The Enemy's Daughter

Chapter Thirteen

 They traversed through endless corridors and several courtyards before they reached an open, raised platform situated right outside the walls of the palace. Priyadarshini watched wide-eyed in terror as her gaze fell on the horrible scene being carried out in front of her. A group of citizens had gathered around the platform to watch the execution of the rebels. Bloodthirsty cries against the rebels resounded to the skies as the public spectacle drew huge crowds. The executioner, a man of considerable height and physique, with bloodshot eyes and a sleek mustache, dressed in all black, was a terrifying sight to behold. A hapless man hung by a rope on a pole, plainly dead. Blood and gore covered the ground at her feet as a couple of men lay decapitated. Priyadarshini wished desperately to close her eyes or turn her face away but was forced to watch in morbid fascination as right before her sight, the executioner raised his ax and brought it down on a kneeling man. "Down with the rebels," someone shouted. Another screamed for blood until others joined in the chant reaching a climactic crescendo. The moment the ax connected with his exposed neck, blood spurted out in a red fountain, while his head rolled to one side.

"Watch well my dear," the Prince bit out through gritted teeth, "...this is how we deal with those that try to rise against Jaigarh. Think a hundred times about your fate if you plan to send secret missives to the enemies of the kingdom."

Priyadarshini found herself unable to utter a word as frozen to the spot, she felt the world recede from her eyes and sank to the floor in a dead faint.

*****

Harshvardhan closed his eyes as the soothing strains of the music washed over him. Taking a sip of the excellent wine, he leaned against the cushions as Neelanjana sang a lilting melody. Since his return, he had found himself in a foul mood. He had expected a warm welcome from his wife, not the sting of her tongue. To see her hide the message she had written had made him lose his head. Maybe, he overreacted, but was he to blame when he had been planning to take her in his arms and kiss her passionately? Why did she have to spoil everything by being so stubborn and pigheaded?

The song drew to an end and he threw a trinket at the courtesan, who caught it with a smile of gratitude, eyeing the huge pearl set in gold and mentally calculating its worth. She inched closer to him, leaning her voluptuous body against his own, and stroked his chest with playful fingers. Raising her face, she brought his lips down on hers, burying her fingers in his dark mane. For the first time in years, Harshvardhan felt no spark light in his loins at the closeness of the blue-eyed beauty. What was wrong with him, he mused. The encompassing arms felt like manacles, and he shrugged out of her embrace, rising to his feet and exiting the enticing chamber.

*****

Queen Devnandini looked sympathetically at the girl lying on the bed, her face flushed, eyes closed, and mumbling incoherently. "Has the fever still not broken?" she asked the maid who stood by the bedside.

"Unfortunately no, your majesty. She is the same since yesterday," the maid gazed worriedly at the prone figure of the girl. The queen felt a pang of misgiving at the reply. She knew her son was to blame for this fiasco. She had heard that he had dragged his wife all the way to the executioner's platform to witness the bloody sight. How many times had she advised him to be gentle with the girl? The beheading of the rebels was hardly a sight for the eyes of a young woman. No wonder she had swooned. What made her apprehensive was the high fever that wracked her slender frame. She had better call the royal doctor, and give an earful to her wayward son.

*****

He felt her burning forehead. Her skin was blotched and her lips dry and cracked. The royal doctor shook his head. This did not look good at all. They would have to make the fever break.