Chapter 44: ✨🪭37. And what of children? How many will you give her? I expect strong heirs!

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Kingdom of Rana (Palace)🏰

Varun nodded, though his gaze held that same quiet intensity as before. "Indeed, Princess. Then let me take my lea—"

Before he could finish, the hurried steps of maids and soldiers interrupted him. A frantic buzz filled the air as an older, commanding voice called out.

"Anya! My doll! I've been searching everywhere for you!"

Anya and Varun both turned at the sound of the booming baritone, one that carried the weight of authority but was now softened by age. It was none other than the old king—Anya’s grandfather. The once-great ruler, now weathered by time and dementia, had moments of clarity, especially when it came to his grandchildren.

Tears immediately welled up in Anya’s eyes. It had been so long since her grandfather had addressed her with such familiarity. “Daddu!” she gasped, standing up quickly. She moved to him, embracing him tightly, her stoic composure melting into pure emotion. Varun, meanwhile, stood frozen in surprise. He had only known Anya as controlled and poised, never once imagining she had this vulnerable side.

The old king hugged Anya back, but his sharp gaze fell on Varun, eyeing him suspiciously. Varun quickly realized who this was—the former King of Rana, renowned in his time, though now suffering the effects of dementia. Out of respect, Varun bowed deeply. However, the king didn’t seem to recognize him and instead made an assumption.

“Ah, Prince Nayan!” the old king exclaimed, mistaking Varun for Anya’s actual fiancé. “It seems my dearest Anya has found love! Only yesterday, it feels like, I held you as a baby in my arms.”

Anya stiffened at the mention of her real fiancé’s name, but her grandfather was already lost in a wave of nostalgia. “Yes, yes,” the old king continued, his eyes glazed as he tried to recall his scattered memories. “Anya, Aamir, and the others… Oh, they were all so small then.”

At that moment, Aamir, Anya’s younger brother, came running in, drawn by the commotion. Seeing his grandfather up and about, Aamir’s face lit up, though the old king barely recognized him, patting him on the head more out of habit than memory.

"Grandfather," Anya said gently, her voice thick with emotion. She knew these moments of lucidity were fleeting. As much as she longed to correct her grandfather’s mistaken identity of Varun, she also knew it would be futile. The effort would only confuse him further, and for now, it was better to keep up the pretense.

The old king, now turning back to Varun with a critical eye, asked, “So, tell me, my boy, are you keeping my Anya happy? Is she smiling, or is she troubled?” His voice was laced with both care and caution, the protector in him still very much alive.

Varun stayed silent thinking Anya would handle it but soon felt Anya's stern gaze burn into him, silently commanding him to play along. He smiled charmingly, giving a slight bow. “Your Majesty,” he began, his voice measured and sincere, “I would do nothing less than ensure your granddaughter’s happiness. Her well-being is of the utmost importance to me.”

The king, though satisfied with this, wasn’t done. His mind flickered between the present and the past, old memories resurfacing in fragments. “But how will you lead the country, Prince Nayan? The kingdom is vast, and alliances are fragile. What are your plans for the throne? You must ensure that Rana and Nanda remains strong. What will you do about the land disputes? And the treasury, mind you, it needs replenishing. We cannot rely solely on trade with the northern kingdoms.”

Varun, catching the subtlety in these probing questions, knew he had to be cautious. This was no ordinary small talk—these were the concerns of a ruler who had once wielded great power. Varun straightened, his voice calm and diplomatic. “I understand the complexities, Your Majesty. The kingdom must be preserved, and I have plans to secure strategic alliances to ensure Rana’s future. As for the land disputes, I believe in negotiating peace where possible, but I am prepared to defend the kingdom’s interests. The treasury, of course, will be strengthened through new trade routes, not just with the north, but also by establishing connections with the southern ports.”

The maids standing nearby exchanged impressed glances. Varun’s poise, intelligence, and ability to navigate the king’s questions with such grace were undeniable. Anya, though she kept her face impassive, couldn’t help but feel a small surge of admiration for Varun’s quick thinking. He had answered with the finesse of a true diplomat—strong, but not boastful; confident, yet careful.

The old king nodded approvingly. “Hmm, yes, yes. That sounds like a plan a prince should have.” But then, without warning, his expression grew mischievous. “And what of children? How many will you give her? I expect strong heirs—boys and girls—to continue our legacy.”

Varun blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sudden intimacy of the question. He shot a brief glance at Anya, who immediately stiffened in horror. Her cheeks flushed with indignation, and her eyes blazed with a mixture of embarrassment and fury.

