46) Chapter

Ereya sat in the chamber of the Narwar fort, staring blankly at the ornate walls. The flickering torchlight cast shadows across his face, but his eyes held no light.

His victories had come with no joy, only emptiness, as though each conquest only deepened the void within him. He fought not for glory, not for the kingdom, but to drown out the ache of his broken heart.

Dananjaya entered the chamber, his footsteps soft but deliberate. He had been watching Ereya for days, witnessing the way his pain turned into a kind of reckless anger.

"My lord," Dananjaya began, his tone cautious. "The men are celebrating again. They sing your praises from every corner of this fort. They call you invincible, a lion of the battlefield. Surely, that must bring you some satisfaction?"

Ereya chuckled darkly, a bitter, almost mocking sound. "Satisfaction?" he repeated, still looking at the wall. "What good is satisfaction when it can't mend a heart that's already shattered?"

Dananjaya frowned and moved closer, sitting opposite his friend. "You're too hard on yourself. The world doesn't stop for heartbreak, Ereya. Look around you-Narwar is ours, Vidisha will soon fall, and your name will be etched into history."

But Ereya turned to him with a cold smile, his eyes sharp with sarcasm. "History, Dananjaya? What use is my name in history when the only name I want to hear, the only name I long for, is one I can no longer speak?"

Dananjaya opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the door creaked open. Sanjaya and Ravikreeti entered with broad smiles, their faces alight with triumph.

"My prince!" Sanjaya exclaimed. "What a day to be alive! Your victories grow more glorious by the hour. The men are in awe of you!"

Ravikreeti clapped his hands together, grinning. "And not just the men, my lord. The Kalachurii maids-have you seen them? Their beauty is the stuff of legends! Perhaps they're the reward you deserve after such battles."

At this, Ereya's expression turned dark. His voice was low, sharp as a blade. "Enough."

Both commanders fell silent, their smiles fading.

Ereya rose from his seat, his presence commanding despite the simmering fury in his voice. "Let women and children remain untouched. They are not spoils of war. If I hear otherwise, I will deal with it myself."

The tension in the room was palpable. Ravikreeti and Sanjaya exchanged uneasy glances, bowing their heads. "Of course, my lord," Sanjaya said quietly.

"Leave me," Ereya ordered, his tone brooking no argument. The two commanders retreated quickly, but Dananjaya remained seated, his arms crossed.

"You're not chasing me away too, are you?" Dananjaya asked lightly.

Ereya sighed, his anger softening slightly. "No, you stay. I know you won't listen to me even if I asked you to leave."

Dananjaya smiled faintly. "You're right. I wouldn't."

For a moment, there was silence between them, filled only by the distant hum of celebration outside.

"I'm not who they think I am," Ereya muttered. "They call me a hero, but a hero wouldn't feel this hollow. A hero wouldn't have driven her away."

Dananjaya tilted his head. "You loved her, Ereya. You still do. But life doesn't always let us hold on to the things we love."

Before Ereya could respond, a maid entered the room, holding a small rolled parchment. She approached Dananjaya, bowing respectfully. "Commander, this message arrived for you."

Dananjaya took the note, opening it with casual interest. As his eyes scanned the message, a smile flickered across his lips.

"What is it?" Ereya asked, his gaze narrowing.

"Nothing important," Dananjaya replied, tucking the note away. He turned to the maid. "How did this message arrive?"

"A pigeon, my lord," she replied.

"Good," Dananjaya said, standing. "Wait while I write a reply. Do not leave until you've delivered it."

The maid bowed again and exited.

Ereya watched Dananjaya scan the note, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He seemed lighter for a moment, his usual stoicism cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of emotion.

Ereya arched an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "And who, might I ask, has the power to make the ever-stern Commander Dananjaya smile like a lovestruck bard?"

Dananjaya chuckled, carefully folding the note and tucking it into his tunic. "Someone very dear to me," he replied smoothly, his tone carrying a hint of mischief.

Ereya leaned forward, a teasing glint in his eye. "Ah, the great Dananjaya has a lover? Tell me, is she a beauty from the northern lands, or perhaps a poet who has stolen your heart with her words?"

Dananjaya smirked, deflecting the direct question. "She is both, my prince-clever, sharp, and as radiant as the moonlit sky. And her words... they are a balm for the weary soul."

Ereya laughed, shaking his head. "You, a poet at heart? I never would have guessed. Tell me, does she write you love poems? Or is it you who sits under the stars, scribbling verses like a pining youth?"

