The first light of dawn spilled across Nandigram's skyline, turning the white marble spires of the palace into golden towers. From the palace balconies, Shaurya could see the capital already stirring — streets lined with pennants of every hue, fluttering in the early breeze like a river of colors winding through the city.
The Festival of Banners had arrived.
To the common folk, it was the most joyous day of the year — a celebration of heritage, trade, and unity. But to the noble houses, it was a stage. Every banner hung from the highest towers represented not just a family crest, but political influence, wealth, and the ability to defend one's honor in the public eye.
Shaurya knew this festival was no innocent parade.
Not when the Queen-Mother had been the one to "graciously" invite him.
The Invitation
The previous night, her words had been honeyed, her smile as polished as the gold embroidery on her sari.
"Maharaj Shaurya, the Festival of Banners is incomplete without the presence of its most promising sovereign. It is a place where alliances are woven and old ties reaffirmed. I am certain your… unique approach to leadership will be most enlightening to our venerable court."
It wasn't just an invitation — it was a challenge.
The Queen-Mother was pulling him into the public arena where every noble tongue would be sharpened, every smile a mask, and every gesture a move in the intricate game of power.
A City Awash in Color
When Shaurya descended into the main courtyard that morning, the festival had already begun. Hundreds of nobles and merchants had arrived from the surrounding provinces, each surrounded by retainers carrying their family's banner. The air smelled of rosewater, sandalwood, and fresh-spun sugar from the street vendors outside the palace walls.
Minstrels played from balconies, their sitars and flutes weaving a tune that seemed festive to most… but Shaurya could feel the undertone.
This wasn't music for dancing — it was music for dueling, dressed in silk.
The Opening Procession
The Queen-Mother stood at the head of the grand staircase, a vision of regal authority in deep crimson silk, her crown glinting in the morning light. To her right and left, high-ranking ministers and veteran statesmen — men whose silver hair hid daggers behind their smiles.
Her voice rang out across the courtyard.
"Let the Festival of Banners commence! May the banners of our houses rise high, and may our words today be as strong as our swords tomorrow."
One by one, nobles stepped forward to place their banners into the great stand at the center of the court. When Shaurya's turn came, he placed his banner — the silver lion on deep indigo — with calm precision, meeting the Queen-Mother's gaze without flinching.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. He could feel their eyes on him — measuring him, weighing him, wondering whether this young ruler from the forest could stand against the court's seasoned tacticians.
The First Challenge: The Circle of Words
The Queen-Mother's voice was smooth.
"To begin, a trial of wit. In the Circle of Words, each house shall be asked a question of governance. The answer shall reveal their vision — or lack thereof."
The ministers formed a semicircle. One by one, they posed loaded questions to various nobles — each answer met with murmurs of approval or polite smirks of disapproval.
When Shaurya's turn came, an elderly minister stepped forward. His eyes were like the edge of a well-honed blade.
"Maharaj Shaurya, in times of surplus, do you favor storing wealth for the future, or dispersing it among the people to gain loyalty?"
A trap.
If he said "store," they would call him a hoarder.
If he said "disperse," they would call him reckless.
Shaurya's answer was steady, his voice carrying across the courtyard.
"Surplus is like a river. If you dam it completely, it stagnates. If you let it all flow, it runs dry. The wise ruler shapes the river — feeding the land while ensuring the source never dies."
There was a pause. Then, to the Queen-Mother's slight irritation, the crowd murmured in approval. Even some veteran ministers nodded.
The Second Challenge: The Banner Claim
This tradition dated back centuries. A noble could challenge another's right to display their banner — not through combat, but by proving greater merit in the eyes of the assembly. It was a public show of prestige, and the Queen-Mother clearly intended for Shaurya to be targeted.
Sure enough, a marquis from the coastal provinces stepped forward, his smile smug.
"With respect, Maharaj Shaurya, your banner is young upon these walls. Would you defend it before us all?"
Shaurya inclined his head.
"Gladly."
The marquis expected a speech. Instead, Shaurya gestured, and his attendants unfurled scrolls bearing records of trade agreements, defense treaties, and food supply arrangements he had secured in the last month alone — far surpassing the marquis' yearly record.
"A banner is not defended by words alone," Shaurya said, "but by deeds that feed the people and shield their homes."
The marquis' smile faltered. The crowd's reaction was louder this time — approval, and perhaps something more dangerous: respect.
The Queen-Mother Tightens the Net
But the Queen-Mother was not so easily rattled. Her next move was subtler. She called for the Game of Alliances, a symbolic trading contest where nobles exchanged symbolic goods — silks, spices, rare metals — to demonstrate their ability to form beneficial arrangements.
On the surface, it was harmless. But each trade was a coded statement — who you allied with, who you ignored, and who you subtly insulted.
Shaurya traded first with a minor house often overlooked by the others, offering them a rare stone said to bring prosperity. This bold move shifted the balance — the minor house now stood under his protection, and several mid-tier nobles began reassessing their loyalties.
The Queen-Mother's expression barely changed, but Shaurya caught the faint tightening around her eyes. She was realizing this wasn't going to be easy.
Foreshadowing Shadows
As the games continued, Shaurya noticed something. Among the banners, there were a few unfamiliar crests — symbols he didn't recognize from any known noble house. Their bearers stood quietly, observing, never speaking, but their eyes… their eyes were sharp and calculating.
One in particular — a black banner with three silver crescents — seemed to almost shimmer in the breeze. The attendants guarding it were heavily armed for a festival.
It was a detail most would overlook, but Shaurya filed it away.
Something about these unknown banners felt… out of place.
As if the Queen-Mother wasn't the only one playing a game today.
The Final Unplanned Challenge
Just as the formal events were winding down, a voice rang out from the far end of the courtyard.
"I challenge the Lion of Indigo to the Rite of Banners."
Gasps spread through the crowd. This was no ceremonial exchange — this was a direct, public challenge to one's honor and legitimacy, allowed only in extreme circumstances. And it wasn't from the Queen-Mother or any familiar noble.
It was from one of the black-bannered strangers.
The Queen-Mother's eyes flickered — surprise, quickly masked by curiosity.
Shaurya stepped forward, calm as ever.
"Name yourself."
The man's lips curved into a faint smile.
"I am merely a voice for those whose banners do not yet fly here. Defeat me, and the day remains yours. Fail, and you will yield your banner — and your claim to the Queen-Mother's favor."
The courtyard was utterly silent now. The Queen-Mother's trap had taken an unexpected turn. This stranger wasn't part of her plan… and Shaurya could tell, from the way her gaze narrowed, that she didn't like being blindsided.
Shaurya's Poised Reply
Shaurya gave a slight nod.
"Very well. But understand this — I do not yield banners. I raise them."
And in that moment, as the festival drums began to beat for the Rite of Banners, Shaurya knew this was no longer about the Queen-Mother's tests. This was a thread leading somewhere far deeper — and perhaps, far more dangerous — than anything today's games were meant to decide.
To be continued….