“Dadda!” Anya blurted out, her voice tight with restraint. “We— We aren’t discussing such things right now!”

Varun, feeling the weight of the moment, scrambled to find a response that would both honor the king’s question and avoid further incensing Anya. He cleared his throat, smiling gently. “Your Majesty, it is, of course, my hope to see a future where the line of Rana continues. But as for now, my focus is on ensuring Anya’s happiness and preparing for the duties that lie ahead.”

The king chuckled, clearly pleased with Varun’s diplomacy, though the heat of the moment hadn’t passed for Anya. She shot Varun a sharp glare as if warning him not to play into her grandfather’s whims any further. Varun, for his part, felt an odd twinge of guilt; he hadn’t anticipated such a question, and now he feared Anya’s wrath.

The old king, however, seemed content with the exchange and turned his attention back to reminiscing. He spoke of old battles, lost friends, and the golden days of his reign, though his speech became more jumbled as his memories blurred.

As the conversation waned, Varun found himself increasingly aware of Anya’s silence. She hadn’t spoken much since her outburst, but her presence was like a quiet storm brewing beside him. He could feel her frustration simmering beneath her composed exterior.

Eventually, the old king’s energy began to fade, and the maids led him towards the garden. Anya, still visibly tense, turned to Varun once they were alone. “You handled that well,” she admitted, her voice a mix of begrudging respect and lingering annoyance. “But next time, try not to encourage him.”

Varun gave her a soft smile, knowing full well how close he had come to stepping on a landmine. “I’ll keep that in mind, Princess,” he said, though his thoughts lingered on the impression he had made—not just on the king, but on Anya as well.

As much as Anya tried to maintain her composure, even she wasn’t immune to her grandfather’s whims. Now, she and Varun found themselves in the swan garden, a serene and picturesque part of the palace grounds. Surrounded by lush greenery, delicate flowers, and the soft cooing of swans gliding across a small pond, the place was almost too perfect—like something out of a royal fable.

Both Anya and Varun were dressed in stunning traditional attire that left little to the imagination about their supposed “relationship.” Anya wore a light blue lehenga, intricately embroidered with silver threads, her dupatta draped elegantly over her shoulder. She looked regal, a true princess, with her kohl-lined eyes accentuating her sharp gaze and her hair styled in soft waves. Varun, on the other hand, wore a attire of matching hue—ornate yet subtle in its design, with silver detailing that complemented Anya’s attire perfectly. Together, they looked like a prince and princess straight out of an artist’s vision.

They were now forced to sit together, posed side by side in this beautiful setting, as a painter meticulously worked on capturing their likeness. Anya’s grandfather had insisted on having a portrait made of his grandchildren and their fiancés, and no one, not even the ministers, dared to correct him. It was a rare moment when the old king was fully conscious and lucid, and no one wished to disturb the peace of his fleeting happiness.

Grandpa sat nearby, playing with toddler Aamir, his face beaming with joy as he watched the painting progress. Varun, of course, couldn’t resist making light of the situation.

“So,” Varun began, leaning slightly toward Anya with a mischievous smile, “someone told me not to encourage your grandfather. And yet, here we are. Fake fiancé, fake prince and princess… posing for a portrait of eternal love.”

Anya shot him a sharp glare, though the corners of her lips twitched upward. “I didn’t ask for this,” she muttered, trying to keep her tone even. “You’re the one who played along with all his questions. If you hadn’t encouraged him, we wouldn’t be here.”

Varun chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh, right. Because I’m the one who wanted to wear this lovely shade of blue and smile endlessly.”

Anya rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t deny how ridiculous the situation was. “Just keep your mouth shut, and maybe we’ll get through this without more chaos.”

“Doubtful,” Varun quipped, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “But I must admit, Princess, you look different in a softer subtle way . Almost makes me believe this whole charade.”

Anya stiffened at the compliment but tried not to let it show. “Don’t get used to it,” she said, keeping her voice low. “As soon as my grandpa forgets about this painting—which, trust me, he will—I’m burning it.”

Varun grinned, leaning back slightly as if savoring her playful threat. “And here I was, thinking I’d hang it in my chambers. A memory of our fleeting ‘romance.’” he said sarcastically.

Anya shot him a warning look, though she couldn’t help but smirk. “If you ever try that, I’ll ensure your chambers catch fire too.”

As they sat in the swan garden, waiting for the portrait to be finished, Varun couldn’t help but glance at Anya. She looked absolutely stunning in the light blue lehenga, the silver threads shimmering under the sunlight. Her regal posture and sharp gaze only enhanced the ethereal beauty of her features. But more than that, there was something about her demeanor—her strength, masked under layers of duty and stoicism—that piqued his curiosity.