Dananjaya smiled but didn't meet Ereya's gaze, his tone becoming softer, more introspective. "Perhaps we write them for each other. She has a gift with words, a cleverness that surpasses even the beauty she's known for. But it is not just her beauty that draws me-it's her mind, her soul. She is my compass in this storm we call life."

Ereya's laugh softened, his expression turning thoughtful. "Well, it seems I underestimated you, Dananjaya. A warrior and a poet, ready to sacrifice everything for love. Perhaps you should introduce me to this muse of yours one day and see if she truly lives up to your praises."

Dananjaya's gaze flickered, a shadow of conflict crossing his features, but he masked it quickly. "Perhaps, one day," he said with a faint smile, his voice heavy with subtext Ereya didn't catch. "But for now, if you'll excuse me, I need to pen a reply. The maid is waiting."

Ereya waved him off, still grinning. "Go, then. I wouldn't want to keep your muse waiting. But don't think this conversation is over-I want to hear more about this enigma of yours."

Dananjaya bowed slightly, his tone light as he said, "As you wish, my prince," before exiting the chamber.

Inside the chamber, Ereya remained oblivious, still chuckling softly to himself. "Dananjaya and his poetess," he murmured. "Who would've thought?"

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The mansion of Subadra was alive with anticipation. The conch shells blared, and petals rained from the balconies as King Buddharaja and his entourage approached.

The king, astride his dark warhorse, cut a striking figure against the golden glow of the late afternoon sun. His hunters followed in disciplined formation, their expressions stoic and focused.

Subadra stood at the gates with Sumithra and the maids, the air thick with a blend of excitement and trepidation.

The merchant's heart pounded, knowing the weight of entertaining the King of Kalachuri in his home was both a privilege and a risk. For all his outward calm, Subadra knew this was no ordinary visit.

As the king dismounted, his sharp gaze swept the mansion grounds, lingering for a fraction of a second on the garden. His lips curved into a faint smile as he noticed the vase of fresh flowers on the veranda-the same flowers he had seen in the forest yesterday. But he said nothing.

Subadra stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Welcome, Your Majesty. It is the greatest honor to have the ruler of our land grace my humble home."

The king's eyes gleamed with a mix of warmth and calculation. "Humble?" he replied, his voice smooth yet edged with mockery. "Subadra, you hide your wealth well. This is a palace disguised as a mansion." He gestured casually at the immaculate grounds. "Your late sister would have been proud of your success."

Subadra stiffened slightly but kept his tone steady. "You honor me with your words, Your Majesty. Please, allow me to offer you the hospitality that befits a king."

Sumithra approached with the ceremonial aarti tray, her steps careful, her head bowed low. The flames of the lamp flickered in the breeze as she circled it before the king, murmuring prayers for his protection. Her voice trembled, but she maintained composure.

"Your Majesty," Sumithra said softly, "it is a joy to welcome you back to a house that still cherishes the memory of Hemavathi Devi."

The king's face darkened briefly, his sharp features softening as though touched by a shadow of grief. "Hemavathi," he murmured, almost inaudibly. His fingers grazed the edge of the aarti tray, and then his expression hardened once more. "She is gone, but her spirit remains strong here."

He turned back to Subadra. "Let us not waste time with excessive rituals. I have ridden far and hunted harder. Show me the comforts of your famed hospitality."

Subadra bowed again, gesturing toward the mansion. "Of course, Your Majesty. A feast awaits you, prepared with the finest offerings of Sripura."

As the group moved toward the grand doors, the king's sharp eyes flickered back to the garden once more.

Though he kept his demeanor regal and aloof, his thoughts were far from casual. The girl in the forest had haunted him since their encounter-her face so like Hemavathi's, her presence stirring something long buried.

Subadra, sensing the weight of the king's gaze, felt a ripple of unease. He had instructed Madhavi to remain out of sight, but he knew her curious spirit could lead her astray.

Inside, the mansion sparkled with preparations, but the tension was palpable. Sumithra whispered discreet orders to the maids, her voice trembling slightly. She, too, knew the king's visit was not entirely about leisure.

"Subadra," the king said as he took a seat in the grand hall, his tone deceptively casual, "you are a fortunate man to live surrounded by such peace and beauty. Few can say the same in times like these."

"Your Majesty is too kind," Subadra replied, forcing a smile. "This home is but a reflection of your prosperous rule."

