The chamber reeked of iron and fear. Lord Vashisht's lifeless body sprawled across the marble floor, his dagger still buried in his chest, blood spreading like a crimson serpent across the golden carpets of Nandigram's great hall.
The nobles had erupted in panic when he fell, their cries echoing like trapped birds. Some rushed to leave, others clutched their robes as though the same blade might turn upon them next. Only the guards' spears kept the hall from collapsing into chaos.
But in the storm of panic, Shaurya remained still. His black eyes were fixed upon the dying noble's face, not with shock, but with that same unnerving calm that had become his weapon.
Vashisht's last words clung to the air like smoke.
"The serpent has more heads than you know…"
---
The Queen-Mother's Silence
Queen-Mother Padmavati had risen to her feet the moment the dagger fell. For the first time since Shaurya had entered her court, her mask cracked. Her eyes flicked across the nobles — the whispers, the darting glances, the way some seemed relieved and others terrified.
When the guards lifted Vashisht's corpse and carried it out, silence returned. The Queen-Mother's voice cut across it, cold and sharp.
"This court has been stained by treachery. Vashisht has answered to the gods, but his words…" Her gaze hardened. "His words demand we cut deeper."
She turned toward Shaurya.
"Lord Shaurya. You began this inquiry. Now tell me — what do you make of his final venom?"
Every eye in the hall turned to him. Nobles shifted nervously, their silks rustling like leaves in a storm.
Shaurya clasped his hands behind his back. His voice was steady, unhurried.
"That he was not the head of the serpent, but merely a fang. His suicide was not defiance, but insurance — meant to silence questions he dared not answer. Which means the conspiracy runs deeper, and wider than one man's betrayal."
The murmurs grew louder.
"Deeper? Wider?!" cried Lord Janardhan, a merchant-lord from the western isles. "Are we all to be painted as traitors, then? Will the Queen-Mother's justice strike us all down like wolves in a pit?"
Shaurya's gaze cut to him, and the noble faltered under the weight of his eyes.
"No," Shaurya said quietly. "Not all. Only those who betray themselves when pressed."
---
The Council in Turmoil
The Queen-Mother dismissed the nobles soon after, sending them back to their chambers under heavy guard. Only her ministers remained, along with Shaurya.
In the smaller council chamber, tension thickened the air. Scrolls and ledgers lay scattered, wine goblets untouched. The ministers' faces were drawn tight with suspicion.
Treasurer Devdatt wrung his jeweled hands. "If Vashisht spoke true, if there are others in league with him, then where does it end? Half this court may be rotten, Maharani! Half the merchants too!"
Commander Viyom's hand tightened on his sword hilt. "Then better to gut the festering flesh now before the rot spreads further. Give me leave, Maharani, and I will see every southern lord chained in the dungeons before dawn."
Padmavati raised a hand sharply, silencing him. Her eyes shifted back to Shaurya.
"You warned us before, Shaurya — that fear is a snare. What would you have us do now? The serpent slithers unseen. How do we draw it into the light?"
Shaurya's gaze swept the chamber.
"Not with fear. With bait."
---
Shaurya's Plan
All eyes fixed on him.
"The serpent believes itself hidden," Shaurya continued. "But conspiracies thrive on trust — traitors must know each other, or their plots collapse. Vashisht's words prove more remain. If they see one head cut, they will stir. If we bait them with opportunity, they will strike."
Minister Harivansh frowned. "Opportunity?"
Shaurya nodded slowly.
"Whisper that the Queen-Mother grows weak. That her trust wavers. That her alliance with me has sown division. If the serpent believes the throne vulnerable, it will move. And when it does, we will be ready."
The ministers shifted uneasily.
Devdatt sputtered. "You would risk making the Maharani appear weak? Risk her throne—"
Shaurya's voice cut through him.
"The throne that cannot endure whispers will fall to steel regardless. Better to let the serpent reveal itself now than strike unseen later."
The Queen-Mother studied him long, her jeweled fingers resting on the arm of her chair. At last, she inclined her head slightly.
"So be it. We will loose whispers into the court. But Shaurya — if this game fails, the blood will not be mine alone. It will be yours as well."
Shaurya bowed, his expression unchanged.
"Then let it be upon me."
---
The Spread of Whispers
The days that followed turned Nandigram's palace into a hive of rumors. Servants whispered that the Queen-Mother quarreled with her ministers. Merchants murmured that Shaurya sought to rule the court in her stead. Courtiers passed folded notes behind fans and sleeves, each carrying more venom than the last.
Shaurya walked the corridors in silence, watching, listening. His calm presence unsettled those who avoided his gaze. At night, he met with his own small circle — Harivansh, Viyom, and a few handpicked guards loyal beyond coin — to track the movements of suspicious lords.
Every whisper was bait. Every silence was a clue.
---
The First Snare
Three nights after Vashisht's death, the snare tightened.
Shaurya, walking through the eastern courtyard, caught sight of a servant slipping a sealed letter beneath the statue of Nandi that stood watch over the lotus pond. His eyes narrowed.
When the servant scurried away, Shaurya approached calmly, plucking the letter from its hiding place. Breaking the wax seal, he scanned the hurried script:
"The southern banners are ready. The Maharani weakens. At the Festival of Monsoons, we strike."
Shaurya folded the letter once, sliding it into his robe. His expression did not change, but within his chest, his pulse sharpened.
The serpent had shown its tongue.
---
The Private Confrontation
That evening, in the Queen-Mother's private chamber, Shaurya laid the letter upon her jeweled desk. Candles flickered, throwing shadows across her stern face as she read.
Her lips tightened. "So it begins. The Festival of Monsoons is less than a fortnight away. To strike during a celebration… bold, and blasphemous."
Shaurya inclined his head.
"Boldness is the mask of desperation. They see their chance slipping, so they risk all."
Padmavati's eyes lifted to him. "And you, Shaurya? Will you risk yourself again in this game of knives?"
Shaurya's voice was calm, certain.
"Maharani, the serpent cannot be killed with half-measures. When the banners rise, I will stand where they believe us weakest. And I will show them that neither you nor I bend."
For the first time in days, the Queen-Mother's lips curved into a faint smile. "You are young, but your eyes see with an old man's clarity. Very well. Let us prepare."
---
The Cliffhanger
Later that night, as Shaurya left the Queen-Mother's chambers, a figure stepped from the shadows of the corridor — Meenakshi, her veil lowered, her eyes sharp with concern.
"My lord," she whispered, glancing around to be sure they were alone. "I know of the Festival of Monsoons. It is not merely a feast. There are rites… rites older than the court itself. If the serpent moves then, they do so not only with daggers, but with symbols of power."
Shaurya paused, his gaze steady upon her. "And you know this because…?"
Meenakshi hesitated, her lips pressing tight. "Because my mother once whispered of it to me. Of the old banners, the sacred oaths, the blood spilled to bind kingdoms. If they corrupt it, the whole of Nandigram will burn."
The torches flickered, shadows dancing against the stone walls.
Shaurya's eyes narrowed.
"Then the serpent does not merely plot treason. It plots sacrilege."
And with that, the path to the Festival of Monsoons was set — where banners, blood, and betrayal would collide.
To be continued....