The Empire's grand court had heard wars declared, treaties sealed, kings brought low, and traitors put to death. But today it would bear witness to something much more lethal: nobles brawling like alley cats over perfume.
Sharath was now 17, taller, keener in eye, and much more notorious than he had ever wanted to be. His creations had transformed the economy of Unnatirajya and attracted the envy of all the nobles in the realm. Standing next to him was Lord Bassana, smiling like a fox who had discovered a chicken farm. Behind him stood Lord Varundar Darsha and Lady Ishvari, the doting parents of not only Sharath but also the presently 4-year-old twins, who were in their castle probably terrorizing the estate staff.
The Emperor sat silently regal on the golden throne. The Empress beside him exuded grace. And the Princess — Sharath's surprise political and chaos ally — grinned ridiculously at the show about to ensue.
The room was heavy with expectation as trays bearing crystal vials were carried forward, each containing Sharath's perfumes.
"Begin," the Emperor instructed bluntly.
A servant opened the first vial and held it out to the Empress. She dabbed it on her wrist, breathed in — and her face relaxed, a fleeting moment of calm dissolving her imperial mask. "Roses… morning dew… it is divine," she breathed.
The Emperor leaned forward, breathed in, and nodded the barest acceptable nod. "Worthy.
The Princess grabbed a vial of her own before propriety could intervene, applying it to her neck. She spun dramatically before the nobles. "Well? Do I not smell like spring itself?"
Half the hall sighed romantically. The other half erupted into arguments over who would get the rights to sell that specific perfume.
A single bellowed, "Our house has always presided over luxury items! By right, this is ours!"
Another scoffed, "Rubbish! Our caravans extend to all boundaries. Only we possess the reach!
In a matter of minutes, the chamber erupted into pandemonium. Nobles yelled, pushed, even slapped at one another with perfume-dipped handkerchiefs. One hapless duke sneezed furiously after knocking over half a vial onto his mustache, sending him smelling like a walking garden for the duration of the meeting.
Sharath massaged his temple, grumbling under his breath, "This is why I didn't seek exclusivity."
"Correction," 🐧NeuroBoop breathed in his head, "this is precisely the reason you should have brought popcorn."
The Emperor's thundering voice silenced the chaos. "ENOUGH!"
The nobles halted in mid-shove, their guilty-looking children-pretty faces caught fighting over treats.
The Emperor faced Sharath. "Young Darsha. You have made both wonder and madness. How do you plan to fix this?
Sharath stepped forward, his tone calm but firm. "Majesty, perfume is a gift meant to uplift the Empire, not a weapon to divide it. Therefore, production will remain entirely under the control of the Darsha estate. No noble house shall claim exclusive rights. Instead, finished products will be sold at fair prices to all — nobles, merchants, and even commoners if they wish."
Gasps echoed throughout the chamber. A baroness almost swooned.
Sharath went on, unwavering. "Those who want to make a profit can purchase perfume at fixed prices and sell for whatever their market is worth. But no one will have the source but us. That is settled."
A strained silence.
Then suddenly the Empress started to laugh gently. "At last… a boy who gets fairness in an unfair world."
The Princess applauded. "And sense! I said you'd see he was smarter than half your council."
The Emperor gazed at Sharath for an extended period, finally nodded with gravity. "So be it. The Darsha estate will have sole production. The Empire will purchase directly from you for official purposes, but outside of that, the market is yours to flood as you choose."
Nobles grumbled, sulked, and brooded quietly in their minds, but no one ventured to oppose the imperial fiat.
Bassana, naturally, could hardly keep the smile off his face. "Did you hear that, boy? A monopoly empire-wide approved by the throne. I can already smell the money."
Sharath sighed. "Grandpa, for once please cannot—"
"NO!" Bassana shouted with hysterical mirth.
Even the Emperor cracked a trace of a smile.
That evening, as Sharath sat in his guest rooms in the palace, he saw himself in the highly polished bronze mirror. Seventeen years old. No longer the boy huddling with shreds of knowledge from a life left behind, but a man making the future of an empire.
Behind him, 🐧NeuroBoop joked, "Happy birthday, Perfume Prince. You've armed soap with weapons, cornered air, and now you hold dominion over how nobles smell. I shudder to think what's next — deodorant? Toothpaste? The very concept of noble breath could bring down dynasties."
Sharath smiled softly. And yet. he couldn't help it.
Perfume had made nobles fight like cats in heat. Soap had transformed gossip into business. Balloons had transformed travel.
And what of tomorrow? Tomorrow may see even more disaster.
But this night, deep within the Empire, Sharath Darsha had gained not only power… but fragrance.
And throughout the land, the nobles uncapped their bottles of perfume, inhaling deeply, fantasizing about prestige — and scheming in secret against the youth who had kept them from sole privileges.
The revolution of scents had commenced.