"What's that look for?" Anya’s voice interrupted his thoughts, her eyes narrowing at him.

Varun smirked, leaning in slightly, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "Just admiring how well you play the part of a loving fiancée, Princess."

Anya rolled her eyes but bit back a smile. "We have been taught this since childhood trust me this is hardly the most challenging role I've had to play, Prince Varun."

"Ah, but you're doing it so convincingly. Maybe you're enjoying yourself more than you'd like to admit," he teased, his tone playful, yet his eyes lingered on hers for a moment too long.

Before Anya could retort, her grandfather's voice boomed across the garden. "Anya! My little songbird! You must sing for your prince! Prince Nayan deserves to hear that sweet voice of yours!"

Anya froze, a look of horror briefly flashing across her face. She glanced at Varun, who raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying her discomfort. "Oh, this is going to be good," he muttered, leaning back to watch the show.

"Grandpa, I don't think now is the time—" she began, but her grandfather waved her off.

"Nonsense! Sing! Sing the song you used to sing for me! The one for Krishna!"

Varun's smile widened as he watched Anya hesitate. “I’d love to hear it, Princess. After all, who am I to deny such a request from your beloved grandpa?” His tone was teasing, but there was a genuine warmth in his gaze that made her pause.

With a reluctant sigh, Anya began to hum softly, her voice delicate and melodic as it floated through the air. The song she sang was a soft, devotional melody dedicated to Krishna. Her voice was soothing, each note perfectly placed, and despite her reluctance, she sang with a grace that was hard to ignore.

Varun listened intently, his usual playful smirk softening as he became absorbed in the sound of her voice. She's incredible, he thought, though he kept his expression neutral. He could see how her grandfather swayed slightly to the music, smiling brightly as if lost in the past.

"Now, that's a talent I didn’t expect," Varun whispered, his voice low enough that only Anya could hear as she continued to sing. His eyes followed the movements of her lips as she sang, his attention fully on her.

Anya shot him a quick glare between verses, but continued singing. As her voice rose and fell, Varun couldn't help but be impressed. Her voice was more than just beautiful—it carried a certain strength, a depth that reflected more of who she was beneath her royal persona. He leaned closer to her, his tone teasing but softer than usual. "You know, you really should finish this song. I think I’m starting to like it."

She  started slowing down to humming softly as she saw her grandfather interest shifting "Don’t get used to it," Anya whispered back, her voice just above a breath. "I’m stopping as soon as grandpa loses interest."

True to her word, the moment her grandfather’s attention shifted to Aamir, who was now toddling around, Anya stopped singing abruptly. She shot Varun a pointed look, as if daring him to comment further. But Varun merely chuckled under his breath, his eyes still lingering on her.

"Pity. I wanted to hear the end of that song," he murmured, his voice teasing but filled with a subtle appreciation.

Anya narrowed her eyes. "You don't deserve the rest."

Varun leaned back, his gaze not leaving her. "Now that’s just cruel, Princess."

Somewhere in the forest of Kanakpura (Night) 🌱

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The ancient forest, its towering trees stretching toward the heavens, lay cloaked under a serene blanket of starlight. The night, though quiet and peaceful on the surface, carried an undertone of tension—a silence that seemed to pulse with things unspoken. A soft, orange glow radiated from the small campfire, casting long, dancing shadows that flickered across the faces of Indu and Ivaan. They sat across from one another, separated only by the flickering flame, yet it felt as though they were worlds apart.

Indu, her thoughts swirling like the smoke rising from the fire, found the silence unbearable. She had held back long enough. Her voice, barely louder than the rustling leaves in the gentle breeze, broke the stillness. “Do you know,” she began, hesitating as though unsure whether to continue, “aside from my elder brother, there is another—my younger brother, Amir. He is the youngest of us.”

Outside the night howled with the biting wind, its icy fingers clawing at the gaps in the stone.

Ivaan, who had been quietly lost in his own thoughts, looked up, surprised by her sudden openness. His brows furrowed slightly as he regarded her, the firelight casting deep shadows across his chiseled features. Why now, in the dead of night, had she chosen to share something so personal? He did not ask this aloud, but his silence, his unblinking gaze, posed the question.

Indu, sensing the unspoken inquiry in his eyes, pressed forward. “I am sharing something of myself before I ask you a question,” she explained, her voice steady, though there was a hint of vulnerability in the way she phrased her words. Her eyes held his across the flickering flames. “So, Prince Ivaan, how many siblings do you have? Is Advisor Varun your brother?”