The king chuckled lightly, but there was an edge to it. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the armrest of his chair.

"Tell me, my old friend" he said, his voice lowering slightly, "does your home hold any new treasures since my last visit? Anything rare... or unexpected?"

Subadra's stomach churned, but he maintained his composure. "My treasures remain the same, Your Majesty-trade, loyalty, and service to the crown."

The king's gaze lingered on Subadra, his piercing eyes making the merchant feel as though he were a book being read. Then, with a flick of his hand, he dismissed the thought. "I look forward to tomorrow. For now, let us drink and enjoy the spoils of the hunt."

As the king lifted his goblet, his mind drifted to that young girl's face. He had seen countless women in his life-queens, concubines, noblewomen-but none had struck him as she had. Her grace, her defiance, her uncanny resemblance to Hemavathi-it all intrigued him.

What would it take to make her his?

For now, he would wait. But not for long.

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Madhavi paced her room, the flowers she had picked earlier now wilting in a vase on the table. Her maids, Rakshi and Nalini, stood nearby, their faces hesitant as they watched her frown.

"Why didn't any of you let me see the king?" Madhavi asked, her voice tinged with irritation. She turned sharply, her delicate eyebrows knitted in frustration.

"He is the King of Kalachuri, a man of immense power and renown. How often does one get to see such a figure?"

Nalini exchanged a quick glance with Rakshi before responding, her tone cautious. "Madhavi, it is not for us to say, but... some meetings are best avoided."

Rakshi nodded, folding her hands nervously.

"They said he is not a man to be crossed lightly. The king is sharp, yes, and well handsome even in his middle age, but also... dangerous. You don't need to be anywhere near such a man, Madhavi."

Madhavi's frown deepened. "Dangerous? Why would I be in danger? I just only wished to see him"

Nalini bit her lip and hesitated before saying, "It's not about what you wish, Madhavi. It's... something else. There's a reason our master told you to stay out of sight."

Rakshi added quickly, "He is not just a king, Madhavi. He's a man who gets what he wants, no matter the cost. If he were to see you..." She trailed off, her cheeks flushing.

Madhavi's expression softened, her curiosity mingling with unease. "If he were to see me, what? What are you trying to say?"

Rakshi and Nalini fell silent, their eyes refusing to meet hers. Frustrated but sensing there was no point in pressing further, Madhavi sighed and waved them off. "Fine. I won't ask again. You two are hopeless."

The maids looked relieved but nervous as they mumbled apologies and busied themselves arranging her room.

As night fell and the maids retired to their adjoining quarters, Madhavi lay on her bed, her thoughts racing. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was being hidden from her, something important.

Then, suddenly, a sound drifted into her room-a melody so enchanting, so impossibly beautiful, that it made her sit up in wonder.

It was the rhythmic strumming of a sitar, fast and intricate yet soulful, as if the player were pouring their very soul into the strings.

Madhavi's heart quickened. Who could be playing such music at this hour? The notes seemed to call to her, drawing her like a moth to a flame.

She slipped out of bed, her bare feet brushing the cool floor as she made her way to the door. Peeking out to ensure the maids were still asleep, she wrapped a shawl around herself and ventured into the corridor, following the alluring sound.

As she descended the stairs and entered the courtyard, the music grew louder, filling the night air with its intoxicating rhythm.

The garden was bathed in moonlight, the flowers swaying gently in the breeze, and there, in the far corner, sat the player.

There, under the moonlit veranda, sat the hunter from the forest-the man whose sharp wit and piercing gaze had unsettled her. He sat cross-legged, the sitar resting on his lap, his fingers moving deftly across the strings.

"You," Madhavi said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The music stopped abruptly. He looked up, his expression briefly surprised before softening into a sly smile. "Ah, the forest godness," he said, his voice low and smooth. " Very well, You found your way to my music."

Madhavi hesitated, her heart racing. "I didn't know you played," she said cautiously, still unaware of his true identity. "It's... beautiful."

He set the sitar aside and rose gracefully to his feet, the moonlight accentuating his strong features. "Music is a refuge, even for hunters. And what brings you here, Devi? Drawn by curiosity or the melody?"

Madhavi felt her cheeks flush but held her ground. "Both, perhaps. But I didn't expect to find you here. Do you always wander into mansions uninvited?"

Buddharaja chuckled, his voice a deep, resonant hum. "Well in that case my lady, I'm more welcome here than you think." He stepped closer, his sharp gaze taking in every detail of her face. "But I suspect the same could be said of you. Who are you, Devi?"

