The sound tore through the chamber like a beast's roar.
HOOOOOOORN!
It was not the cry of some mere scout's trumpet. It was the long, deep bellow of war horns—the kind that only armies carried, the kind meant to announce not arrival but conquest.
Every noble in the hall stiffened. Some clutched their robes, others paled, and a few even collapsed to their knees. But Shaurya did not move. His gaze flicked toward the chamber doors, where the messenger still trembled, smoke and soot clinging to his armor.
"Their banners," the man stammered, "a sea of black and gold. Vishragarh has come with fire wagons and war-beasts. They march at dawn's first light."
The Queen-Mother's composure cracked for the briefest second, but her voice regained its edge swiftly.
"So… the vultures finally show their wings."
Prince Samrat stepped forward, every movement honed, deliberate. He radiated the confidence of one who had waited for such a stage.
"Then let it be my first duty as Nandigram's rightful heir," he declared, "to lead our armies into battle and drive Vishragarh back into the ashes they crawled from."
The court erupted into cheers and doubts alike. Half the nobles cried for Samrat, swept up in his sudden rise. Others whispered of Shaurya, remembering the victories he had already carved into the soil.
Shaurya's eyes narrowed. He saw the Queen-Mother's hand in this—timed too perfectly, too sharp to be coincidence. The hidden son unveiled not in peace, but at the moment of invasion. A move to bind the nobles' loyalty in blood and war.
Yet Shaurya was not one to be outmaneuvered.
He stepped forward, cloak brushing against the marble. His voice cut across the chaos like a sword unsheathed.
"Nandigram cannot be defended by shadows newly brought to light. This enemy has stalked our borders for months—and I have already prepared for their strike."
Murmurs spread, confused, curious. Samrat's eyes flashed with challenge.
"Prepared? You claim much for one who wears no crown."
Shaurya turned, his gaze sweeping the hall.
"While the court whispered and bartered, I strengthened the outer villages, armed the forges, and trained the forgotten sons of farmers into soldiers. Vishragarh expects weakness. They will find steel instead."
For a moment, silence.
Then—an older minister, one who had doubted Shaurya before, rose trembling from his seat. His voice cracked, but the truth carried in it.
"I saw it myself… My own nephews train with weapons provided by Lord Shaurya's men. He speaks true!"
The chamber rippled again, loyalties shaking.
The Queen-Mother's lips curved in the faintest smile, one Shaurya recognized as dangerous: a serpent's patience. She had not lost control yet.
"Then," she said smoothly, "let both sons of Nandigram stand together. Samrat by blood, Shaurya by deed. If Vishragarh dares to test our walls, let the battlefield reveal whose vision commands victory."
The horns outside bellowed again, closer now.
Samrat extended his hand toward Shaurya—not in peace, but in silent challenge.
"Then tomorrow, brother," he said, his voice low enough that only Shaurya heard, "we shall see who this kingdom truly belongs to."
Shaurya did not take the hand. He merely smiled faintly—the smile of a man who had already seen beyond tomorrow's dawn.
The war drums outside answered for him.
To be continued....