The drums of Nandigram Palace rolled like distant thunder, announcing the evening's grand assembly. Shaurya stepped into the marble-clad corridors with the same quiet, regal gait that had unsettled many warriors before. But this was no battlefield of steel and blood. Tonight, the weapons would be words, perception, and the delicate game of resource management before the eyes of the court.
The air was fragrant with cardamom and saffron, carried by servants weaving through with platters of jeweled fruits and golden chalices of spiced milk. The ceilings arched high into darkness, inlaid with emerald and gold patterns that seemed to shift like constellations. On each pillar, reliefs of past kings held bags of grain and jewels, a silent reminder that in Nandigram, wealth was the true throne.
At the far end of the great Durbar Hall sat the Queen-Mother, Maharani Vishvashree. Draped in a sari of moonlight silk that shimmered like frost on still water, she held herself like a temple idol — unmoving, untouchable. Her eyes, however, were anything but serene. They were sharp and deliberate, scanning the young king from head to toe, as if weighing him in invisible scales.
"Welcome, Shaurya Adhipati," her voice rang, soft but carrying to every corner. "To sit among rulers, one must master not the sword… but the balance of plenty."
Shaurya bowed slightly. "Plenty is a river, Maharani. One may hoard it in dams, or channel it to fields. The choice determines whether a kingdom thrives… or starves."
A flicker of something — approval? Calculation? — passed across her face.
The Queen-Mother's hand rose, and the servants swung open the gilded lattice doors. Beyond them lay a sight that would have made lesser men dizzy.
Tables stretched like rivers of gold down the length of the hall, laden with delicacies: mountains of rice jeweled with pomegranate seeds, roasted peacocks glazed in honey, pyramids of saffron halwa crowned with silver leaf. Each guest's place was marked with goblets set in rings of emerald, and every cushion was embroidered with the crest of Nandigram's ruling line.
But Shaurya's eyes didn't linger on the food. He scanned the layout — who sat where, which plates were fuller, which cups were empty. This was no mere feast. It was a map. A ledger. And a trap.
The Queen-Mother gestured for him to sit at her right hand. The courtiers, ministers, and foreign envoys watched with keen eyes.
"Tonight," she said, "you will preside over our table. You will allocate the royal stores among my guests, as a king must among his people. But… beware. Some here will ask too much. Others will ask too little. Fail, and the harmony will break."
It was a trial dressed in silk and song, but Shaurya knew the stakes. Any imbalance could turn the nobles against him before he even left the palace.
The First Moves
A minister from the eastern estates rose. "Your Majesty," he said, bowing to Shaurya, "my region suffered a poor harvest. Might the court spare extra grain for my estates?"
Shaurya smiled faintly. "How many villages?"
"Twenty-two," the minister said quickly.
Shaurya turned to a servant. "Bring two chests of grain from the surplus store — but ensure a chest of saffron is sent alongside. The grain will feed, the saffron will trade."
Murmurs rippled through the court. Not only had he granted aid, he had ensured the estates could regain wealth without draining the stores again.
The Queen-Mother's gaze sharpened.
The Second Test
Next, a foreign envoy from the merchant isles leaned forward. "Great king, our ships bring you spices worth a city's ransom. Yet the tariffs here are… harsh. Could they not be softened?"
Shaurya met his eyes, calm. "Trade is a river, Envoy. If I widen the channel, will you promise not to drain the source?"
The envoy hesitated, then smiled thinly. "We will pledge to double imports and keep prices fair."
"Then," Shaurya said, "I will halve your tariff — for one season. If you keep your word, it will remain so. Break it, and the gates will close."
A few merchants in the back exchanged knowing looks. This was diplomacy balanced on a blade.
The Hidden Snare
The Queen-Mother leaned closer, her voice low enough for only Shaurya to hear. "You please them now. But tell me — what will you do when there is not enough for all?"
Without looking at her, Shaurya said, "Then I will teach them to grow more, trade wiser, and waste less. A king who feeds his people once is generous. A king who makes them self-sufficient is eternal."
She said nothing, but her hand stilled on her jeweled armrest.
The Final Play
Midway through the feast, a commotion stirred. Two nobles — one from the northern mines, the other from the western fisheries — both demanded more royal silver for their ventures.
"There is only enough in the treasury for one of you," a minister said, feigning distress. All eyes turned to Shaurya.
He looked at both men evenly. "Then share it. Half for mines, half for fisheries. One will bring wealth from the earth, the other from the sea. Should either fail, the other will carry the weight."
It was not the answer either noble wanted — but neither could argue without seeming greedy. The court saw it too.
By the end of the night, the Queen-Mother rose. "Shaurya Adhipati has passed the Gate of Wealth. He has shown that gold is not merely spent… it is guided."
The applause was polite but layered with murmurs. The Queen-Mother's eyes met his — not in defeat, but in acknowledgment. Her trap had not sprung, but the game was far from over.
Shaurya sipped his wine slowly, unshaken. The feast had ended, but the palace intrigue had only just begun.
To be continued....