***warning- This series have descriptive and graphic violence, sex and nudity.****
Chapter 6 - Honour
The echo of the severed assassin's head—his demonstration of Asura strength—still hummed at the edges of his mind. He found Vina pressed against the carved stone wall, torchlight flickering across her pale, trembling face.
His boots crunched on the marble floor as he eased closer, watching her chest rise and fall in rapid, frightened beats. He tested the quiet between them, then spoke, voice steady and cold. "Why does your heart hammer like that?"
She shrank into shadow, voice breaking when she answered. "Y-you… you're an Asura."
A slow smile curved his lips. The word had power—fear's finest currency—and he let it settle between them. Leaning forward until he stood level with her, he traced her jaw with the tip of a gloved finger. "Now that my secret's out," he murmured, "what shall I do with you? End you here… or grant you mercy?" His gaze held hers, unblinking. "Or perhaps I should spare you—and let your family taste my wrath instead."
Vina's breath caught; tears slipped down her cheeks. Beneath her tear-streaked defiance, he saw the truth of her plea. "Kill me… please," she whispered. "But spare my children."
For a heartbeat, compassion flickered in Rajeev's chest, quickly smothered by the necessity of his cause. He straightened, turning away enough that the torchlight threw his features into shadow. "I won't kill you," he said, voice cool. "But if a word of this leaves these walls, your family will know no mercy from me."
She bowed her head, shoulders trembling. "I swear it—I'll tell no one. Thank you… for saving me."
Rajeev nodded once and swept a hand toward the door. "Dress yourself and leave. Now. These walls may be stone, but they listen to every breath."
As the heavy gate groaned shut, cutting off her hasty retreat, he pressed his palm to the cold wall and murmured, almost to himself, "Sometimes only fear can forge a promise. Forgive me, Vina." Then, gathering the remnants of his resolve, he stepped back into the shadows, ready for whatever dawn might bring.
Rajeev lingered in the corridor long after Vina fled, the scent of blood and jasmine clinging to the air. Beyond the palace walls, night surrendered to dawn. Torches guttered in their sconces, replaced by servants who scrubbed the floors with sandalwood ash, erasing the last traces of the assassin's violence. Shadows retreated into corners, and the first birdsong pierced the silence—a fragile reminder that even kingdoms steeped in secrets must face the light.
The next morning, a pale sun filtered through the lattice of carved stone arches lining the palace gully. King Dacra strode at a measured pace, his scarlet cloak trailing behind him like a living flame. His guards marched in tight formation, their polished cuirasses catching glints of dawn. Beside him, Minister Vishw kept pace, his cloak brushing the marble floor.
Dacra's gaze lingered on the distant horizon. "Have you learned anything new about Lake Kataki, Minister?" he asked, his voice low enough that only Vishw could hear.
Vishw inclined his head. "My scouts to the west send promising reports, Your Majesty. I await their next dispatch."
"Let me know the moment it arrives," the king replied, his tone as calm as the polished marble at their feet.
A moment of silence passed before Dacra's lips curved into an easy smile. "And how fares your daughter? I hear she has blossomed into quite a beauty."
Vishw's eyes softened. "As spirited as ever, sire. She still teases me about every wrinkle I've earned in your service."
Dacra laughed, the sound echoing through the corridor like chimes. "I've longed for a daughter of my own. Imagine how fortunate Vina's child would be, had she a girl."
The minister chuckled—a warm, rueful sound. "I had three sons before my daughter arrived. None stayed long enough to trouble me."
"Ah, but youth crave freedom," Dacra countered, stepping around a fallen petal. "Leaving home does not abandon one's roots."
Vishw nodded. "Of course, Your Grace."
They rounded a bend where sunlight pooled like honey across the floor, and Vishw hesitated. His voice dropped to a whisper. "If I may offer counsel…"
Dacra glanced at him, eyebrow raised.
"I believe we should end the Asura threat decisively. Their kind betrayed this kingdom centuries ago—King Vis Nali ordered their eradication for good reason."
The king's posture stiffened. "Are you suggesting my judgment is flawed?"
"No, sire—" Vishw began, but Dacra held up a hand.
Dacra turned to face him, eyes narrowing. "Not every Asura wielded a blade against us. Many were farmers, artisans—lives we shattered without cause. History remembers only victors, not the children or women caught in between."
"But the chronicles—" Vishw started.
"Chronicles serve those who write them," Dacra interrupted, voice firm. "We would do well to remember mercy as our greatest strength."
Vishw's gaze drifted to the palace gardens shimmering through the arches. His breath caught, and when he spoke again, his voice had changed—quieter, unsteady, as though unearthing something long buried.
"When I was young," he began, eyes unfocused, "our village raised sheep amid rolling fields. Life was gentle there. The wind smelled of wildflowers, and birds sang from dawn till dusk. There was a girl I… admired. She was kind, with laughter like a bird's song. Her hands were always full—feeding lambs, braiding wildflowers, chasing sunbeams."
His voice cracked. He paused, swallowing hard, then continued, slower now, like each word carried the weight of memory.
"One evening, she went to check the flocks alone. That's when the wolf came. Hidden beneath the fleece of the herd, it struck. When we found her the next day, she was lying in the grass. The sheep's skin was beside her like some terrible joke. Her throat… it had been torn out. Her chest mutilated. But her face…"
He trailed off, his eyes glistening.
