The marriage of empires did not always require a bride.
Sometimes, it only needed a signature in secret, and a child sent for education.
Vikram sat in a pavilion deep in the Aravalli hills, away from British eyes, away from the courtly noise. Across from him sat Kumar Harshvardhan of Baroda — nineteen, sharp-jawed, eyes too tired for his age.
Their conversation had no witnesses. No servants. No scrolls.
Only one line:
"Would you rather die a king in exile or live as a general of a living civilization?"
Harshvardhan replied without pause.
"My dynasty dies if I obey. My land dies if I don't. What do you want?"
Vikram handed him a sealed folio.
Inside: A map. Red marks. Safehouses. Banking routes. A new administrative design for Baroda that preserved its name under Akhand Bharat — while handing over military, judicial, and educational control to Delhi Headquarters.
Harshvardhan read it. Twice.
Then folded it with care.
"I will not kneel. But I will march under your shadow."
The deal was done.
This wasn't submission.
It was a marriage of governance.
Baroda would retain royal status, titles, ceremonies. But its inner workings would convert.
The first royal liaison officers were sent to Delhi — trained by Sthirakaya.
A week later, Vikram sent an invitation to the Mewar royal house.
This time, it included an offer:
"Send your second son to Delhi. Not as hostage. Not as guest. As apprentice."
Not to the British.But to Bharat.
The prince arrived under disguise.
Within three days, he was fluent in industrial operations, memory field theory, and basic Magicnet commands.
He called Vikram "Guruji."
And the pattern spread.
From Mysore came a grandniece, posing as a scholar. She joined the Sanskrit Academy.
From Rewa, a cousin trained as a court recorder began mapping rural oral histories, feeding them into Magicnet to rebuild cultural memory.
From Kashmir, a skeptical noble was given a demonstration of Magicnet through a dream memory — and woke with reverence in his bones.
These weren't token gestures.
These were bridges.
Each one tied by kinship, loyalty, and mutual survival.
To the British, the princely states still wore crowns and conducted parades.
But inside their walls:
School curricula had changed
Local judges now answered to a "dharma board" run by Magicnet-linked administrators
Military regiments quietly retrained under Delhi command
Palace guards were replaced with Sthirakaya shadows
And most importantly:
Gold reserves started moving.
Silently. Eastward.
Deposited into the Hidden Bank under false merchant accounts.
Over 120 crore rupees worth of silver and land deeds had now entered Vikram's control — gifted, not stolen.
Because the kings had begun to understand:
"The crown that survives is the one that kneels to dharma, not the British."
In private, Vikram created a new classification:
Sovereign Allies.
They were not provinces.
They were not colonies.
They were guardians of their regions, sworn to protect local culture — but under a unified civilization-state.
Their duties:
Provide land for infrastructure
Send one heir to be trained in Delhi
Accept Magicnet-linked advisers in military, judiciary, and treasury
Remove all British-appointed officers quietly
In return:
They kept their titles
Received protection from retaliation
Got access to rail, electricity, arms, and industry first
And most critically — were written into the upcoming Constitution as legacy voices
By spring, the Sovereign Ally list included:
Baroda
Rewa
Mysore
Travancore
Mewar
Kolhapur
Sangli
Bhavnagar
Alwar
Cochin
Each was sent a unique signet ring — carved with the Chakra and Garuda — and inscribed with the line:
"Ruler of the land. Soldier of the civilization."
At the coronation of a minor prince in Alwar, British agents noticed something odd.
The national anthem was no longer God Save the King.
The royal band played a Sanskrit hymn — from the Rig Veda.
No one objected.
Because everyone in the courtyard… already knew the change had come.
The British began sending inquiries.
"Why are younger heirs studying in Delhi?"
"Why are your armed guards using similar uniforms?"
"Why is your court language now Sanskrit?"
Answers were always polite.
"It's ceremonial.""It's tradition.""It's nothing official."
And yet — across the map — the pulse of Bharat was changing.
Each heartbeat linked not by blood, but vision.
A vision no longer dreaming of freedom…
But preparing to inherit the land.