Ivaan’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though there was a sharpness in his eyes—a glimmer of amusement that he tried to mask. Rising from his seat, he moved toward the window, closing it against the frigid wind that had crept into the room. As he returned to his place by the fire, his voice carried the same teasing lilt that always seemed to lighten the tension between them. “Why aren’t you asleep yet, Princess?” he asked, his tone playful. “You had quite a trying day. Or is it that you need your servants to sing you one of their lullabies?”

Indu shot him a sharp glare, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “How am I supposed to sleep,” she whispered, barely containing her irritation, “when there’s a man sitting barely ten meters away from me?”

Ivaan chuckled softly, the sound warm despite the biting cold that surrounded them. His eyes sparkled with amusement. “I think it’s well established by now, Princess,” he said, his voice light, “that I mean you no harm. If I had any ill intentions, there were countless opportunities to drop you.”

Indu scowled, her annoyance unabated. “Fine but tell me is it so difficult for you to answer a simple question?” she pressed. “I only asked if Varun is your brother, and yet you deflect with jokes.”

Ivaan’s smile faltered for a moment, and his expression grew thoughtful. He let the silence stretch between them before finally speaking. “No, Varun is not my brother,” he admitted, his voice quiet but firm. He met her gaze, watching as surprise flickered across her face. “oh  you both do have similar features, but perhaps that is a common trait among the men of you kingdom.”

Indu narrowed her eyes, studying him closely. “That’s a cruel thing to say,” Ivaan continued with a smirk, leaning forward as if to let her in on a secret. “I am far more handsome than Varun, after all. And, before you ask, yes, it’s mostly the ladies who seek me out, not him.”

“Oh, really, Your Highness?” Indu retorted, her tone laced with sarcasm as she folded her arms across her chest of course they will after all he is the Prince not Varun “Then are you the only son? Do you have no siblings?”

At this, Ivaan’s playful expression faded, replaced by something more solemn. He remained silent for a little to long for Indu's comfort she felt like this was not something easy for him, she was about to change the question when Ivaan answered “I have many brothers,” he said quietly, his voice lacking the lightness it held moments before. “And one sister.”

Indu’s frustration ebbed, replaced by a soft sigh. “I don’t know why I assumed it would be easy to speak of family,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to pry. If I asked something inappropriate, forgive me.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The fire crackled and sputtered, its warmth the only comfort in the otherwise frigid room.

Finally, Indu, her voice hesitant, broke the silence once more. “Can I ask you something else, something I’ve been wondering for a while?”

Ivaan met her gaze, his expression unreadable, but after a moment, he gave a slow nod.

“You are a prince,” she began cautiously. “You are skilled in ways fit for a king. Why, then, are you out here? What do you hope to gain by helping the commoners the tribals and evading powerful foes? You have wealth, status, allies... Why concern yourself with these small territories? And why—" she hesitated, her voice trembling slightly, “why seek to marry me?”

Ivaan’s eyes reflected the fire’s glow, the weight of her question pressing heavily between them. The world outside seemed to grow still, the wind’s howl fading into the background as his thoughts raced. The flames flickered, casting strange, dancing shadows upon the stone walls, as if the fire itself awaited his response.

---

The fire crackled between them, its warmth a fragile shield against the night’s biting cold. Indu’s question hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in curiosity, daring him to reveal more than just surface answers. Ivaan’s gaze remained on the flames, their flickering light casting shifting shadows on his face. Inside, his thoughts churned, not with the simplicity of evasion but with a more complicated web of trust, suspicion, and the weight of decisions yet to be made.

*Why does she ask so directly?* he mused. *Does she expect me to lay bare my motives as though I haven’t learned from the court's games? She’s intelligent, too much so to not understand the intricacies of what’s at play here. Is she trying to find a loop hole a middle ground? He shifted his posture, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, his expression carefully neutral.

The truth of it was this: the idea of marriage—this fragile alliance through a union—was not his plan. It was Varun’s. The advisor, ever the strategist, saw it as a calculated risk, a way to avoid war, to unite their kingdoms without the inevitable bloodshed. Varun believed in diplomacy, in subtlety, in making a move that would solidify power without drawing swords. And perhaps, in his wisdom, he was right. But Ivaan didn’t trust this path, not entirely. Not yet. War was a more familiar path—one that had clear rules, where victories were earned, not brokered. *If it were up to me,* he thought, *there would be no question of marriage, no need for this farce. War is the cleaner option, and the one I know best.

