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The Court Reassembles
The sun had only begun to tilt westward when the Hall of Banners transformed into a hall of feasting. Where moments ago banners had decided allegiance, now carpets of crimson silk unfurled, tables of sandalwood lined the chamber, and golden trays of food were carried in by lines of servants.
Spiced rice steamed in jeweled bowls, roasted meats glistened with honey and herbs, platters of fruits — mango, pomegranate, guava — sparkled like treasure. Earthen jars brimmed with sweet wine, and incense smoke drifted upward from bronze censers, filling the air with sandalwood and saffron.
But for all the scents of festivity, the air was heavy. The trial had split the court, and though Shaurya had won, the hall was filled with nobles who had just staked their future — some in his favor, some still glaring daggers across the room.
At the high table, the Queen-Mother sat in the center, her expression serene yet unreadable. To her right sat Princess Rajnandini, her hands folded gracefully, her eyes occasionally flickering toward Shaurya. And to her left — a vacant chair, waiting.
It was the Queen-Mother herself who gestured toward Shaurya as he entered.
"King of Ashval, the seat of honor is yours. Let us share bread and salt, as tradition demands of victors."
Shaurya walked forward slowly, his ministers following behind. He wore no crown today, only the deep indigo robes of Ashval embroidered with the chakra and trishul emblem — a symbol he had chosen himself, rooted in Indian dharma. His face was calm, but his gaze swept the hall in one measured glance, noting every whisper, every frown, every false smile.
When he reached the table, he inclined his head lightly and took the seat beside the Queen-Mother.
---
The Queen-Mother's Words
"Today was no ordinary rite," she began, lifting her cup. "For the first time in generations, Nandigram's banners bent toward another throne. Some may call it betrayal. Others, courage. I call it… change."
She sipped, then turned her sharp gaze to Shaurya.
"But tell me, Ashval's king — what do you intend to do with such change? You have won loyalty, but loyalty burns quick when not fed."
The question was loud enough for the entire court to hear. It was no innocent inquiry; it was the Queen-Mother's attempt to frame Shaurya as a man with hollow promises.
The nobles leaned forward, their ears hungry.
Shaurya answered calmly, his voice even.
"Change is not fed with threats, nor bribed with coin. It is fed with justice. And justice, Queen-Mother, does not belong to Ashval or Nandigram alone — it belongs to those who suffer without it. Those are the ones who will eat first."
A murmur ran through the court. Some nobles shifted uncomfortably; others looked down, ashamed.
The Queen-Mother's smile did not falter, but her fingers tapped the stem of her goblet.
---
The Feast Begins
Food was served. Servants laid dish after dish — fragrant dals, saffron biryani, fried river fish, goat curry heavy with cloves, and sweets of jaggery and milk.
But the true feast was not of food, but of words.
Merchants whispered among themselves about Shaurya's promise to double their grain's worth.
Nobles loyal to the Queen-Mother muttered about "Ashval's arrogance."
Soldiers, seated in the back rows, raised cups to Shaurya, their voices low but loyal.
At the high table, the conversation turned sharper.
---
The Subtle Duels of Diplomacy
Lord Rudrapal, bold after having pledged to the Queen-Mother, leaned forward with a smirk.
"Tell us, Ashval's king," he said loudly, "your land is small, is it not? Barely a fledgling kingdom in the forests. How do you expect to feed the loyalty you've bought today? With promises?"
The hall chuckled at the jab.
Shaurya did not flinch. He cut a piece of roasted meat with slow precision, then set down the knife before replying.
"Ashval may be small," he said evenly, "but a small flame can light a thousand lamps. Already, our fields yield more grain than ever before, because our hands are united, not divided. Perhaps the question is not how Ashval feeds loyalty, but how Nandigram, with all its wealth, has failed to do so."
The laughter turned — now against Rudrapal.
The noble's face darkened, but he dared not speak further.
The Queen-Mother's eyes narrowed slightly. Shaurya had not only defended himself but subtly accused her governance without speaking her name.
---
The Queen-Mother's Countermove
She raised her goblet again.
"Words are easy, King Shaurya. Let us test them with deeds. Nandigram faces a crisis: three villages near our northern border have cried famine. Grain stores run thin, yet the treasury is strained. Tell us — how would Ashval's king act, if he sat in this seat?"
It was a trap. If Shaurya said "share grain," he risked angering the nobles who hoarded it. If he said "tighten reserves," he'd look cold and uncaring.
The hall hushed. All eyes turned to him.
Shaurya's answer came calm and steady:
"I would call upon the very nobles who sit here, rich with harvest and hoards, to provide grain not as charity, but as duty. For when the villages starve, who will till their fields? Who will pay their taxes? A kingdom that feeds its poor feeds itself."
The Queen-Mother tilted her head, her smile tight. She had expected him to stumble, but instead he had twisted her trap into a strike against the selfish nobles.
One merchant rose, emboldened. "He speaks true! I will pledge fifty sacks of rice to the northern villages."
Another noble, reluctant but pressured by the eyes of the hall, followed: "And I, twenty sacks of grain."
Soon, pledges rang across the chamber.
The Queen-Mother's trap had only strengthened Shaurya's standing.
---
The Shadows Among the Feast
Yet as the pledges mounted, Shaurya noticed something subtle.
At the far end of the hall, a group of cloaked figures whispered among themselves. Their banners had not been raised during the Rite. Their allegiance was unclear.
Varun leaned toward him. "Maharaj, those are the emissaries of Vishragarh. They watch, but do not speak."
Shaurya's eyes lingered on them. A faint chill prickled his spine. Vishragarh — a rival kingdom — had spies here in the banquet.
And yet, the Queen-Mother said nothing of them.
---
The Dance of Politics
As the feast stretched on, the Queen-Mother continued her subtle tests:
She had a noble challenge Shaurya to a riddle contest in front of the court. Shaurya answered each with calm wit, earning laughter and applause.
She summoned musicians to sing of Nandigram's glory, hoping to drown his presence in tradition. Instead, Shaurya requested a song of the people — a village hymn of harvest and labor — which the soldiers and merchants joined in, their voices swelling.
She tested his humility by offering him the richest portion of food before the poor were served. Shaurya calmly split it and sent half to the servants' table, saying, "The hand that serves deserves the first bite."
Each time, her traps only deepened his image as a leader of justice and strength.
---
The Silent Exchange
At one point, the Queen-Mother leaned closer, her voice low enough for only Shaurya to hear.
"You play well," she murmured. "But do not mistake this for victory. Every banner raised today can be lowered tomorrow. Remember — Nandigram bows to no one easily."
Shaurya turned his gaze to her, unflinching.
"And I do not ask them to bow. I ask them to rise."
Their eyes locked, steel against steel.
---
The Banquet's End
At last, the conch horns sounded, marking the banquet's close. The nobles departed in clusters — some emboldened by Shaurya's presence, others whispering of schemes in dark corners.
The merchants left hopeful. The soldiers left inspired.
But the Queen-Mother left with a faint, knowing smile.
For while Shaurya had triumphed in every test today, she had achieved something too — she had drawn him deeper into Nandigram's politics, binding his victories to her court's stage.
As Shaurya stepped out into the moonlit courtyard, Varun approached.
"Maharaj… today was a victory, but I fear tomorrow will not be as simple."
Shaurya looked up at the banners swaying in the night breeze.
"Victories built on justice are never simple," he said softly. "But they endure."
And in the shadows beyond the palace gates, the emissaries of Vishragarh slipped into the night — carrying whispers of Ashval's king back to their unseen masters.
To be continued....