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The Ashes of Hunger
The ruins of the western granaries still smoldered when the sun rose again, casting pale light over blackened beams and charred sacks of grain. Ash clung to the clothes of villagers who had gathered, their eyes hollow with dread. Hunger was no abstract fear; it crouched at their doors, waiting.
Whispers ran like cracks through stone.
"Who will feed us now?"
"The Prince burns grain while children starve."
"Better a cruel master who gives bread than a gentle one who takes it."
The words were like daggers, each one meant for Shaurya's back.
And yet, as the crowd swelled in the square, the prince himself appeared. No heralds announced him. No guards encircled him. He came alone, dressed not in gold or silks but in plain armor darkened by soot from the night before. His presence silenced the crowd as surely as a storm stills the sea.
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The Speech at the Square
Shaurya stepped onto a broken beam, his figure rising above the ruin. For a moment, he let the silence weigh heavy. His calm eyes swept across the villagers, the merchants, the soldiers standing uncertain at the edge of the square.
When he spoke, his voice carried not like thunder but like iron—steady, undeniable.
"You see ash before you. Ash that was once your food, your safety, your comfort. You hear whispers that I ordered it burned. That I would starve you to feed ambition."
He paused, letting the words hang. A murmur rose—some in agreement, others in shame.
Then his tone sharpened.
"Look at me. Do I hide behind walls when you bleed? Was I not here in the smoke when the flames rose? Did I not fight to douse them with my own hands?"
His soot-stained armor glinted in the light. A child's voice called out: "I saw him with the buckets!"
The murmurs shifted, unease cracking into doubt.
Shaurya raised his hand, pointing not to the ruins but to the palace in the distance.
"If grain is lost, then we will sow more. If hunger threatens, then we will share every last store. Not one soldier will eat before the farmer's child. Not one noble will feast while the mason's wife goes hungry. This I swear upon my blood."
His voice cut through the air, steady, commanding, royal.
"And if any man here doubts my oath, then stand forth. Not tomorrow. Not in whispers. Now."
The square held its breath. No one stepped forward. Not a farmer, not a soldier, not even the serpent spies hidden among them.
---
The Deed That Follows
Words alone would not suffice. Shaurya knew it. That same day, he summoned his ministers and issued an order that stunned the court.
"Open the palace granaries," he commanded. "Distribute the royal stores to the people first. Every household shall eat before a single noble touches his plate."
Lord Samudra balked, his voice thunderous. "Prince! Those stores are reserved for the guard, for the winter—"
Shaurya's eyes locked on him, cold and unyielding. "The people are my guard. Without them, there is no throne, no winter to survive."
The Queen-Mother, seated above, studied him with her inscrutable gaze. At last, she nodded, her lips tightening but not in disapproval. "So be it. Let the prince have his way. We shall see if the people repay his gamble with loyalty—or with betrayal."
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The Distribution
That evening, Shaurya stood in the palace courtyard as carts laden with sacks of rice and millet rolled out. He did not delegate the act. He stood at the front, handing sacks with his own hands, speaking each villager's name as he remembered it.
A widow wept as she clutched the grain. "May the gods bless you, Maharaj."
A soldier bowed deeply, shame on his face. "Forgive us for doubting."
The whispers shifted. For every serpent rumor, a hundred eyes now saw the prince's hand in theirs, his strength spent not in commanding but in giving.
High above, in the balcony shadowed by lanterns, Lord Janardhan watched with clenched fists. "Damn him," he spat. "Even fire cannot scorch his crown."
But the veiled leader at his side only chuckled softly. "Patience, Lord Janardhan. Today he gives. Tomorrow, we will force him to choose. And when the choice is between crown and people… even lions bleed."
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The Queen-Mother's Reflection
Later that night, the Queen-Mother summoned Rajnandini to her chamber. She sat by the window, the moonlight silvering her veil.
"He has done what I did not expect," the Queen-Mother murmured. "He did not defend with words, but with action. The people will remember this."
Rajnandini smiled faintly. "Is that not good, Mother?"
The elder queen's eyes narrowed. "It is dangerous. A ruler loved too much may think himself invincible. And invincible men fall hardest."
Her gaze drifted toward the darkened city, where the people now whispered blessings instead of curses.
"The serpent will not strike with fire again. They will strike with hearts. And if Shaurya truly loves these people as they say he does…" Her voice thinned into a whisper. "Then they will use his love to break him."
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Shaurya's Vow
In his own chamber, Shaurya sat by a low flame, his armor still streaked with soot. He stared at his reflection in the polished steel of his sword.
The system's faint glyph glimmered in the air before him.
[Adhipatya System Notice: Public Trust Increased. Dominion Over Nandigram: +7%]
He smiled faintly at the words. But his thoughts were elsewhere.
"Let them whisper. Let them plot. I will not be broken by lies."
He laid the sword across his knees, his voice low, a vow only the night heard.
"If they seek to use the people against me… then I will become the shield they cannot pierce."
Outside, the city breathed easier. But beneath the calm, the serpent's net tightened, its fangs poised for the next strike.
To be continued....