"This… is not merely a drink," he declared slowly, his voice reverberating through the solemn hall. "It is a mirror. One sip, and I remembered things I had forgotten I'd lost."
The air around the court crackled with energy, a palpable stir of thoughts and emotions.
And then, there was the princess. Unlike her royal counterparts, she didn't wait for formalities. Her piercing gaze was locked onto Veer's, as though searching for a response to a question that lingered just beyond the spoken words.
With a deliberate grace, she lifted the cup to her lips and paused—not in hesitation, but in pure reverence for what was to come.
Then, she drank.
A gentle sigh escaped her as her shoulders, once held in taut elegance, relaxed ever so slightly—as if the burdens she carried had loosened their grip. Her eyes widened for the briefest moment before fluttering shut, and a smile blossomed upon her lips. This was not the practiced, calculated smile of royalty; this was real, heartfelt, a soft smile akin to the one a girl wears when discovering something pure and untouched amidst the gilded walls of the palace.
"It tastes like a memory," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "But not mine. Someone else's. Someone I want to know."
As she opened her eyes to meet Veer's, there was recognition in her expression—a connection forged in this timeless moment. The mask of a princess slipped, revealing the curious girl beneath, a feeling she had long kept hidden.
The court remained frozen in that spellbinding silence, their collective awe palpable in the air. The true power of the experience had unfolded before them, and it was evident: it didn't arise from the allure of gold or exotic spices.
No, true power came instead from the humble canisters of clay, fragrant leaves, and the passage of time, all gracefully interwoven together, and from the boy who had known how to serve it with such unassuming mastery.
After the drink, a strange, serene silence lingered in the opulent hall of the Malwa court. This was not the sterile silence borne from fear or decorum; rather, it was a deep and meaningful stillness shaped by revelation. The water had transcended the mere act of quenching thirst, touching something far deeper—a resonance of calm forests, sun-warmed rivers, and long-forgotten peace. Each drop seemed to carry echoes of antiquity, revitalizing the spirits of those present and weaving moments of tranquility into the fabric of their often tumultuous lives.
The King, who only moments ago had shouldered the weighty burden of battle strategies and restless nights filled with uncertainty, reclined in his grand throne, a piece of craftsmanship that mirrored his reign. His body, once rigid with the strain of responsibility, began to relax as he sank deeper into the royal seat. His shoulders, typically hunched with the anticipation of conflict, eased their tension, allowing a rare moment of serenity to wash over him.
The deep lines etched on his forehead—indicators of worry and contemplation—softened, revealing an almost vulnerable aspect of his character that few had been privileged to witness. As he inhaled deeply through his nose, the scent of polished wood and aged parchment filled his lungs, and with a slow exhale, it was as if he was releasing not just air, but the immense weight of expectations that had accumulated over the weeks.
"This is not merely a drink," he murmured, his voice low and contemplative, breaking the stillness of the court. "This… this is a pause in war itself." The gravity of his words enveloped the room, reshaping the atmosphere from one of tension to tentative hope.
The princess observed her father with a mixture of awe and curiosity, her eyes widening at this unfamiliar sight. She had never seen him exhibit such tranquility—not even after the triumphant victories that had punctuated their past. Her mind swirled with thoughts both profound and playful, echoing the exhilarating realization that, even amidst chaos, there could be moments of unexpected beauty. She felt her heartbeat slow, the remnants of Veer's calming concoction still tingling on her taste buds—a complex flavor reminiscent of balance and cool clarity.
In a whisper that barely escaped her lips, she pondered, "If a simple drink can ease the minds of our court… what else might be possible to change?"
Among them sat the minister of war, a weathered man whose cynical demeanor had been forged through countless campaigns and battles. With a swift motion, he dabbed at the corners of his eyes, feigning irritation as he muttered, half-laughing, "Forgive me, Maharaj. I don't know whether it's the quality of the water or the inexorable passage of time, but just for a fleeting moment, I was transported back to my mother's fields, where the scent of fresh rain used to awaken my senses… long before I ever wielded a sword."
The general, who had been fervently articulating strategies for cavalry placements on the treacherous northern front just moments ago, now found himself staring thoughtfully into his goblet. "I still believe the war must be won," he declared slowly, "but perhaps not with reckless haste. Maybe…" His gaze drifted toward the king, and tentative optimism colored his words. "Maybe peace isn't a mark of weakness, but rather a discipline we must master to strengthen our realm."
The hushed whispers among the courtiers began to shift, echoing each other's wonder and curiosity.
"Could this be the calm before an important negotiation?"
"Has the boy truly softened their hearts?"
"Is this the very reason sages adhered to herbal waters in ancient times?"
"Even war must pause when clarity of mind graces the discussion."
The royal astrologer, an elderly woman with silver dreadlocks woven together with golden threads, leaned in, her voice carrying beyond her immediate surroundings. "Water reflects truth, my lords and ladies. In this moment of stillness, perhaps the throne perceives insights that elude us amidst the chaos of fire and steel."
If we can win the war through deception by saving the life of the innocent people who don't have anything to do with it, then i shall do the war of deception thought Veer silently as he don't want any variable to harm his plan.