But he wasn’t foolish enough to reveal that now, certainly not to her, a princess with her own agendas and loyalties. He didn’t doubt her intelligence—far from it. He could see in her eyes that she was no stranger to political maneuvers if anything he saw the reflection of her sister Anya, someone equivalent to Varun, Indu here was no innocent sheltered by her title. But that didn’t mean he trusted her. Trust was earned, slowly, and they weren’t there yet. Not even close.

“Why do I want to marry you?” Ivaan finally said, his voice low, almost contemplative, as though he was weighing his words carefully. He glanced at her then, his dark eyes sharp and assessing. “Perhaps it’s not about what I want at all.” He offered a faint smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, the kind of smile one gives when skirting the edge of a truth they aren’t ready to share. “Marriage, alliances... these things are tools, not goals. And sometimes, we are required to use tools we’d rather not.”

He shifted his gaze back to the fire, feeling her eyes on him, waiting for more, but he didn’t give her the satisfaction of an answer to her real question. Instead, he steered the conversation away, like a skilled rider guiding a restless horse.

“But enough about politics,” Ivaan said smoothly, his tone lightening just enough to ease the tension. “You’ve spoken of your brothers, but what of yourself, Princess? Surely someone with your skills and spirit has thoughts beyond family and duty. What is it that you seek?”

Indu looked at him, her expression unreadable at first. She wasn’t fooled by his deflection, that much was clear, but she chose not to press. Not yet. Instead, she seemed to weigh his question, as though deciding how much of herself to reveal in return.

“What do I seek?” she echoed softly, her gaze momentarily distant as she considered the weight of the question. “Peace, perhaps. But not just for myself.” She paused, her eyes flickering back to meet his. “I want peace for my people. I want stability, a future where we’re not constantly on the edge of war, where our lives aren’t dictated by the whims of power.”

Ivaan listened, though he noted the careful way she framed her desires and jab on him. Peace was a noble pursuit, but it was never so simple. And he wondered how much of her was truly willing to fight for it if the time came.

“And you think marriage will bring that peace?” he asked, though his tone was curious rather than skeptical. He genuinely wondered what she believed about the path they were on.

Indu gave a small, mirthless laugh, shaking her head slightly. “I think marriage is just a means to an end. Whether it brings peace or not depends on what happens after. It depends on trust, on alliances that don’t break the moment they are tested.”

“And do you trust me?” Ivaan asked, though he already knew the answer.

“No,” Indu replied, her voice firm but without hostility. “Not yet. But I don’t expect you to trust me either.” There was something almost refreshing in her honesty. She wasn’t trying to placate him with empty reassurances, and he respected that more than he would have if she’d tried to feign trust for the sake of appearances.

He nodded, accepting her words without argument. “Fair enough,” he said quietly, then added with a hint of amusement, “But I suppose we’ll have to figure it out soon enough.”

The conversation drifted after that, each of them carefully treading the line between personal revelations and guarded half-truths. They spoke of lighter things—the landscapes of their kingdoms, the strange customs of the courts they had each grown up in, small moments from their pasts that revealed pieces of their personalities without giving away too much.

As the night deepened, Ivaan noticed the change in Indu. Her responses became slower, more measured, and he could see the weariness starting to overtake her, despite her best efforts to stay alert. Eventually, her eyelids grew heavy, and she shifted in her seat, attempting to hide her exhaustion.

“You should rest,” Ivaan said quietly, his tone gentler now, devoid of the teasing edge it had held earlier. “We’ve had enough discussions for one night.”

Indu hesitated for a moment, as though reluctant to let herself fully relax in his presence. But the fire’s warmth, combined with the exhaustion of the day, eventually won out. She gave a small nod, her body slowly yielding to the weight of sleep.

“I suppose I can’t argue with that,” she murmured, her voice barely audible as she settled herself more comfortably, her head resting against the worn out bedding of the armory.

Ivaan watched her for a moment, waiting until her breathing had deepened, signaling that sleep had finally claimed her. In the quiet that followed, his own thoughts turned inward once more, the fire reflecting in his eyes.

*Marriage might bring peace, but it’s Varun’s idea—not mine. He’s the strategist here, not me. If this doesn’t work, war is the inevitable path. And I’m prepared for that. But for now..." He looked back at Indu how peaceful she looked maybe peace wasn't that hard to attain.  I’ll let this game play out. Varun is rarely wrong. I hope this time too it works out well for all who is involved. He glanced back at Indu.

