The dawn that broke over Rajgarh was not gentle.
It arrived sharp and assertive, burning away the veils of lingering mist over the fort walls and startling flocks of mynas into sudden flight. Sunlight poured across the sandstone domes and mirror-worked balconies until they glowed like embers. Even the river at the edge of the city reflected light like a drawn blade.
The kingdom seemed to awaken with a single thought:
The future was no longer waiting.The future had arrived wearing the face of Samrat Veer Singh.
The King lay ill, watched by incense and prayer. The Queen Regent stood like an unyielding pillar before the court. But the one whom people whispered about in the markets, in the barracks, and in tents of caravan traders… was the Crown Prince.
A Crown He Never Asked For — And Could Not Refuse
Veer Singh rose before the call of the temple bells.
He did not expect sleep to come easily anymore. His dreams were fields of smoke and marching soldiers, his father's fading voice, his mother's sorrowful gaze, the British envoy's cold smile, and — woven through each vision like a shining thread — the face of Anushka.
He stood on the palace terrace alone, bareheaded, arms folded behind his back.
From here, Rajgarh opened beneath him like a living map:
the clustered roofs of the old town
caravans entering the main road
the river like molten silver
mountains purple and distant
the fortress walls circling all like clasped fingers
He did not see stone and sand.
He saw responsibility.
Every cry, every hunger, every soldier who bled — their lives ran through his heart.
His wounds from the attack days earlier still throbbed beneath the bandage. His mother had raged quietly at the risk he took. The council had scolded him for stepping in harms' way. But the only face he remembered clearly from that moment was Anushka's as she cried over him — the first time he had ever seen her break openly.
Her tears had awakened something dangerous in him:
resolve sharpened into ambition.
Not ambition for luxury.
Not ambition for tyranny.
But ambition for sovereignty — to shape Rajgarh's fate before foreign hands did.
He whispered to the dawn,
"I will not be a puppet regent. I will be a ruler worthy of this land."
A footstep sounded softly behind him.
"Talking to the sun again?" came a familiar voice.
It was Aditya Pratap Singh, his younger brother — swordsman, hot-blooded, loyal beyond measure. He came to stand beside him, leaning upon the parapet.
"You haven't slept," Aditya observed.
"Nor have you," Veer replied dryly.
Aditya grinned. "Someone must keep track of assassins, jealous nobles, and scheming British envoys when the future Maharaja prefers to stand and glare dramatically at the horizon."
Veer snorted despite himself.
"You mock me now. One day you will kneel."
Aditya bowed in exaggerated fashion. "Oh, I kneel already, brother. But I prefer to do it with commentary."
The humor faded slowly into silence, then Aditya spoke more quietly.
"You mean to rule soon, don't you?"
The question hung heavy.
Veer did not answer quickly — because ambition was not just desire. It was confession.
"Yes," he said finally. "If father recovers fully, I will serve him to his last breath. But if he cannot… Rajgarh needs one voice. Not factions. Not foreign dictation. Mine."
Aditya studied him — then nodded once.
"Then I stand with you."
Veer's jaw tightened. "Standing with me may mean bleeding with me."
Aditya's smile was all iron. "Then let the enemy learn how much Pratap Singh blood the gods poured into us."
They stayed together until the sun ascended above the pink palace domes.
Brothers.
Warriors.
Pieces of destiny falling into line.
The Queen Regent Tests Her Son
The Regent Queen summoned him.
Her private audience chamber was cool despite the rising heat of the day. Thick curtains filtered sunlight into pearls of brightness. She sat upright, dignity carved into the lines of her face, wearing simple white shot with gold thread — a widow's discipline already anticipating her king's end.
"Sit," she commanded.
Veer obeyed.
She studied him long without speaking — as only mothers and monarchs could — peeling back layers of composure, anger, fatigue, and love.
"You are changing," she said at last.
"So is Rajgarh," he replied.
Her fingers tightened upon the armrest. "Ambition lives in your eyes. I once saw that same flame in your father when he was your age. Flames warm kingdoms… or burn them."
His voice did not rise. "Then let us learn where to build hearths and where to burn weeds."
A hint of a sharp smile ghosted across her lips before vanishing.
"You would challenge the nobles?"
"If they challenge Rajgarh."
"You would defy British requests for more trade concessions?"
"If they insult Rajgarh."
"You would command armies if needed?"
He didn't hesitate. "Yes."
The Regent Queen's gaze softened just enough to reveal the mother behind the iron mask.
