The council chamber had never felt so suffocating. The torches that lined the carved stone walls flickered not just with flame, but with the heat of whispers rising among the nobles. What Shaurya had uncovered in the last session—corrupt ministers, secret siphoning of resources, and deliberate attempts to weaken Nandigram's strength—had shaken the pillars of confidence that had propped up the Queen-Mother's court for years.
Now, as the final words of accusation still hung in the air, all eyes turned not on Shaurya, nor even on the Queen-Mother, but toward the empty dais at her right hand.
That place, the "Seat of Shadows," was reserved for her most trusted confidant. None had sat there since the death of the old Rajguru. Yet tonight, as the court gathered again, a cloaked figure already occupied it.
The Queen-Mother's face betrayed nothing, but Shaurya noticed the smallest tightening of her jaw as she raised her hand for silence.
"Tonight," she said, her voice regal and steady, "Nandigram must decide whether our honored guest, Shaurya, speaks with wisdom—or with reckless ambition. To test this, I summon one who has watched from silence, one who knows the ledger of this kingdom better than any courtier. Let all bear witness."
The cloaked figure rose. Slowly, deliberately. A hush rippled through the chamber. When the hood fell back, a collective gasp echoed.
It was not a grizzled minister or a forgotten noble.
It was a young man—barely older than Shaurya himself. His face bore the unmistakable features of royal blood: the sharp cheekbones, the proud line of the nose, the eyes like tempered steel.
The Queen-Mother's voice cut the silence.
"Behold. My second son. The one hidden from the eyes of the world until this hour—Prince Samrat."
The chamber erupted. Nobles rose, robes flaring, voices clashing in disbelief. A second prince? Hidden? Why had no one been told?
But Shaurya did not flinch. His eyes met Samrat's, and in that locked gaze, the unspoken truth struck him: this was no coincidence. The Queen-Mother had prepared this move for years, waiting for the perfect moment to unleash it.
Samrat stepped forward, his voice sharp, polished, and commanding.
"Shaurya," he said, his tone more challenge than greeting. "You claim corruption festers in this court. You accuse my mother's ministers and dare to question Nandigram's unity. I stand now as its true heir, shield and sword of its honor. Prove your words before me—or be exposed as a schemer who would tear apart what he cannot control."
The Queen-Mother's eyes glimmered like daggers half-hidden in silk. She had set the board anew.
The nobles fell silent. All waited for Shaurya's reply.
And Shaurya, calm as a mountain in storm, rose from his seat. His voice was steady, his gaze unshaken.
"Then let truth decide between us, Prince Samrat. But know this—truth has no loyalty to blood or throne. It stands only with justice."
The council chamber shivered with the weight of those words.
But before the trial of wit and power could begin, the great doors of the chamber burst open. A messenger stumbled in, armor scorched, face pale with terror.
"My Queen—my lords—" he cried. "The banners of Vishragarh fly on the horizon. Their army marches upon us!"
The chamber exploded into chaos.
And in that instant, Shaurya understood: this was not merely court intrigue anymore. The storm outside had come to crash against Nandigram's walls.
The Queen-Mother's trap, Prince Samrat's sudden emergence, the nobles' divided loyalties—
Everything was about to collide.
The game had changed.
To be continued....