Madhavi hesitated, the question piercing through her defenses. " well, I'm just... staying here. With the merchant Subadra and his wife."

"And your name?" he pressed, his tone soft yet insistent.

"Madhavi," she said quietly.

The name seemed to linger in the air, its sweetness striking something deep within him. For a moment, his usually guarded expression faltered. "Madhavi," he repeated, as if tasting the sound. "A name as lovely as its bearer."

Madhavi's gaze narrowed slightly, sensing the weight of his words. "And who are you Sir?" she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion. "You never told me your name, either."

The corner of his mouth twitched, as if debating whether to reveal the truth. Finally, he said, "I'm Buddharaja."

Madhavi froze. The name hit her like a thunderclap. "The king?" she whispered, stepping back. "You're the King of Kalachuri?"

He raised a hand, his tone calm and soothing. "Don't be alarmed, Madhavi. I meant no deceit. You knew me as the hunter from the forest, and I simply wanted to know the woman who captured my attention."

Madhavi shook her head, her heart pounding. "Why would a king bother with someone like me?"

Buddharaja's expression softened, a rare sincerity in his voice. "Because you're unlike anyone I've met. Your kindness, your strength, your beauty-it's rare to find all these in one person. You remind me of someone I once knew."

Madhavi's voice wavered as she replied, "I'm not who you think I am. I... I don't trust royals. I've been betrayed before by someone who wore a crown."

His eyes darkened, but he stepped closer, his tone steady. "Well then, I'm not him, My lady. And I don't seek to hurt you. If I've caused you distress, forgive me." He gestured to the sitar. "Perhaps I can make amends. Let me teach you to play?"

Madhavi hesitated, torn between distrust and curiosity. Finally, she nodded, unable to resist the pull of the moment.

He sat down, motioning for her to join him. When she hesitated, he patted the spot beside him. "Come. The sitar won't bite."

Madhavi hesitated. "But, well I don't know how to play. Sir"

He stepped closer, his breath warm against her ear. "I'll teach you," he said, his voice rich with promise. "It's simple once you understand the rhythm. I can guide you."

Madhavi's heart raced as she felt his fingers brush against hers. She tensed, but his touch was gentle-his hands guiding hers over the strings with surprising tenderness. The music flowed between them, an intimate exchange of silent communication. Madhavi's nerves slowly eased, though her thoughts remained tangled.

Kings eyes softening as he approached her softly. "I didn't mean to surprise you," he said, his voice low and calming. "But well I never thought you would be so curious about a mere hunter." He tried to smile, but there was a weight to his expression that made Madhavi's heart flutter uncomfortably.

Madhavi, though shaken, composed herself. She swallowed, trying to steady her breath. "I-didn't know... I didn't know you were the king." Her voice was soft, her words faltering.

The king's smile softened, and his warm breath touched her neck.

"I didn't mean to deceive you. I am... many things. But you, My lady, should know that I never intended to confuse you." He watched her closely, sensing her hesitation.

Madhavi turned her head slightly, to meet his gaze. "Why didn't you tell me who you were? I didn't trust you at first. Royals have... their way of deceiving others."

The king chuckled softly, his tone light yet tinged with something more complex. "And yet, you trusted a hunter. Funny how that works, isn't it?" His eyes glinted with a hint of amusement. He had already begun to understand her-the way she saw the world. "Perhaps you are wiser than I gave you credit for."

Her heart fluttered. She couldn't explain why, but she felt an odd sense of calm in his presence. "What is it that you want from me?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

The king's eyes darkened with desire, but his expression remained controlled. He didn't answer directly but instead motioned to the sitar at his side.

As they finished playing, he looked at her with an almost wistful smile. "Madhavi," he said softly, "you are a remarkable woman. I can see why you are so guarded by my friend Subadra. But I think, perhaps... you may have found something worth trusting here."

She pulled his hand away gently, her heart racing, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything. The weight of his gaze was too much, too overwhelming. She simply nodded, her emotions tangled between guilt, longing, and an attraction she couldn't deny.

The king gave a small, knowing smile. "Take your time, my lady" he said,his voice a quiet, sensual whisper.

Madhavi turned and walked away, her heart heavy, her thoughts torn. She didn't know what to make of this encounter, but one thing was clear-she was no longer certain of who she could trust or what her heart truly desire.