A Sister's Embrace and a Dagger's Promise
The palace gardens of Chandrapuri were a haven of peace, so far removed from the turbulent fires of Suryapuri. In these tranquil surroundings, Prince Devansh sat under the soft, half-shaded canopy of a blooming champa tree. He sat with his eyes closed, his soul poured into the veena resting against his lap. The melody that flowed from Vani was like a river of quiet longing-a raga that spoke of moonlit conversations and a friendship that stretched between the expanse of two kingdoms. The notes weaved through the air, an intangible tapestry of sound that seemed to quiet even the breeze.
A palace guard stood a respectful distance behind him, his posture stiff, his face a mask of unreadable duty.
Then, the music was shattered.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
The thunder of a single horse's hooves, driven with urgent, reckless speed, tore through the garden's peace. A rider, clad in unadorned black leather, a stark black mask obscuring their face, charged straight towards the solitary prince. A drawn bow was levelled, the arrow's tip glinting with deadly intent.
The music of Devansh came to an abrupt halt. His fingers stilled upon the strings. Yet, he did not flinch, did not run. He simply rose to his feet, his blue eyes, clear and unnervingly calm, fixing on the approaching rider. It was as if he had expected this.
"DEVANSH!" The Queen's scream was a lance of pure terror from a balcony very near.
It was let fly. It cut through the air with a venomous hiss, a black streak aimed directly at Devansh's heart. He didn't flinch.
Thwump!
The sound was sickeningly solid. But it was not Devansh who fell. The guard behind him let out a choked gasp, his eyes wide with shock as he looked down at the arrow shaft now protruding from his own chest. As he crumpled to the ground, a polished, wicked-looking dagger clattered from his lifeless hand onto the marble pathway.
The Queen stood frozen, with her hand clamped over her mouth. Devansh remained a statue, his gaze now on the fallen soldier, then back to the rider who reined in the horse just feet away.
The rider dismounted, drawing a slender, sharp sword. The Queen found her voice once more, a desperate plea. "Beta, run! Please!"
But Devansh refused to back down. The rider closed the distance between them, the cold tip of his sword coming to rest against the soft skin of Devansh's throat.
And then Devansh smiled, a slow, knowing, relieved smile. "You came," he whispered, the words meant for the masked figure alone.
A laugh, light and familiar, escaped from behind the mask. The sword was lowered. The rider's free hand rose and pulled away the black disguise, revealing a face of striking beauty—sharp, intelligent eyes, a confident smile, and long hair tied in a practical braid.
"Mrinal Didi!" Devansh's poise gave way to a smile of sheer, brotherly delight. "You're here!"
Smiling, Mrinal sheathed her sword in one smooth movement. "You stubborn boy," she said, exasperated and pleased at once. "How did you know it was me? You didn't even move!"
Devansh pointed to her wrist, where a unique silver bracelet with the intricately carved phases of the moon gleamed. "The bracelet Father gifted you. I'd know it anywhere. And only you would stage an entrance with such. dramatic flair."
Just then, the Queen ran downstairs, her fear now turned to maternal rage. She pulled Mrinal by the ear and gave it a sharp twist. "You silly, careless girl! What was this? Some sort of drama? You could have given me a heart attack! What if your aim was wrong? What if Devansh had moved?"
"Ow! Ma! Let go, it really hurts!" Mrinal yelped, the fearsome warrior instantly reduced to a scolded child.
"Look!" Mrinal insisted, pointing at the dead soldier. "Look at his hand! He wasn't here to protect Devansh. He was moments from plunging that dagger into my brother's back. I saw it in his eyes, in the way he was shifting his weight. My arrow was the only thing that stopped him."
The Queen released her ear, her anger replaced by a dawning horror as she stared at the fallen man, the clear evidence of his treachery. "By the gods. he was one of our own. He was going to kill my son ."
Devansh placed a comforting hand on his mother's arm, but his own heart was cold. "Thank you, Didi," he said, his voice soft with genuine gratitude. "Your timing, as always, was impeccable."
Mrinal grinned; the adrenaline of the fight still shone bright in her eyes. "Is that all I get? A 'thank you'? I just saved the Yuvaraj of Chandrapuri! I believe the reward is at least a glass of chilled sherbet fetched by the prince himself."
"Mrinal!" the Queen chided, though a relieved smile finally touched her lips.
Mrinal held her hands up in mock surrender. "Fine, fine! I see how it is. I can't even ask my own brother for a drink without my mother defending him." Her playful tone was a balm, attempting to soothe the shock they had all suffered.
But Devansh wasn't listening. His attention was locked on the dead soldier's hand, which had fallen palm-up. There, on the web between the thumb and forefinger, was a small, branded mark: a serpent coiled around a broken sword. His blood ran cold. He had seen this mark before—etched onto a memory of a shadowy figure in a burning palace, a glimpse of a wrist from beneath a black shawl.
The masked man.
This was no lone assassin; this was a conspiracy that had roots deep in his own home.
Mrinal's eyes followed his, the teasing light dying out of her face. She set a firm, steadying hand on his shoulder. "What is it, Dev? You've seen that mark before."
Devansh masked his terror quickly and gave his sister a forced smile. "It's nothing, Didi, just.the shock."
Stepping forward, he pulled his sister into a tight, heartfelt hug and found solace in her familiar, strong presence. "I'm just so glad you're home."
Mrinal hugged him back fiercely, her voice a soft murmur in his ear. "I will always protect you, little brother. Always."
As they held each other, the Queen watching with tearful relief, Mrinal's right hand, resting on Devansh's back, absently traced the hilt of the dagger she had just sheathed. The cold, hard metal pressed lightly against the fabric of his kurta, right over his heart.
The embrace was warm, genuine, filled with a lifetime of sibling love. But as they finally pulled apart, laughing with the sheer relief of their reunion, Devansh's eyes, for the briefest second, dropped to the dagger at her hip. There was a silent, chilling question echoing in the depths of his soul-a question he dared not give voice to:
Did you save me from one dagger. only to carry another? There is no one-size-fits-all approach
. Chapter End Note: The homecoming of a sister is one of salvation and a new enigma. An assassin lies dead, unmasking thereby a traitor among them, marked with the very symbol of their shadowy enemy. But the real suspense lies in the warmth of a sister's hug and cold steel at her side. Is Mrinal the protective shield Devansh desperately seeks, or is she a weapon aimed at his heart by an enemy he cannot see? The conspiracy pierced the very heart of Chandrapuri, and with it, the greatest danger proved to be trust itself.