The night sky blushed with streaks of orange and violet as the last sunrays kissed the sandstone towers of Amaragarh. In the palace, an uneasy stillness settled, broken only by the rustle of silk curtains and the distant beat of temple drums. High in the lotus tower, Princess Devyani slept but not peacefully.
She stood barefoot in a field of fire. The sky above her was black, not from night, but from smoke. Her hands were bloodstained though she held no weapon. A voice called to her from the flames.
"Child of the Flame," it whispered, soft and burning. "Your heart is the key. Your love, your weapon."
From the blaze stepped a woman cloaked in red and gold, her skin bronzed by war, her eyes the color of embers. She looked like a queen but older than time.
"You are the last of us," she said. "Born not to follow, but to lead. The world will burn and bloom by your choice."
Devyani reached for her. "Who are you?"
But the fire roared, swallowing the woman whole. The sky cracked like thunder.
Then she heard it—his voice, distant but unmistakable. Calling her name.
"Devyani!"
She jolted awake, breath ragged, tangled in sheets damp with sweat. The air smelled of jasmine and something smoky, as if the dream had followed her into the waking world.
By the time the palace stirred to life, Devyani was already standing at her balcony, overlooking the glowing city of Amaragarh. The streets below shimmered with oil lamps, their light dancing in the pre-dawn mist. People were preparing for the upcoming Phalguni Purnima, the festival of spring and rebirth. But her thoughts were elsewhere.
Her eighteenth birthday loomed, and with it, the Vara Nyaya—the ancient tradition where royal suitors would be presented, and the crown princess was expected to choose a husband.
"Choose." As if she truly had that freedom.
Behind her, the heavy doors creaked open.
"My lady," said Meera, her most trusted maid and companion, entering with cautious steps. "The Queen Mother awaits you in the southern garden."
Devyani turned, already dressed in a saffron-hued robe embroidered with tiny lotus petals. Her long hair fell down her back like a waterfall of night.
"Does she ever not await me?" she said with a tired smile.
---
In the southern garden, Queen Mother Rajeshwari Devi stood beneath the ancient banyan tree, hands clasped, eyes as sharp as ever. Despite her age, she held herself like a general: regal, calculating, and always ten steps ahead.
"You had the dream again, didn't you?" she said without preamble as Devyani approached.
Devyani hesitated, then nodded. "She spoke again. The flame queen."
Rajeshwari sighed. "Your grandmother had the same dreams before the uprising of '43. They are omens, child. But they are not commands."
"Maybe they are both," Devyani said quietly.
Rajeshwari's gaze softened only slightly. "You carry the blood of warriors. But do not confuse fire with destiny. It will burn you the same."
Before Devyani could respond, a royal messenger entered the garden with a hurried bow.
"Your Highnesses. A foreign caravan approaches the outer gate. Their banners bear the crest of Dholpur."
Rajeshwari straightened. "Dholpur? They haven't sent an envoy in five years."
Devyani's heart skipped. "They come without warning?"
The messenger nodded. "The prince himself is among them."
Rajeshwari exchanged a glance with her granddaughter. "Prepare the court. Let us see what this storm brings
When Prince Veer of Dholpur rode through the gates of Amaragarh, the court murmured like stirred silk. His arrival was sudden, his presence impossible to ignore. He was tall, dressed in deep blue robes trimmed in silver, a sword strapped across his back even within palace walls. His skin was sun-bronzed, his jaw lined with dark stubble, and his eyes—gray as monsoon clouds—watched everything.
Devyani sat on the marble throne, back straight, eyes unreadable. Queen Mother Rajeshwari stood beside her, flanked by ministers and guards.
Veer dismounted and bowed low, the kind of bow that felt both respectful and unapologetically confident.
"Your Highness," he said, voice rich with depth. "I bring greetings from the house of Dholpur—and a proposal."
Rajeshwari raised an eyebrow. "You arrive uninvited. And propose before introductions?"
He smiled slightly. "I come in peace, Queen Mother. And I bring gifts—both material and... diplomatic."
He stepped forward and presented a jewel-encrusted dagger to Devyani, its hilt engraved with a phoenix in flight.
"A dagger?" she said, inspecting it.
"A symbol," he replied. "That even beauty must sometimes fight."
Their eyes locked—his gaze calm, challenging. Hers, unreadable but curious.
Rajeshwari narrowed her eyes. "You seek alliance through marriage?"
"I seek an alliance through understanding. Marriage… is only one path."
"And what do you know of my granddaughter, Prince Veer?" the Queen Mother asked.
He looked at Devyani again. "Only what I see: a woman who doesn't need saving but deserves someone willing to bleed beside her."
The court fell silent. Devyani's fingers tightened slightly on the dagger's hilt.
"Your tongue is sharper than your blade," she said coolly. "We'll see which cuts deeper
That night, the palace shimmered with lanterns for the evening feast. Courtiers whispered in corners. Musicians played ancient melodies. Veer stood by the veranda, sipping a goblet of sweet wine, eyes flicking occasionally toward Devyani, seated beside her grandmother.
Meera leaned close to Devyani. "He's... bold."
"He's a storm," Devyani muttered. "I haven't decided if it's the kind that brings rain or destruction."
Later, she slipped away from the banquet and climbed the steps to the temple of Jyoti Devi. The sacred flame in the center burned steady, its light blue core pulsing like a heartbeat.
She knelt, whispering, "What are you trying to show me?"
The flame flickered wildly—and an image flared within it: her hand in Veer's, both clad in armor, standing on a battlefield. Her lips on his. Her kingdom in flames. Her people bowing. A crown. A child.
Devyani staggered back, heart racing.
Was it real? Or just a vision of what could be?
A whisper echoed in her ears: He is the storm. You are the flame. The world turns by your union.