---
The Poisoned Scroll
At dawn, Nandigram awoke beneath a veil of silence. The Lotus Plaza, where yesterday's banners had fluttered, now lay empty, its flags drooping in the early mist. The cheers for Shaurya still echoed in the hearts of the people, but elsewhere—the nobles' quarters, the hidden chambers—the air buzzed with another kind of sound: conspiracy.
Lord Janardhan sat in his chamber, knuckles white around the crimson-sealed scroll. The message from the veiled leader burned in his hand.
"Find the boy's heart."
But where? The boy wore his strength like iron armor, smiling faintly even when cornered. Rage, ambition, insults, even threats of death had washed over him like rain over stone.
Janardhan ground his teeth. "Everyone has a weakness. If not his throne, then… someone he holds close."
His eyes narrowed as he remembered Rajnandini standing by Shaurya in the council, and the way Princess Meenakshi of Ashval had once lingered near him with words half-kind, half-calculated.
A cruel smile spread across his lips. "Ah. Not his throne. His bonds."
---
The Queen-Mother's Quiet Fear
Meanwhile, in the high tower chamber, the Queen-Mother stood at her window, hands clasped tightly.
Rajnandini approached quietly. "You did not sleep, Mother."
The elder queen did not answer at once. Her gaze wandered over the waking city, then lowered to her daughter.
"I know the serpent's hand," she said finally. "They do not seek to kill him—not yet. They will look for the chain that binds him. What holds him back, what would wound him deepest if cut."
Rajnandini frowned. "And what is that?"
The Queen-Mother's lips pressed into a line. "I do not know. That is what terrifies me."
She turned back to the window, her voice sharper now. "Watch him, daughter. Guard him, but also… study him. For if you do not know his heart, then neither will we be able to shield it."
---
The Serpent's Eyes Among the People
By noon, the serpent faction had already begun spreading its eyes. Servants carrying water, merchants arriving at the palace gates, even a group of dancers hired to perform during the Feast of Masks—all were not what they seemed.
Each reported back with fragments:
Shaurya refuses bribes.
He eats simply, even when feasts are laid before him.
He speaks to soldiers with the same tone he uses with nobles.
One spy, a thin scribe with ink-stained fingers, returned with something more.
"He visits the training yards," the scribe whispered to Janardhan. "But not to flaunt his strength. He watches. He corrects the stances of young recruits. He listens when they speak of their families. He remembers their names."
Janardhan scoffed. "Foolish sentimentality."
But the veiled leader, who had appeared in the chamber without sound, raised a hand to silence him. "No. This is not foolish. This is dangerous. If the soldiers love him, then his heart may lie not in blood, but in loyalty."
The leader's eyes glinted in the candlelight. "Strike his bond with the people, and we strike him."
---
The Palace Garden Meeting
That evening, Shaurya walked alone in the palace gardens. The lanterns along the lotus ponds glimmered like fallen stars, and the night-blooming flowers spread their perfume in the humid air.
It was here Rajnandini found him, stepping softly across the stone path.
"You should not be here alone," she said.
Shaurya's faint smile played across his lips. "Should? Or must?"
Rajnandini folded her arms. "There are whispers, Shaurya. The serpent moves. Mother is right—they are searching for your weakness."
"And?"
"And you stand here in the open as though daring them."
He turned toward the pond, watching the ripples shift in the lanternlight. His voice was calm, but firm. "If a man lives fearing his enemy's eyes, he is already caged. Let them watch. Let them whisper. I will not hide my steps."
Rajnandini studied him. For a heartbeat, she felt both admiration and unease. His calm was unbreakable—but was that strength, or the blindness of pride?
---
The Serpent's Discovery
The very next day, the serpent spies caught their first thread.
At the northern barracks, Shaurya had stopped to speak with a group of wounded soldiers. Among them was a boy, no more than sixteen, who had lost an arm defending the gates of Nandigram. Shaurya knelt beside him, speaking not as prince to soldier, but as brother to brother.
"I will see you cared for," Shaurya said. "Not only by coin, but by honor. Your name will not be forgotten."
The boy wept, clinging to Shaurya's hand.
From the shadows, a serpent spy watched, his lips curling into a grin. He carried the news back swiftly.
"He bends for the weak," the spy hissed. "His heart lies in their suffering. He bleeds when they bleed."
Janardhan sneered. "Then we need only turn the people against him."
The veiled leader's reply was colder, sharper. "No. Not yet. Too soon, and he may yet prevail. We will make him choose. Between the people's trust… and the throne he claims to guard."
The conspirators bowed as the leader's shadow melted into the torchlight. The serpent had scented blood.
---
The Queen-Mother's Final Warning
That night, Shaurya once again stood before the Queen-Mother. She had summoned him in secret, without heralds or court.
Her eyes were sharp, her tone stripped of ceremony. "They have found it. They know where your heart beats."
Shaurya raised an eyebrow. "And where is that, Mother?"
She stepped closer, her veil brushing against his shoulder. "In the people. In their loyalty, in their hope. That is what they will turn against you. They will force you to choose between them and the throne."
Shaurya's faint smile returned, though this time there was no warmth in it. "Then let them. I will not falter."
But as he turned to leave, the Queen-Mother's whisper followed him like a shadow.
"Even iron cracks, boy. Even the strongest heart can be poisoned. Beware."
To be continued....