"Then know, my son, what ambition costs," she whispered. "It devours sleep. It takes lovers from their lovers. It stains hands and leaves hearts lonely among crowds that cheer them."
Veer thought of Anushka's tears.
Of her gentle smile in moonlight.
Of the way she hid some inner storm from him.
"I do not fear the cost," he said quietly. "I fear the price of inaction more."
The Regent nodded slowly — proud, afraid.
"Then prove yourself," she said.
"How?"
Her eyes gleamed.
"Win the army."
The Generals Watch the Heir
Rajgarh's generals were not easily impressed.
They were men who had spent decades beneath sun, dust, and arrow rain. Their bodies bore scars like constellations. Their voices carried authority hard-earned from battlefields whose names students recited with reverence.
When Veer entered the military courtyard that afternoon, they looked at him not as a prince, but as a candidate claiming leadership of men who die.
He wore no jeweled crown.
No delicate cloth.
Only plain white cotton and a sword at his hip.
He bowed once, not too deeply.
"I stand before you not as the Queen Regent's son," he declared, voice steady, "but as the commander who will one day ask you to ride with me into danger."
A murmur ran through the ranks.
General Rana, oldest among them and feared by cadets like a legend, stepped forward.
"Words are wind," he said. "Steel speaks."
Veer nodded.
Swords clashed.
They did not treat him gently.
No one pulled blows for a prince seeking dominance.
Dust rose in spirals under their feet.
Sweat ran down his spine.
The wound on his shoulder screamed protest.
But ambition burned hotter.
He disarmed the first general through endurance.
The second through speed.
The third through clever feint.
At last, breathing hard but still upright, he lowered his blade to his side.
"I do not command you by blood alone," he said. "I command you because I will not send you anywhere I myself will not go."
The courtyard, hardened and cynical, burst into thunderous salute.
The army had felt his conviction.
And Veer knew:
A ruler with soldiers behind him was iron.
A ruler without them was glass.
A Private Thought He Dared Not Speak
That night,
silence returned to his chamber.
Oil lamps flickered.
Maps lay sprawled across the table:
routes of caravans,
British factory posts,
Rajgarh hill fortresses,
the fragile veins of irrigation canals.
He traced borders with his finger.
His ambition whispered:
Unify the feuding nobles.Break the foreign noose tightening around trade.Reform taxation.Strengthen the army.Build schools.Guard heritage.Rule.
Then another whisper wound through the first:
And do it with her beside you.
He saw Anushka in memory:
smiling beneath wedding torches,
standing proud as Yuvrani,
holding peasants' petitions with sincerity,
crying openly when he bled.
His jaw tightened.
"I need you beside me, Anushka," he murmured to the empty chamber."I need your mind. Your strength. Your heart."
He did not know she was hiding pregnancy.
He did not know she planned to leave before four moons.
Ambition filled him —
but fate waited to break his heart,
as all kings are broken before crowning.
Anushka Sees His Burden
Later that night, when palace corridors quieted and courtiers retreated to their rooms, Anushka walked to the balcony that connected their chambers.
She had meant only to breathe night air.
Instead she found him there,
head bowed over maps,
face flushed with intensity,
eyes alive with thought.
Something inside her suffocated.
He was planning a kingdom — shaping futures — not knowing one was already forming silently beneath her waist.
Her hand drifted unconsciously to her abdomen.
"My Samrat…" she whispered in her mind. "Your ambition is fire. How will you bear the knowledge that I must leave before four moons pass?"
She stepped forward.
He looked up instantly — as if he always sensed when she entered a room.
"You should sleep," he said softly.
"You should listen to your own advice," she replied, equally soft.
He smiled faintly and gestured her closer.
She joined him over the map-covered desk. He pointed.
"Here," he said, tapping mountain passes, "we strengthen forts."
"Here," tapping caravans, "we tax fairly and eliminate corrupt collectors."
"Here," touching British factories along the river, "we renegotiate — from strength, not submission."
She watched him,
pride and sorrow mingling painfully.
"You will be a great king," she said.
He turned to her,
expression raw enough to strip away titles.
"Not without you."
For a heartbeat she leaned into his side,
resting her head lightly against his uninjured shoulder.
Her eyes burned.
Because there is nothing more cruel than loving a man whose dream is a future that fate intends to tear apart.
Ambition Meets Shadow — The Benefactor Intervenes
News reached him days later:
supplies had reached drought villages,
prisoners unjustly detained had been released,
noble bribes had failed inexplicably,
some spies were mysteriously neutralized,
peasants whispered blessings to a secret protector:
The Benefactor.
