In the alternate universe, set in the medieval period, where power rules and superstition lingers in the thin air, the tale of The Last Princess unfolds.
For the hazel eyed king has secrets, desires and motives.
The champagne eyed queen has fears...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The war had lasted for a shorter period than they had expected. The swarm of rodents had retreated. The entire kingdom was now decorated with marigolds and rangolis with jubilance thick in the air.
The dark clouds of doom had cooled off a bit. However, the drizzle refused to stop. The rain fell straight from the gray clouds; each needle-like raindrop firm, and determined, filling the ponds, rivers, and streams. The weather was shockingly cold, chilling, and bone-deep. In comparison, the air was heavy, saturated, and laden with ozone. The breeze blew the red flags atop the domes.
The endlessly bleak and stormy skies couldn't dampen the mood of anyone in Mewar. The gloomy mood had transformed into a vibrant tapestry of colors, diyas, and bustling rhythms. The air was alive with a festive scent and that of fragrant marigolds. The warm gold of the diyas warmed their hearts even more.
Anika had dressed herself in purple. It almost hurt every commoner's eyes to look at her. The expensive dye complemented her milky white skin perfectly. The way she worked around her palace, a queen in purple, screamed elegance. Her anklets chimed in the entire palace while her waist chain hugged her narrow waist intimately. Fresh red roses supported her heavy bun while crimson vermillion sat proudly on her forehead. Her green and gold bangles adorned her dainty wrist. Her heavy gold mangal sutra glinted on her neck, shining proudly under the twinkle of the diyas.
Everything had to be just perfect, Anika thought. Her king was coming back with his troops today. They had cooked a feast. The rain didn't allow much light or decorations, but they did their best. The men had arranged a mehfil as well. They were all in the mood for celebration. Most were busy making rangolis and decorating them even further with marigolds, their faces animated with excitement and anticipation while their laughter and chatter mingled.
Time passed quickly as if catalyzed by all the chores that had to be done. Anika hurriedly prepared her room, they would be here any moment now. She was too busy lighting the chandeliers in their home and had lost track of time.
"Baisa, Samrat aagaye hai!" (Queen, the king has arrived!)
Anika gasped and quickly turned to leave her chamber not before sparing herself a final glance in the mirror.
"Baisa, aapka chadar!" (Queen, your shawl!)
Anika hurriedly wrapped the embroidered, dark purple shawl around herself, thanking the maid with a quick smile, laced with gratitude. As she ran to reach the door, someone handed her a thali. She bit her tongue, embarrassed. She was just too eager to meet her husband She followed behind the row of women who carried a copper pot atop their heads on which fire burned jubilantly - an age-old tradition of the kingdom.
"Lagta hai baisa kuch zyada hi jaldi mein hai," the younger girls giggled teasingly. (Seems like the queen is in a rush)
However, every woman gasped as they laid their eyes on their men. They were all injured, some having second or third-degree burns, some with shrapnel wounds that even hurt to look at, on their faces. They were all treated just for the namesake. Most highly-ranked soldiers had a scarred face, with injured hands. The female wondered just how many wounds they supported behind their clothes.
