The moon hung like a silver scimitar over the turrets of Ahmednagar Fort, its light falling through the lattice windows in fractured shards. Inside the durbar hall, silence clung to the walls like a suffocating cloak. Chand Bibi sat upon the ivory-inlaid throne, her slender fingers drumming lightly against the armrest not in impatience, but in calculation.
Before her, an assembly of generals and advisors stood in two uneasy lines. Their turbans gleamed in the torchlight, but the expressions beneath them were harder to read—some sharp with loyalty, others clouded with ambition. Rumors had been creeping through the corridors like poison: the Mughals were not the only threat. Treachery had seeped inside Ahmednagar's very veins.
"Speak," Chand Bibi's voice broke the stillness. Low, resonant, and controlled—it was the voice of a queen who could command an army and shatter a conspiracy in the same breath.
General Hamid Khan stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Your Majesty, the scouts confirm movement along the northern border. The Mughal encampment grows by the night. But…" He hesitated, glancing at the others.
"But?" Chand Bibi's gaze locked on him, her eyes sharp as tempered steel.
"There are whispers," Hamid continued. "Whispers of a traitor feeding them our positions."
A ripple of tension passed through the court. Someone cleared their throat nervously; another shifted his weight. Chand Bibi noticed every movement—cataloguing, assessing.
In the back of the hall, a young soldier, face half-hidden in shadow, clenched his jaw. Chand Bibi's eyes caught him, and for the briefest moment, his gaze met hers before darting away.
She rose from the throne. The hall seemed to shrink around her presence."Loyalty is not proven in words," she said. "It is proven when the enemy knocks on our gates and you do not open them from within."
Her words fell like the clang of steel. The courtiers bowed, but she could feel their unease—like the vibration of a blade moments before it is drawn.
That night, she did not sleep.
In her private chambers, lit only by the orange flicker of an oil lamp, Chand Bibi spread a map across the low cedar table. Her fingertips traced the paths of Ahmednagar's underground water tunnels—ancient channels carved beneath the fort, leading beyond its walls. They were the lifelines during a siege. They were also the perfect routes for a spy to slip out unnoticed.
She heard the faint scrape of stone against stone. Every instinct sharpened. The sound came from the far corner, behind the tapestry that hung against the wall. Chand Bibi rose silently, her dagger sliding free from its sheath with a whisper.
She approached, each step as soundless as drifting silk. In one swift motion, she yanked the tapestry aside.
The wall was empty.
Only the air shifted—cooler, faintly smelling of damp earth.
Her eyes narrowed. A hidden door.
The next night, she set her trap.
The wind howled outside the fortress, rattling the shutters. From a darkened alcove in the passage, Chand Bibi watched as a figure emerged from the hidden panel. Cloaked, hood drawn low, the person moved with the confidence of one who had walked this route many times.
They carried a small satchel, its shape betraying the roll of parchment inside.
Chand Bibi followed.
The narrow tunnels beneath Ahmednagar were damp, the air thick with the scent of moss and stone. Water dripped steadily from the ceiling, echoing in the darkness. The cloaked figure moved quickly, but Chand Bibi's footsteps were silent, her blade steady in her hand.
When the figure reached a bend in the tunnel, she struck—pinning them against the wall, dagger pressing cold against their throat.
The hood fell back.
It was the young soldier from the durbar.
His eyes darted wildly, but Chand Bibi's grip was unyielding. "Who sent you?" she demanded.
His voice trembled. "I… I had no choice."
"There is always a choice," she said coldly.
The soldier swallowed hard. "They have my family… the Mughals. If I don't send them the troop routes, they will—" His voice cracked.
For a moment, Chand Bibi's gaze softened—not in pity, but in the recognition of a soldier's impossible dilemma. Still, betrayal was betrayal.
She tightened her grip. "Then you will send them what I tell you. And only what I tell you."
The soldier stared at her, confusion mixing with fear. "What do you mean?"
Her dagger lowered slightly, but her eyes remained lethal. "We will feed the Mughals lies. Routes that lead into traps. Numbers that make us look weaker where we are strongest. If they want to play games in the dark, we will play better."
The soldier nodded slowly, relief and dread battling across his face. Chand Bibi stepped back, but her final words struck like an oath.
"If you betray me again," she said, "there will be no tunnels deep enough to hide you."
By dawn, the Mughals would receive their first false map. And by nightfall, Chand Bibi would know whether her gamble had paid off—or if she had invited an even greater danger into the heart of her kingdom.
Ahmednagar's walls still stood strong. But now, so did its queen's trap.
The game of shadows had begun.
To be continued......