the floor. Rumors: pregnancy, faintness, private secrets. The palace had ears even where there were no walls.
Anushka Refuses the Physician
By midday her nausea worsened.
Meera wrung her hands. "Please, Yuvrani-sa, let them at least bring herbal healers—"
"No royal physicians," Anushka replied without hesitation. "No blood tests. No pulse charts. No whispers to courtiers."
"Then… are you—" Meera dared to ask.
Anushka lifted her gaze.
Their eyes met and the truth passed silently between them like a sacred flame.
Meera gasped very softly. "Mata Saraswati protect you…"
Anushka's voice trembled though her resolve did not. "No one must know. Not the Queen Regent. Not the council. Not even… him."
Speaking of Veer Singh hurt like a blade pressed slow.
"But he is the father," Meera whispered.
"Yes," Anushka breathed, pressing palm to her stomach. "Which is why his enemies must never see this child as weapon or threat while it is still only hope beneath my heart."
She turned her face slightly toward the courtyard where Veer Singh's banner snapped in the breeze.
One day I will tell you, Veer… but not yet. Not while knives still travel smiling, and poison travels in goblets, and loyalty is weighed in coins.
She straightened despite the pain. She would endure. She was queen—regent or not by title—and she would not crumble.
Council Outcome
Hours later, the council ended not with triumph but with truce.
They postponed regency evaluation.
They negotiated with the British trade caravan delegation.
They agreed to reinforce borders.
But beneath all official proclamations pulsed a deeper realization:
Power was shifting.
Samrat Veer Singh left the hall with jaw clenched and thoughts far away.
He did not walk toward the council rooms, nor toward the royal court.
He went to her.
Veer Singh and Anushka
He pushed open the carved doors quietly.
She stood out on the balcony now, wind teasing strands of her hair loose from her braid. For a moment he said nothing, only watched, chest tight with something unnamed. She turned — startled — and color drained from her face too fast.
"You should be resting," he said gently, voice low.
She forced a smile. "And you should be ruling instead of worrying about me."
"I cannot do one without the other," he replied simply.
Silence bloomed. Heavy. Intimate. Almost dangerous.
He stepped closer.
"You were ill this morning. Now the council told me you would not attend. And your hands shake when you think I am not watching." His brows softened. "What is wrong, Anushka?"
Her throat closed.
Say it, part of her whispered.
Do not, another part commanded — the part raised amidst daggers wrapped in velvet.
"I am only tired," she said instead, the lie delicate but deliberate. "There has been… much lately. The Maharaja's collapse. The regency question. The festival and its preparations."
His fingers grazed her wrist. Warm. Steady.
"You do not have to carry everything alone."
She wanted to fall into that warmth, confess, let him shield her. But she saw, too vividly, enemies prying open truth like cracking a pomegranate to count seeds.
So she smiled and lied again. "I will be fine."
He did not believe her.
But he loved her enough not to press — not yet. He kissed her forehead instead, lingering, and something inside her ached with tenderness so sharp it nearly undid her.
Nightfall — Anushka's Resolve
That night, alone beneath the flickering lamp, she wrote in her private diary — one no spy would ever find.
"Today they gathered to decide the fate of power. I could not be there.Not because I am weak — but because I am no longer only myself.I carry life and must guard it from the claws of ambition.One day they will call this child heir, blessing, or threat.Tonight it is only mine.And I will not let the world devour it."
She closed the journal and tucked it beneath her pillow as sleep finally crept in.
Outside, the palace slept.
Inside, history turned like a tide.
News in a palace does not walk.It runs barefoot.
By evening, the women's wing buzzed like a disturbed hive. Courtiers' wives whispered behind jeweled hands, anklets chiming softly as they leaned closer over trays of betel leaf.
"The Yuvrani did not attend the Council…"
"She has been faint these past days…"
"She does not eat much… only certain foods…"
"She refuses the court physicians…"
Each phrase carried the smoke of speculation.
Some voices were sharp with envy.
"A girl becomes Yuvrani and now thinks herself above tradition."
Others softened with hope.
"Perhaps there will be an heir soon," whispered one, eyes shining.
But one voice — soft, thin-lipped — held venom.
"Or perhaps she hides guilt. She draws too close to power. A throne without an heir is fragile, but a pregnant queen becomes… indispensable." The speaker smiled slowly. "Indispensable queens have a way of disappearing."
The words hung in the air like poison incense.
Behind a lattice screen, an older attendant heard — and her heart tightened with fear for the young Yuvrani she had grown to love.
The Queen Regent's Thoughts
The Queen Regent sat alone long after the Council dissolved, the lamps throwing long shadows across her face. She had ruled through famine and war, births and burials. She had known women destroyed by court politics — and women who mastered it.