With that final glance at the sleeping princess, Ivaan stood and quietly added another log to the fire. He would keep watch for the rest of the night, not just against the dangers lurking in the dark but against the uncertainties waiting for them beyond it.

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The first rays of dawn broke through the dense canopy of the forest, casting a pale light over the forgotten armory where Indu and Ivaan had spent the night. The old stones, moss-covered and crumbling, seemed to wake along with the daylight, whispering stories of past battles and forgotten glories. The fire, once lively, had reduced to faint embers, and the cold morning air seeped into the cracks of the armory walls.

Ivaan, already awake, stood beside Indu, gently shaking her shoulder. "It's time to wake up," he murmured, his voice soft but firm. Indu stirred, opening her eyes to see the prince's figure outlined against the dim light. Still drowsy, she stretched and glanced around the armory, where the silence of the morning hung heavily in the air.

"I'm going to fetch some water," Ivaan said, fastening his cloak. "The stream isn't far from here. Stay close to the armory until I return." Indu nodded, still groggy from sleep. She watched him disappear through the doorway, his figure melting into the forest's shadows.

As the minutes ticked by, Indu felt her energy return. She decided to take a brief stroll outside the armory. The ruins were steeped in history, a testament to old wars fought and lost. Nature had taken over—wild vines crawled over stone walls, and ancient weapons lay scattered, rusting away with time. She stepped over a broken sword and wandered further, her footsteps light on the damp forest floor.

Suddenly, a rustle from behind caught her attention. Assuming it was Ivaan returning from the stream, she turned around, a casual smile forming on her lips "Back already"—only to freeze in shock. Standing before her was not Ivaan but a stranger, a man gripping a sword, his eyes as startled as hers. His clothes were rugged, his hair disheveled, and there was a wild look about him. Indu’s heart pounded in her chest as panic surged through her veins.

The man, equally surprised by her presence, took a step forward, his expression unreadable. Fear shot through Indu. Without thinking, she screamed—a short, sharp cry that echoed through the trees. In her panic, she stumbled backward and fell to the ground. The man, perhaps not intending to frighten her, paused, a look of uncertainty flickering across his face.

But instinct took over. Indu's hand shot down, scooping up a handful of soil from the ground. She flung it at the man’s eyes with all her might, temporarily blinding him. The man cursed, wiping the dirt from his face. Indu didn’t wait to see his reaction—she scrambled to her feet and bolted in the direction Ivaan had gone. *I have no weapon except this tiny dagger*, she thought frantically. *I need to find him.*

Her heart raced as she ran through the forest, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The man was right behind her, his footsteps thudding against the forest floor. Fear gnawed at her insides, but she kept running, desperate to reach Ivaan. The trees whipped past her as she sprinted, her legs burning from the effort.

Suddenly, she spotted Ivaan ahead, crouched by the stream, unaware of the danger. Without slowing down, she grabbed him, slapping a hand over his mouth before he could react. "Shhh!" she whispered urgently, pulling him behind a tree. "Someone with a sword is tailing me. He’s close."

Ivaan’s eyes narrowed, and he immediately reached for his own sword. "Stay behind me," he whispered back, his voice calm but deadly serious. His mind raced. *Who could this be? Are we being followed by more than one?* But there was no time to think—he had to act.

Indu’s heart pounded in her chest as she peered around the tree. The man was getting closer, his heavy breathing audible through the rustling of leaves. Ivaan gestured for Indu to step out, to lure the man in. Swallowing her fear, she obeyed, stepping into the clearing with feigned fear and innocence.

The man, seeing her, rushed forward, his sword raised. But the moment he neared, Ivaan moved swiftly. With lightning reflexes, he grabbed the man, twisting his arm and knocking the sword from his grasp. The man let out a surprised yelp, struggling against Ivaan’s grip, but he was no match for the prince’s strength. With a swift motion, Ivaan pulled the man’s face cloth away, revealing his identity.

"Vikram?" Ivaan’s voice was filled with shock as he recognized the young man before him—Vikram, one of the tribal head’s sons, and someone who had become a recent ally. Vikram, wide-eyed, stared back, the hostility in his eyes vanishing as he saw who had captured him.

"Prince Ivaan!" Vikram exclaimed, breaking into a relieved grin. "Why are you here? I thought I was chasing an intruder!" His eyes flicked toward Indu, who stood behind Ivaan, her chest still heaving from the chase. His tone changed instantly, turning sharp. "Is she an enemy? Let me handle her, Prince. She could be dangerous!"

