The soft flicker of oil lamps painted the royal chamber in warm gold and muted shadows. The scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the palace's quiet luxury. This was the king's room—private, guarded, a space where only the family could speak without the prying ears of courtiers and ministers. Tonight, it felt heavier than usual.
Rudura stood near the carved wooden doors for a moment before stepping inside. His footsteps were silent against the smooth floor, but in his own ears, every step seemed to echo like a drumbeat. Chandragupta Maurya sat in his carved seat, a low throne-like chair decorated with intricate engravings of battles long won. His posture was firm, eyes sharp but calm—the posture of a king even in his most private quarters. Beside him sat Queen Durdhara, her presence softer but no less commanding, her hands folded neatly in her lap, eyes already studying her son.
"Rudura," Chandragupta said, his voice steady, "you asked for a private audience. Speak."
The air seemed to grow still. Rudura's heart pounded, but his expression remained composed. This was not a request he could make lightly. He had been thinking about it for weeks, perhaps months, ever since the thought of Rome had planted itself in his mind like a seed refusing to die.
"I want to go to the Roman Empire," he said.
The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. Chandragupta's eyes narrowed, and Durdhara's lips parted in surprise. There was no shock in their posture—both were far too controlled for that—but there was a change in the air, a subtle tightening, as if the walls themselves leaned in to listen.
"No," Chandragupta said, his tone immediate and absolute.
"No," Durdhara echoed, her voice softer but equally firm.
Rudura did not look away. "Why?"
"Because it is dangerous," Chandragupta replied. "The journey itself is long and filled with risks—storms at sea, hostile lands, treacherous waters. And even if you reached Rome, you would be alone in a foreign court where alliances shift like sand. You are my son, Rudura. I will not send you into danger for curiosity's sake."
"It's not just curiosity," Rudura said, his voice steady, though his pulse was racing.
Durdhara leaned forward, her eyes warm but troubled. "My son, the Roman Empire is far beyond our lands. You would be crossing seas that have claimed the lives of many. You are still young. Rome may be powerful, but it is not a place for a Mauryan prince to wander without protection. There are those who would see you as a pawn, or worse, as a target."
"I understand the dangers," Rudura said, though in truth, he understood far more than they could imagine. In his mind, he could see Rome's streets, its architecture, its armies. He remembered things from another life—maps, history, the knowledge of what Rome could offer. This wasn't just about seeing a foreign land. It was about gaining knowledge, building alliances, shaping the future before it arrived.
But none of that would convince them now.
Chandragupta's gaze was unwavering. "You are my heir. Your place is here, learning the ways of the court, the army, and the people. There will be time to travel when you are older and stronger. For now, this matter is closed."
Rudura took a slow breath. He had known this would happen. His father's refusal was inevitable, and his mother's worry unavoidable. But he had not come without a plan.
"Then give me a chance to prove that I can handle it," Rudura said.
Chandragupta's brows drew together slightly. "What do you mean?"
"If I pass the special exam of all aspects conducted by the Malavatas at the end of the year—" Rudura's voice was calm but carried weight, "—and if I pass it with perfect grades, then you must take my request into consideration."
Durdhara's eyes widened. "The Malavata exam?"
The Malavatas were known throughout the empire as the most demanding evaluators of skill, intellect, and discipline. Their exam tested not just knowledge, but physical ability, strategic thinking, diplomacy, and moral judgment. Even seasoned warriors and scholars struggled to pass all aspects, let alone achieve perfection.
"Rudura," Durdhara said slowly, "even the finest minds in the court do not score perfectly. Why place such a burden upon yourself?"
"Because," Rudura said, "if I can prove myself in every aspect—mental, physical, and strategic—then I will have proven that I can survive in Rome. If I cannot, then I will accept your refusal."
Chandragupta leaned back in his seat, studying his son in silence. The king's gaze was heavy, searching for weakness, arrogance, or recklessness. What he saw instead was a calm determination that reminded him of his own youth, when he had once stood before his own mentors with impossible ambitions.
"You truly believe you can achieve perfection?" Chandragupta asked.
"I know I can," Rudura replied without hesitation.
Durdhara's hands tightened slightly in her lap. "And if you fail?"
"Then I will never speak of Rome again," Rudura said. His voice was quiet, but the words were iron.
The room fell into silence. Chandragupta's fingers drummed once against the armrest, then stilled. Finally, he gave a single nod.
"Very well. If you achieve perfect grades in the Malavata exam, I will take your request into consideration. But if you fall short by even a single mark—" his gaze sharpened, "—this matter ends, and it ends forever."
Rudura inclined his head. "Agreed."
Durdhara sighed softly, but there was no changing the decision now. She looked at her son with both pride and worry. "Perfection is not an easy promise, Rudura. You will need to push yourself harder than ever before."
"I intend to," Rudura said.
For a moment, no one spoke. The oil lamps flickered, casting shadows that danced along the walls. Outside, the palace corridors were silent, the guards posted far enough away that no word of this conversation would ever escape.
When Rudura finally rose to leave, he bowed respectfully to both his parents. "Thank you," he said simply, and turned toward the door.
The corridor beyond was dim and empty. His footsteps were steady, but inside, his heart was still pounding. This was more than just a bargain—it was a challenge to himself. If he succeeded, the path to Rome would open. If he failed, that door would close forever.
He walked through the quiet palace, the night air cool against his skin as he passed open archways and courtyards bathed in moonlight. Every step seemed to carry the weight of the choice he had made. This was not about one exam. It was about becoming the best version of himself—stronger, sharper, more capable than ever before.
He reached the balcony overlooking the western horizon. The sky was deep with stars, the faint silver edge of the moon casting its light over the distant lands beyond Maurya territory. Somewhere beyond mountains, rivers, and seas lay Rome.
Rudura rested his hands on the cool stone railing. His eyes fixed on that invisible point far across the world. In his mind, he could almost see the marble streets, the armored legions, the grand halls where decisions that shaped history were made.
"I'll be ready," he murmured to himself.
The wind stirred, carrying the scent of night-blooming flowers from the palace gardens below. Rudura straightened, the flicker of doubt extinguished in his mind. There would be no hesitation, no wasted effort. The Malavata exam would not be an obstacle—it would be his proof, his key, his victory.
Behind him, the royal chamber doors had closed, sealing away the words spoken tonight. But within him, the decision burned brighter than any lamp.
Rome awaited.
And Rudura would not fail.
(Continued In Chapter 19)