The golden light of dawn crept into the Rajnagar palace, but within the Council Chamber, the mood was anything but bright. The echoes of yesterday's diplomatic victory still lingered, yet not everyone wore the same smile.
As Shaurya entered, clad in his royal garments, the ministers rose and bowed. He motioned for them to sit. The long mahogany table stretched before him, scrolls, maps, and ledgers piled high. Today's meeting was not with foreign emissaries—it was among his own.
Harinandan, the minister of diplomacy, adjusted his turban and cleared his throat.
"Your Majesty, while yesterday's talks were… victorious, there are murmurs in court. Some nobles believe you pressed too hard upon Lord Kael. They say his pride is wounded, and a man with wounded pride can be more dangerous than an enemy with swords."
Yashodhara, the finance minister, added, "And trade is our lifeblood. If the Western Isles falter in friendship, our treasury will feel the strain."
Vishruth slammed his palm against the table, his voice booming.
"Bah! Weak talk. Do you wish us to bend knee to every man who brings shiny stones and demands tribute? The Emperor was right to remind them of their place."
A hush fell. The tension was sharp, cutting through the air like unsheathed blades.
Shaurya leaned back in his throne-chair, his fingers tapping softly against the carved wood. His gaze swept over them, sharp as an eagle's.
"You speak of wounded pride," he said calmly, his voice carrying weight. "But tell me, Harinandan, Yashodhara—would you rather I wound their pride or see Aryavarta chained to their mercy?"
The ministers stiffened.
"Pride heals," Shaurya continued, rising to his feet. "But chains do not break so easily."
Nandini, who stood silently at his side, finally spoke, her tone measured yet firm.
"An empire is not built by appeasing every foreign tongue. It is built on a foundation of strength and respect. Yesterday, the Emperor showed that Aryavarta bends to none. That lesson must echo, even in this hall."
Her words silenced the murmurs, but the shadows in the court had not vanished.
From the far end, a voice laced with caution rose—it was Raghavendra, a younger noble and one of the lesser advisors. His eyes gleamed with subtle ambition.
"Your Majesty, forgive me… but strength without allies invites isolation. If the Isles feel insulted and turn to our rivals, will strength alone sustain our empire? Even a lion needs the forest around him."
A dangerous thought, spoken boldly. Some heads nodded in quiet agreement.
Shaurya's eyes fixed on Raghavendra, unreadable. He descended the steps from his throne, each stride echoing across the chamber until he stood face-to-face with the young noble. The silence was suffocating.
"Do you think me blind, Raghavendra?" Shaurya asked softly, yet his words carried like thunder. "I know the forest sustains the lion. But remember this—the lion does not beg the forest. He rules it."
The noble's face paled.
Shaurya turned away, returning to his seat.
"Mark my words," he said to the whole chamber. "Allies will come. Enemies will test us. But Aryavarta shall neither bow to one nor fear the other. We will treat fairly, trade wisely, and fight ruthlessly. That is the law of my empire."
The ministers bowed their heads, even those who had questioned him. But as they dispersed, whispers curled like snakes through the corridors. Some were with the Emperor. Others… were waiting for him to stumble.
In the shadows of the palace, ambition stirred.
For every empire, the true test was not always foreign blades—
but the daggers hidden in its own court.
To be continued....