Her thoughts turned again and again to Anushka.
The girl had courage — proof carved in the scar where a blade meant for the Regent had kissed her skin instead. She had intelligence, fierce and swift. And she had love — for Veer Singh, for the people, for the kingdom — love that frightened the Regent more than hatred ever could, because love made people take dangerous risks.
"Why did you not come today?" she murmured into the silence.
A memory flickered — the slight tremor of Anushka's hand days before, her pallor beneath the jewels, the way she pressed her palm against her abdomen as if guarding a secret.
The Regent's eyes widened just a fraction.
"So… that is it," she whispered.
Not anger — not even surprise — touched her voice.
Only the old, weary weight of understanding history repeating itself.
A child.An heir.A blessing.A weapon.
She leaned back slowly.
"If she is with child, the palace will become a battlefield."
And yet… she felt something like pride too.
"This girl came into the palace as flame," the Queen Regent thought. "Now she becomes the hearth."
But she would not confront the Yuvrani. Not yet. Not until certainty replaced intuition. Not until she knew which enemies already scented blood in the water.
Samrat Veer Singh — Alone With His Thoughts
Samrat Veer Singh returned to his chamber late. He dismissed guards and attendants with a flick of his hand. The silence that followed pressed around him like a second cloak.
He poured water from a silver jug, but did not drink.
His thoughts were all of her.
She is hiding something.
Not political strategy — he knew those masks well. Not anger — she did not push him away with sharp words. It was something deeper. Vulnerability. A new distance wrapped in tenderness, not coldness, as though she were protecting him from something even as she leaned toward him in love.
He remembered her laughter at the festival of Ganapati. Her tears at his father's collapse. The way she had looked at him the night they truly became husband and wife — not like a king, not like a savior, but like a man she had chosen.
His chest ached with a strange fear.
"What are you enduring alone, Anushka?" he whispered.
And beneath that fear, unspoken but shimmering like light beneath water.
He blew out the lamp and closed his eyes.
Sleep came late.
Nightmare and Vow
Anushka dreamed of flames.
She stood in the Sabha Hall holding a child swaddled in silk. Nobles circled like vultures, their jewels catching firelight, their smiles wrong — too thin, too sharp. A hand reached from the crowd and tore the child away. Another hand placed a crown on its tiny head.
Then a sword flashed.
She woke with a gasp, hand clutching her stomach, breath shuddering through her.
"No," she whispered fiercely into the darkness. "As long as I breathe, no blade, no poison, no plot will touch you."
She pressed her palm flat over the small, secret swell that did not yet exist but already felt real as bone and blood.
"I will protect you even if the whole world calls me selfish."
Her resolve sealed like iron.
The Morning After
By dawn, decisions were already working their consequences.
A messenger came from the Council chambers requesting confirmation of her health.
She replied through Meera:
"Tell them I require rest. I will not be examined."
Her words were polite.
Her tone was not negotiable.
The message rippled outward. Some nobles scoffed. Some smirked knowingly. Some sharpened their ambitions. Some prayed quietly in temples, for they sensed fate turning.
Samrat Veer Singh heard too.
He said nothing publicly.
Privately his heart pounded.
A Palace Between Two Secrets
From the outside, the day looked ordinary.
Elephants were bathed near the river.Scribes copied decrees.The British envoys inspected goods.Priests recited Sanskrit hymns in the dawn.
But beneath routine, something had shifted.
The Maharaja was uncertain.
Regency loomed.
The Yuvrani hid illness — or something more.
Nobles prepared moves as if the court were a game board carved from ivory.
The Queen Regent watched all of it with eyes that missed nothing.
And in her room, Anushka sat beside the window again, a soft shawl around her shoulders, the nausea fading for now. The world outside the palace shimmered in heat — bazaars waking, children laughing, temple bells calling the faithful to morningshot prayers.
She rested both hands upon her abdomen and finally allowed herself to smile.
A small smile.A secret smile.A dangerous smile.
"Live," she whispered to the unseen life. "Grow. I will fight the world for you."
Closing Movement of the Chapter
By evening, word of the Council's tension had reached even the city streets. Merchants speculated. Sadhus muttered prophecies. Women drawing water at wells exchanged theories of queens and heirs and regents between giggles and gasps.
But in the palace, the fabric of destiny was weaving more tightly.
The Council of Nobles had not resolved the question of power. It had awakened it.
Samrat Veer Singh stood at the balcony of his private quarters, staring across the city he loved, unaware that fate had already entered his life in the quiet pulse beneath Anushka's heart.
The Queen Regent counted both enemies and allies in her mind.
The nobles sharpened plans.
Anushka wrote one final line in her diary before extinguishing the lamp:
"They will call this absence weakness.Let them.I know what I carry — both child and future."