Vikram stepped forward, but Ivaan quickly moved, placing himself between Indu and Vikram. His hand brushed Indu’s arm, guiding her behind him protectively. "She’s with me," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. There was no need to explain further, but his words were enough to stop Vikram in his tracks.

Indu, still catching her breath, scowled at Vikram. "Why the hell did you sneak up on me like that? With a sword, no less! Do you try to kill every woman you encounter?"

Vikram, suddenly realizing the misunderstanding, looked sheepish. "I’m sorry," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I didn’t know who you were. I thought… well, I thought you might be someone dangerous. But I didn’t mean to frighten you."

Indu crossed her arms, still glaring at him, but she allowed herself to relax slightly. Ivaan glanced over at her, a flicker of amusement in his eyes despite the tension.

Vikram, trying to recover from the situation, cleared his throat. "So, Prince, what brings you to this part of the forest? And why are you with… her?"

Indu’s eyes narrowed at the tone in Vikram’s voice, but she remained silent, trusting Ivaan to handle the situation. Ivaan hesitated, choosing his words carefully. He didn’t fully trust Vikram—not yet, at least. "We’re on our way out of the forest" Ivaan said, sidestepping the real reason.

Indu, standing quietly behind him, glanced at Ivaan, her thoughts swirling. *He didn’t need to explain anything to Vikram, but he chose to. Why?* She observed him closely, sensing the layers of calculation beneath his calm demeanor. Whatever game they were playing, Ivaan wasn’t showing all his cards. Not yet.

The morning light grew brighter, and the forest seemed to come alive around them as the tension eased. But Indu couldn’t shake the feeling that the true danger was still lurking—just out of sight.

Ivaan’s gaze remained fixed on Vikram, choosing his words carefully, cautious not to reveal anything unnecessary he said, voice measured. "We got lost in the storm and lost our bearings."

He deliberately left out any mention of Indu or her identity, not willing to divulge details. It wasn’t uncommon to travel with companions, but he knew Vikram’s fierce loyalty to his people and how protective the tribal folk were of their lands. Trespassing, even unknowingly, was often met with swift defense, regardless of whether the threat was real or imagined. *But why would he think she was a threat?* Ivaan mused. *Indu hardly looked dangerous.*

Vikram, after a moment of contemplation, nodded, his earlier aggression melting into a more relaxed demeanor. "Ah, the storm." His voice softened. "That makes sense. This forest can be confusing, especially after heavy weather. You’re lucky I found you before anyone else did."

Then, with a broad smile, Vikram added, "I know these woods like the lines on my hand. I can guide you. It’s the least I can do after this… misunderstanding."

Indu opened her mouth, clearly not done with her earlier irritation, but Ivaan stepped aside, motioning for Vikram to lead the way. They walked into the forest, Ivaan allowing Vikram to take the front while he lagged slightly behind. Indu walked beside Vikram, still bristling from the scare.

The forest was dense, with the path ahead barely visible, but Vikram seemed to know it by heart, weaving through with ease. Silence hung for a while until the inevitable clash came, breaking the peace.

Indu, her voice sharp but restrained, finally muttered, "You know, sneaking up behind someone with a sword is a poor introduction. Is that how you greet all your guests?"

Vikram shot her a sideways glance, unfazed by her jab. "It’s not sneaking if you’re trespassing," he shot back, his tone half-playful, half-serious. "Anyone wandering around these parts without permission is either lost or trouble. I didn’t know which one you were."

Indu huffed, her annoyance bubbling back to the surface. "I clearly didn’t look like trouble. What was I going to do? Throw rocks at you?"

Vikram smirked, his stride never faltering. "You already threw soil in my eyes. You’re lucky that’s all i had to deal with."

Indu rolled her eyes. "Trouble? I was just standing there, probably admiring a rusty crockery or something.

How exactly did I look like 'trouble'?" "Well," Vikram smirked,

"You didn’t *look* like trouble, I’ll admit. But appearances can be deceiving, especially when it comes to outsiders."

Indu narrowed her eyes. "Outsiders? You mean anyone who isn’t from your precious tribe, right?"

Vikram raised an eyebrow. "Is that so hard to believe? We protect our own. And these forests… they don’t belong to just anyone who stumbles through."

Indu crossed her arms.

"Defend from what? A woman I didn’t even have a proper weapon."

"You could’ve had anything hidden under that cloak," Vikram countered, grinning. "For all I knew, you could’ve been a spy or an assassin. A clever disguise."

A few minutes later, Vikram spoke again. "So, what’s your name, then? Or should I just keep calling you ‘Trouble’?"

"Trouble works," Indu replied with a grin.

