As the silhouette of Varunaprastha loomed on the horizon, a wave of nostalgia surged through Krishnapriya. Determined to avoid the prying eyes of the palace guards and the whispers of the streets, he signaled Aditya to ascend higher, gliding like a silent shadow against the deepening twilight.
When Aditya’s hooves met the cool stone of the Tridevi temple courtyard, the sun had vanished, leaving the city cloaked in a soft amber glow. After a moment of resolute prayer, Krishnapriya remounted and directed Aditya toward the palace gardens.
In the royal park, the air buzzed with the rhythmic sound of bells and the rustle of silk. A group of young women, clad in vibrant crimson, executed a traditional dance that mirrored the movements of combat. Krishnapriya observed, his face obscured by a traveling veil, but the glint of his chest armor and the heavy sword at his hip marked him unmistakably as a soldier.
The laughter of the girls stilled when they noticed the stranger. They moved with practiced grace, circling Krishnapriya like a whirlwind of red silk. Suddenly, the air filled with the intoxicating scent of lotuses. Before he could react, a dozen blades converged, halting just inches from his throat.
A sly smile crept across Krishnapriya’s lips behind the veil. He felt no fear; he felt a swell of pride. He drew a short sword from his belt, the metal singing as it slid from the scabbard. The girls braced to strike, but the piercing, silver note of a flute echoed through the garden.
Instantly, the dancers lowered their weapons and melted back into the shadows as a rider approached. It was Vidhi, sitting with poise on her horse, her presence commanding yet graceful.
Krishnapriya remained silent, his heart pounding with anticipation. He wanted to see the woman his sister had become in his absence, and he was ready to test her spirit.
Vidhi dismounted, eyes narrowing as she scrutinized the masked warrior. "Stranger," she asserted, her voice steady and firm, "you stand in the private gardens of the palace. Identify yourself."
Krishnapriya raised the ornate bow given to him by Aryavardhana. "My identity lies in the flight of my arrows," he declared, his voice masked. He notched an arrow, gauging her resolve.
Vidhi stood her ground. "I may not be a master of the great arts of war," she maintained calmly, "but I know enough to defend my home." With a swift motion, she reached for a cord at her waist. A sharp tug revealed two hidden daggers. She assumed a disciplined tadamudra stance, the blades glinting in the moonlight.
Krishnapriya set his bow aside on Aditya’s back and drew his primary sword. "Three strikes," he challenged, his voice low and charged with emotion. "The one with the fewest wounds wins."
Vidhi nodded, her eyes alight with determination. The dancers quickly retreated, clearing a wide circle under the moonlight.
In an explosive rush, the two collided—steel meeting shadow. Vidhi was faster than Krishnapriya anticipated. She feinted with her right hand, drawing his sword high before spinning with dancer’s grace. Krishnapriya managed to parry the primary attack, but Vidhi’s left dagger found its target.
A sharp, hot sting flared in Krishnapriya’s left shoulder. He gasped, air hissing through his teeth as blood began to seep into his tunic. It was a shallow cut, but it burned fiercely. He glanced at his arm, then back at Vidhi, a new spark of respect igniting in his eyes.
He refused to back down. Spotting a dropped dagger on the grass, he skillfully hooked it with his boot, sending it into the air and catching it deftly in his free hand. Now firmly balanced with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, he squared his shoulders. The “stranger” and the princess stood poised, the air thick with the scent of lotuses and an unspoken acknowledgment of their bloodline.t of lotuses and the silent recognition of blood.
