The Infirmary | That Night
The chambers of the infirmary were cold and dim. From the domed ceiling hung metal lamps, casting a muted glow over blood-soaked cloth, chains, and the anguished voices of wounded warriors—together creating a strange, unsettling symphony.
Guards stood silently by every doorway. The aggressive fire that once burned in their eyes was gone. After Princess Trishanvita's order, they were merely following protocol.
The physicians worked swiftly—examining wounds one by one, stitching torn flesh, administering liquid medicines. On small earthen platforms, the warriors lay sprawled, gasping, gradually slipping into exhausted sleep.
---
In one corner of a chamber sat Prince Ritupriyon, his bare body smeared with blood, a soft cloth wrapped around his shoulder. Beside him sat his trusted commander, Jyotishman—his body bandaged, yet his face calm. Both were silent.
At last, Jyotishman spoke.
Jyotishman (smiling faintly):
"Your judgment was mistaken, my prince. Princess Trishanvita saved our lives."
Prince Ritupriyon remained silent for a moment.
Ritupriyon (grimly):
"Saved us… or merely prolonged the game? What you call mercy, I see as calculated performance. When one's brother is a living monster, what can we truly expect?"
Jyotishman replied softly,
"I don't think so, my prince. I believe the princess was genuinely concerned for us. She was afraid. There was a strange desperation in her voice—I felt it."
Ritupriyon (curling his lips):
"Fear—or temptation? Standing in that corridor, staring at eighteen bloodied men… who knows what stirred in her mind? Are her chambers adorned with men like this every night? A different one each day?"
Jyotishman (lowering his voice carefully):
"You know what you're saying is improper. I don't believe Princess Trishanvita is like Emperor Kayotran. I believe—she is not his shadow. She is something else. She saved our lives. She deserves respect."
Ritupriyon (with a faint laugh):
"Respect? For a woman who keeps men as slaves in her palace?"
Jyotishman grew solemn and said slowly,
"But is that truly who she is? Or is everything we hear merely a reflection of patriarchal rumor?"
Ritupriyon fell silent.
Jyotishman continued quietly,
"Some say the princess summons a new man every night. But she can't be more than twenty or twenty-one, can she? So many men—powerful human weapons… how could a young woman possibly take a new one every night?"
Ritupriyon pondered in silence.
Jyotishman (skeptically):
"It doesn't seem possible. A single young woman—can she truly make such powerful men her bed companions one after another? Something doesn't add up."
Ritupriyon (thinking):
"You're right. Something is very wrong."
---
After a while, Jyotishman spoke again.
"Still… what we heard is true. The ruthless emperor's sister is unimaginably beautiful. Princess Trishanvita's beauty is unparalleled. Her voice is gentle, yet her steps carry a strange authority. Her eyes hold a depth—not letters of language, but a profound mystery."
Prince Ritupriyon froze.
Ritupriyon (harshly):
"Have you fallen in love with the princess?"
Commander Jyotishman looked flustered.
Jyotishman (lowering his gaze shyly):
"No, no, my prince. I was only acknowledging her qualities—nothing more."
Ritupriyon (stern yet restrained):
"Today, the princess displayed extraordinary compassion. Because of her, we escaped a horrific fate. Many soldiers were critically wounded—without timely treatment, they would have died. I acknowledge this debt.
When this kingdom becomes mine—even if I kill everyone in the palace—I will not kill her. This is my vow."
---
Later that night, Prince Ritupriyon and Commander Jyotishman rested in a secluded chamber of the infirmary. But Ritupriyon's mind revolved around only one thought—Princess Trishanvita.
Had she truly been intimate with her chamber slaves? How many men had she slept with? And how was it possible—each night with a new captured human weapon?
Suddenly—
Ritupriyon:
"I want to go to the princess's chambers tonight."
Jyotishman (shocked):
"My prince, have you lost your mind?"
Ritupriyon (dismissively):
"Why would I?"
Ritupriyon (smiling faintly):
"We were brought here as her chamber slaves, weren't we? Then I merely wish to serve the princess."
Ritupriyon stood slowly. Blood still stained the bandages on his shoulder, but his eyes burned with resolve. Jyotishman tried to stop him—but the prince had already stepped forward.
---
Outside the infirmary stood a heavily built guard—fatigue etched into his eyes, yet standing rigid like stone.
Ritupriyon approached him, Jyotishman following with visible unease.
The armored guard looked up and snarled,
"What do you want?"
Ritupriyon:
"I wish to go to Princess Trishanvita's chambers."
The guard's eyes lowered—filled with contempt and animal disdain.
Guard (with hatred):
"Who are you? A half-dead slave, and you think you can enter the princess's chambers?"
Before Ritupriyon could respond, Jyotishman snapped angrily,
"Watch your tongue. Learn to respect our prince."
The guard stepped closer, towering over them.
Guard (roaring):
"Slaves like you don't even get to smell the princess. Tonight is forbidden. No one enters. Healthy slaves are never sent inside. Only the wounded, weak, or unconscious are allowed."
Both men froze.
Jyotishman (softly, puzzled):
"What kind of rule is that? Why only the wounded?"
The guard growled,
"By morning, those slaves are dead. And if any survive, they are executed at dawn. Entering the princess's chamber guarantees death."
Jyotishman whispered in shock,
"This palace… the emperor… the princess… they're all insane ."
Ritupriyon remained deep in thought.
Then suddenly, he smiled.
Ritupriyon:
"Isn't it amusing, Jyotishman? Dying in a beautiful princess's chamber?"
Jyotishman stared at him, speechless.
Ritupriyon continued,
"A thoughtful death, arranged by the emperor. Better than rotting in a dungeon. To die in his sister's chamber—how poetic."
Even the guard looked stunned. No one had ever laughed at death before.
Suddenly, Ritupriyon's gaze sharpened.
Ritupriyon (strangely smiling):
"Live or die—I will go to the princess tonight."
---
Bang!
Like lightning from the shadows, Ritupriyon lunged forward.
Before the guard could react—
Slice.
In Ritupriyon's fingers was a thin metallic needle—taken from the infirmary, hidden beneath his blood-soaked clothes, coated with anesthetic.
In a single, flawless motion, he plunged it into a precise nerve point near the guard's neck.
The guard gurgled, eyes wide, hands grasping at air—then collapsed.
Thud.
His body hit the stone floor, unconscious.
Jyotishman stood frozen.
Ritupriyon:
"The fool didn't know how to respect a prince. This needle was enough."
He smiled at Jyotishman.
"Come. Let us go to the chamber of death's mistress."
---
To be continued…