Veer frowned over the reports.
The shadow figure again. Always one step ahead of crisis. Always appearing where suffering was deepest. Always hidden.
Admiration stirred unwantedly in him — and suspicion.
"Whoever this Benefactor is," he said to Aditya, "they understand Rajgarh's veins better than many sitting in council."
"Or they are manipulating those veins for their own ends," Aditya countered.
Veer's ambition sharpened.
"I will find them," he vowed. "They do good… but power in shadows unnerves me."
Far away below palace towers,
Anushka listened from a veiled gallery.
Her heart hammered.
To be discovered meant unraveling everything:
her letters,
her secret envoy network,
her pregnancy,
her plans to leave.
Yet as he spoke, she heard no cruelty in his tone — only curiosity and frustrated admiration.
"He will learn one day," she whispered. "May it not be the day he bleeds for my sake again."
The Speech That Changed Rajgarh
The court assembled.
Nobles wore jewels bright enough to blind.
Priests chanted.
British faces waited coldly like statues carved from imported stone.
Veer stepped forward.
This was not battle — but battle of words — and ambition sharpened language like sword edge.
He spoke without hesitation.
"Rajgarh stands at a turning," he declared. "My father's health fails. My mother bears burdens beyond mortal measure. Yet we remain not children waiting to be ruled — but a people capable of shaping destiny."
Murmurs surged.
"To the nobles," he continued, gaze slicing through them, "I offer partnership — not parasitic privilege. Serve the kingdom and prosper. Drain it — and you will find my patience short."
Some stiffened, others bowed.
"To the British Envoy," he went on calmly, "we welcome friendship, trade, respect between equals. But Rajgarh will not bend its spine further. We are not a harlot kingdom to be purchased by contracts woven in foreign tongue."
The envoy stiffened.
Aditya smiled wolfishly from where he stood.
The soldiers present looked ready to cheer — but discipline held them silent.
"And to the people of Rajgarh," Veer concluded, voice lifting, "I swear by my ancestors' sacred ashes — if the gods grant me the crown, I shall be a ruler who eats only after my people eat, who sleeps only after my borders are safe, and who walks with my queen not ahead of her but beside her."
Anushka, seated among the royal women, froze.
He had said queen.
Not political bride.
Not token consort.
Queen.
Ambition had chosen its partner openly:
her.
Thunderous approval erupted despite protocol.
The Queen Regent did not silence it.
She simply watched her son,
eyes glistening in a way she did not allow tears to fall.
Veer did not smile at the applause.
His ambition was not fed by compliments.
It was fed by responsibility that now grew tenfold upon his shoulders.
And In the Quiet After Triumph…
That night his triumph felt bitter-sweet.
He returned to his chamber drained as if he had fought ten battles. His hands shook slightly when he finally removed his angarkha. Victory does not feel like celebrations. It feels like exhaustion, weight, and silence closing in.
He leaned against the carved pillar.
Ambition whispered:
You have begun the path.
There is no retreat.
The crown will not simply adorn you —
it will consume you.
He did not fear consumption — only the possibility of losing her in the process.
When Anushka entered quietly, he did not speak at first.
He simply reached for her.
Not out of desire,
but out of something far more fragile —
need.
She understood.
Her arms went around him,
his forehead resting briefly upon her shoulder,
their breaths mingling in a shared stillness.
"You were magnificent today," she whispered.
"No," he said tiredly. "I was honest."
She smiled faintly. "Honesty is the most terrifying form of magnificence."
He laughed softly.
Then his voice changed — low, confessional.
"Anushka… I want to rule. Not for glory. Not for songs. For them — the farmers, the soldiers, the widows. Rajgarh deserves more than to be traded like a coin between capitals."
She closed her eyes.
"I know," she whispered. "I have seen your heart, Samrat."
He lifted her chin gently so her eyes met his.
"Walk that path beside me."
The words struck deeper than vows.
She nodded —
because love compelled her —
even as destiny wrote a different answer in shadow:
I must leave before four moons pass.
She kissed his bandaged shoulder softly.
He held her closer.
Two ambitions burned in the same room that night:
his — to rule Rajgarh
hers — to protect their unborn child even if it meant leaving him
Neither yet knew how cruelly they would collide.
Outside, the wind moved through the palace gardens, stirring lamps and carrying jasmine scent through marble corridors like a whisper of gods watching silently over human plans
— plans that, like all ambitions, demanded sacrifice.