"Her face was untouched," he whispered. "Still beautiful. Peaceful, even. As if the beast had known to spare the one thing I remembered most."
He wiped his eyes roughly with the back of his hand, voice turning bitter. "After that, we never trusted the flock again. We knew most sheep were innocent. But we never knew which one hid a wolf beneath its wool."
Dacra said nothing, his expression unreadable, as they stepped beneath the vaulted portico and into the royal court's hushed splendor. At their approach, every noble and guard rose in silent salute—no applause, but a wave of bowed heads and reverent stillness that rippled through the hall.
Rows of gilded chairs flanked a crimson carpet that stretched like a river of blood toward the elevated Vastara Throne. Beyond the chairs, courtiers and commoners stood shoulder to shoulder, their colors and banners a living mosaic. Ministers occupied the closest seats to the carpet's edge, cloaks of deep blue and emerald brushing the polished stone.
At the carpet's end, the Vastara Throne loomed atop three broad steps, carved in ivory and gold filigree. To its right and left, three ascending seats catered to the realm's most honored: General Rajeev occupied the highest of these, seated with quiet dignity. The next chair sat empty—reserved, it was said, for Queen Rei—and the remaining seats held Dacra's finest commanders, their armor gleaming in the torchlight.
As Dacra and Vishw took their places at the foot of the stairway, the assembled court settled onto their benches in precise order. All eyes turned upward as the king ascended toward his throne, each measured step echoing like a heartbeat in the vast hall.
Dacra clapped once, a sharp sound that echoed beneath the vaulted ceiling. A soldier at the gate raised his arm and called, "First petitioner!"
Through the bronze doors shuffled an old woman in a white saree, silver hair spilling over her shoulders. Her steps were slow, each footfall measured on the marble floor. She paused beneath a torch, eyes flicking toward the throne.
"How may I help you, my lady?" Dacra's voice rolled like velvet across the hush that fell.
She drew a ragged breath, lips trembling. "I am no lady, my king," she rasped, voice cracking like ancient parchment. Tears welled and slid down her lined cheeks. "My son… he vanished days ago after a quarrel with our neighbor. No one has seen him since. I have nothing left but hope that you can bring him home."
Dacra leaned forward, gaze gentle yet resolute. "You shall not wait unanswered. Rangers ride at dawn to search the western roads. Your neighbor will be questioned at once."
A silent nod from Dacra summoned Minister Vishw, who rose and guided the woman down the carpet toward the bench.
The soldier's call rang out again: "Next petitioner!"
A slim figure in a faded red kurta stepped forward. Murmurs rose—some recognized him. "Again?" drifted through the chamber.
Dacra's tone clipped. "Silence. Speak your plea."
Rajeev leaned close and whispered, "My king, this is Jaywaar, father of Rangers Vinay and Vijay. He comes each month without news."
The old man's voice trembled with equal parts anger and exhaustion. "Your Majesty, you sent my sons to Lake Kataki eight months past. They never returned. I demand you find them—my heart cannot bear another dawn without word."
A courtier hissed, "How rude, to accost the king so."
Dacra lifted a hand. "We search tirelessly, Jaywaar. Patience, and we will send word when they are found."
"Your words have emptied my nights," Jaywaar hissed back, voice cracking, before collapsing onto one knee.
"Minister Vishw!" Dacra called. Swiftly, two soldiers helped Jaywaar toward the chambers.
"Next!"
A hush fell across the court as the next figure emerged from the shadows of the archway—a young man with broad shoulders and a purposeful stride. His leather jerkin bore the faded insignia of an old noble line. He walked with quiet confidence, pausing just before the throne to bow deeply.
Dacra studied him. "Rise, and state your name."
The young man lifted his chin. "I am Rakshi Bryndor, son of Ashoka Bryndor, the Wind Knight who once served Arendra Nali."
The name struck a chord. Whispers flitted through the crowd like dry leaves. "The Wind Knight's son… after all these years?"
Dacra's face brightened with recognition. "Your father was a man of honor. I crossed blades with him once. He left a mark in every sense."
Rakshi's gaze sharpened. "He left more than scars, my king. He left questions. Questions buried beneath rumors—whispers that he died not in honorable battle, but betrayed within these very walls."
A ripple ran through the room. A few gasps. A few brows furrowed.
"I've heard the stories," Rakshi continued. "That you poisoned the king, and when my father uncovered it, you struck him down not with valor, but with deception."
A current of unease twisted through the gathered crowd. Rajeev stood abruptly. "Watch your tongue," he growled.
Murmurs escalated into open noise—boos, jeers, arguments. "How dare he—" "Kill him!" "He insults the throne!"
Dacra raised a single hand, and silence fell like a drawn curtain. "Let him speak."
Rakshi's voice did not waver. "I did not come to cling to the past, but to challenge it. Let truth come not from tongues, but from steel. I challenge you, King Dacra, to a duel. If the gods find me false, let them take me. But if not… let justice be seen."
There was a pause. The vast hall held its breath. Rajeev stepped forward, fury written across his features. "My king, give the word and I'll cut him down where he stands."
But Dacra remained still. His gaze drifted toward the empty chair meant for Rei. "No," he said quietly. "He has the right. And I will answer it."
Dacra turned to Rakshi, voice strong now. "I accept your challenge."
The court erupted in murmurs—disbelief, awe, fear—all echoing beneath the high stone arches as the firelight trembled along the walls.
Chapter 6 Ends