"But it’s Indu, for the record. Not that you deserve to know it after everything." Vikram gave a mock bow. "Well, Indu, it’s been a pleasure crossing swords—or rather, dirt—with you." "Don’t get used to it," she shot back, though her tone was far more relaxed than before.

He shook his head slightly, grinning.

Indu rolled her eyes, quickening her pace to put a bit of distance between them. " I’m not the one who nearly gave someone a heart attack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Vikram chuckled. "Heart attack? I think I handled it just fine. Besides, it’s my job to keep intruders out of these lands. Maybe next time, try not to look like you’re sneaking around."

They walked in silence for a moment, the forest around them buzzing with life. Finally, Vikram spoke up, his voice less teasing now. "You handled yourself well back there, though. Most people would’ve just frozen up, but you didn’t. That takes guts." Indu raised an eyebrow, glancing at him sideways. "Is that your way of apologizing?" Vikram chuckled.

"Maybe. Or maybe I’m just acknowledging that you’re not as helpless as you look." Indu rolled her eyes but smiled slightly. "I’ll take that as an apology."

"And it almost feels like a compliment from the guy who nearly blinded me," Indu quipped, though her voice held no real malice anymore.

After a while  Indu shot him a look, her frustration clear. "You’re unbelievable. I wasn’t sneaking. I was walking—there’s a difference."

Vikram shrugged. "Call it whatever you want. It’s sneaking when you’re in my woods."

As they walked deeper into the forest, Vikram slowed his pace slightly, allowing Indu to catch up to him again. "So, Princesses are found in the forest now, huh?" he teased. "I guess I should be on the lookout for more rocks."

Indu, though still annoyed, couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I’ll keep them handy just in case you get any more ideas."

Vikram grinned, throwing a glance her way. "You’re quick, I’ll give you that. Not bad for a royal."

Indu raised an eyebrow. "Not bad? I think I did better than just ‘not bad.’ You’re lucky I didn’t knock you out entirely."

At that, Vikram laughed, a genuine sound that echoed through the trees. "Fair enough. I’ll remember not to underestimate you next time."

The tension between them began to ebb as they fell into a more comfortable rhythm. The hostility that had once colored their interactions was now reduced to playful jabs, both of them testing each other’s wit with every step they took.

By the time they reached a small clearing, the friction had mostly settled into mutual tolerance. Indu, still walking beside Vikram, glanced at him, the earlier anger in her eyes replaced with cautious respect. "You know," she said, her tone softer, "you’re not half bad. For someone who nearly ran me down with a sword, that is."

Vikram grinned, his eyes twinkling. "I’ll take that as a compliment." Then, with a dramatic flair, he added, "And for the record, you’re not so bad yourself, Princess."

From behind, Ivaan watched the exchange, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. *So, they’ve found some common ground after all.* He let out a quiet breath.

---

--

---

As they continued their trek through the dense forest, the early morning light filtering down through the thick canopy, Vikram turned slightly towards Ivaan, a mischievous grin curling on his lips.

"So, Prince," Vikram began casually, “where did you find this *interesting* companion? Is she always this... lively?" He chuckled, gesturing toward Indu, who was walking with a deliberate step beside him.

Ivaan’s eyes flickered with amusement, but his tone was playful as he answered, “Oh, she doesn’t leave me alone. I’ve tried to lose her multiple times, but she keeps coming back.” He smirked, casting a sidelong glance at Indu.

Indu, overhearing the exchange, narrowed her eyes at Ivaan and retorted sharply, "Oh, really? Maybe I *should* leave you and go with Vikram instead. He seems much more tolerable than you right now." She turned her head slightly towards Vikram, her tone teasing but with a touch of seriousness. "What do you think? Should I ditch this boring prince and follow you instead?"

Vikram, without missing a beat, grinned broadly and shrugged. “Sounds like a good idea to me. I could use the company—someone to actually talk to, instead of this silent shadow behind us.”

Indu’s smirk deepened as she threw a quick glance back at Ivaan, clearly enjoying the moment. But before she could take another step closer to Vikram, Ivaan’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back firmly. His voice dropped to a stern whisper as he leaned in, his brows furrowed with concern. "Are you out of your mind? Why would you trust a stranger? You don’t even know him."

...............

Drop your thoughts

What do you think

Is Ivaan overthinking it?😶‍🌫️

jealous maybe?🫠

Or

Is being cautious?🕊️

Indu my girl is having a field day over here. ❣️

Meanwhile, Grandpa is playing cupid for our diplomatic duo Varun and Anya