The throne room of Vajratva glittered like a serpent's hoard. Jewels encrusted the pillars, chandeliers of crystal hung from vaulted ceilings, and silken banners in deep green and gold swayed in the perfumed air.
But beneath the beauty was weight. A silence that pressed like coils around Lakshya's chest. The courtiers smiled too much, bowed too low. Their eyes did not see him as boy or man, but as the mark that pulsed faintly beneath the wrappings on his palm.
At the far end of the hall, Queen Padmashri sat upon her throne. Her crown was slim, a circlet of jade shaped like entwined serpents. Her eyes were dark, sharp, and amused, as though she already knew every answer to every question that might be asked.
"Welcome, Lakshya of Nandigram," she said. Her voice was soft, yet carried easily through the chamber. "Or shall I call you something else? The Watcher's vessel? The Ashen Mandate?"
The courtiers chuckled softly, though unease rippled beneath their laughter.
Lakshya stepped forward. His voice was calm, but he made no attempt to match her smile. "Lakshya is enough."
---
The queen leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. "Lakshya, then. Tell me — did you think silence would hide you? That the Watchers would mark you, and the world would look away? No. Their silence is not emptiness. It is invitation."
She gestured to the throne beside her, empty save for a cushion of emerald silk. "Sit. Speak. Let us see if you understand the debt you carry."
Lakshya did not sit. "A debt is not owed until it is named."
The queen's lips curved. "Sharp tongue. Good. You will need it."
---
The chamber darkened as servants lowered silken curtains, shutting out the morning light. Only the glow of braziers remained, their flames throwing serpent-shadows across the walls.
Queen Padmashri rose from her throne and descended the steps, each movement deliberate, like a serpent circling prey. She stopped before Lakshya, close enough that the scent of lotus and steel reached him.
"You are marked. That makes you both burden and bridge. Kingdoms will fight to bind you, Lakshya. Some will want you chained. Some will want you slain. But I…" She tilted her head, eyes glinting. "…I want you allied."
A murmur ran through the courtiers. An alliance with the Marked One — it was a proposal as dangerous as it was tempting.
---
Lakshya met her gaze steadily. "Allied how?"
The queen smiled. "With marriage."
The words struck the chamber like thunder. Courtiers gasped, some choking on their own breath. Priests muttered hurried prayers. Even the envoy from Nandigram shifted uneasily.
Lakshya did not flinch. "Why?"
Padmashri circled him slowly, her voice a silken coil. "Because crowns do not fear curses when they wear them. If you stand beside me, Lakshya, Vajratva becomes the center of the game. The Watchers' silence will bind not only you, but me, my crown, my armies, my people. Together, we could turn debt into dominion."
She stopped behind him, whisper soft: "Without such binding, you remain coin. And coins are spent."
---
The envoy's leader, General Bhairav, stepped forward, his voice hard. "Your Majesty — this 'bargain' reeks of chains. Nandigram will not see its Ashen Mandate stolen into another crown."
The queen did not look at him. Her eyes never left Lakshya. "It is no theft. It is choice. The boy decides. Tell me, Lakshya — will you remain a hunted coin? Or will you take up a serpent's crown, and make the hunters kneel?"
The mark on his palm burned, hot as coal beneath the wrappings. He felt it pulse with every word, as though the Watchers themselves waited for his answer.
Lakshya exhaled slowly. His voice was steady.
"Debt cannot be paid with chains. If I am to carry it, I'll carry it free."
The chamber froze.
---
The queen's laughter rang out, soft and dangerous. "Free? Brave words. Foolish words. But perhaps the Watchers enjoy both." She stepped back, returning to her throne. "Very well. Refuse my bargain. But remember this, Lakshya — a serpent waits. It coils. It does not forget."
Her eyes narrowed, gleaming. "When the crowns gather, and they will, your freedom may cost more than chains."
The court was dismissed.
---
That night, alone in his chambers, Lakshya unwrapped his palm. The mark glowed faintly, its heat fading into a dull throb.
He whispered, "I won't bow. Not to crowns. Not to serpents. Not even to you."
Somewhere in the silence, he thought he heard it again — faint, almost laughter. The Watchers' silence was never empty.
To be continued....