The corridors of Vajratva's palace were built to whisper.
Even as Lakshya walked beneath its arched ceilings, he could hear voices that were not meant for him: ministers muttering in shadowed alcoves, servants trading rumors in hurried tones, priests reciting verses of protection as though to ward off a curse that now walked their halls.
And always, beneath it all, the serpent's hiss. Not of sound, but of intent. Queen Padmashri had smiled at his defiance, but her shadow now coiled tighter around every step he took.
---
That evening, the envoy was given quarters in the South Wing of the palace. Soldiers of Vajratva lined the halls, their spears gleaming. General Bhairav muttered under his breath, "Prisoners with cushions. That's what we are."
Lakshya said nothing, but the mark on his palm tingled faintly, warning of unseen threads tightening.
---
A Whisper in the Garden
Restless, Lakshya slipped away at night, following the soft glow of lanterns into the palace gardens. The air was thick with jasmine, moonlight spilling across marble fountains carved into serpent shapes.
There, beneath a banyan tree older than the palace itself, he met someone waiting.
A girl, dressed not in silks but in plain cloth. Her eyes were sharp, her steps light — no courtier, no servant.
"You shouldn't be here," she said quickly, glancing around. "The queen's shadow stretches even here."
Lakshya studied her. "And yet you're here."
The girl smirked faintly. "Someone has to warn the fool who told Padmashri 'no' in front of her entire court."
"Who are you?"
"An enemy of crowns. Call me Maya."
---
Maya leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Padmashri doesn't forgive. Her bargain wasn't an offer — it was a test. You embarrassed her before her fangs. Now she'll bleed you without ever drawing a blade."
Lakshya frowned. "How?"
Maya's eyes gleamed in the moonlight. "Whispers. Deals. Poison in the wine of alliances. She'll twist your name, turn your debt into hers. By the time you leave Vajratva, every kingdom will think you bent the knee — or that you broke it trying."
Lakshya's jaw tightened. "Then I'll make my truth louder than her whispers."
Maya laughed softly. "Brave. Foolish. The same thing, sometimes. If you want your truth to outlast hers, you'll need more than courage. You'll need shadow of your own."
---
The Feast of Crowns
The next day, Vajratva held a grand feast in Lakshya's honor — or so it was announced. In truth, it was theater.
Courtiers from rival kingdoms sat at Padmashri's table, sipping wine, watching Lakshya as though he were both honored guest and condemned criminal. Musicians played flutes shaped like serpents; dancers swayed like coils of smoke.
The queen raised her cup. "To Lakshya, the Ashen Mandate. May silence carry his name."
The courtiers repeated the words, but their eyes were sharp, weighing him.
Midway through the feast, a minister of Kalinga leaned across the table, voice dripping with false warmth. "Tell us, Marked One — how does it feel to reject a queen's hand? Bold? Or foolish?"
Laughter rippled. Lakshya met the man's gaze evenly. "Better foolish than bound."
The minister's smile faltered. The queen's did not.
But beneath her smile, Lakshya felt the coils tighten.
---
The Shadow Moves
That night, the envoy's supplies were tampered with. Scrolls went missing. A soldier's blade was found blunted. Even the food delivered to their quarters smelled faintly bitter until Bhairav forced a taster to sample it.
None of it fatal. None of it open. But all of it deliberate.
"The serpent strikes without striking," Bhairav growled. "She's showing teeth, waiting for us to flinch."
Lakshya clenched his fist, feeling the heat of the mark burn against his skin. He remembered Maya's words — She'll bleed you without ever drawing a blade.
---
The Silent Choice
Days passed. Each feast, each council, each whispered conversation was another net cast around him. Some courtiers offered friendship; others offered veiled threats. But always, Padmashri watched from her throne, smiling like the serpent she was.
Finally, she summoned him alone.
In the dim throne room, she spoke softly, almost kindly.
"You think refusal is freedom. It is not. Refusal is shadow. And shadow is mine."
Lakshya's voice was steady. "Then I'll make light of my own."
Her smile sharpened. "Then let us see if your light can outshine a serpent's shadow."
The game had begun.
---
Closing Note
Lakshya left the throne room that night knowing one truth: rejecting the bargain had not freed him. It had bound him tighter — not in chains of gold, but in coils of shadow.
The Watchers' silence thrummed in his palm. He whispered to it, half-prayer, half-promise:
"Whatever your test is, I won't be swallowed. Not by crowns. Not by serpents. Not by shadows."
The silence, as always, answered only with weight.
To be continued....