𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬♛ 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧⚚

𝗜𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻

Vencie POV:

A five-year-old boy ran in circles around his mother in the palace kitchen, his laughter filling the air.

"Mumma! Mumma!" he called eagerly, his small feet pattering against the marble floor.

Queen Vaishali, radiant and calm despite her heavy nine-month pregnancy, watched her son with a gentle smile. She moved slowly, settling herself into a chair by the dining table, a plate of fresh mangoes in her hands.

The king was away on an urgent matter in a neighboring kingdom, but he was expected to return any day now.

"Yes, Agastya, what is it?" she asked softly, her voice warm like the sun on a quiet morning.

Agastya, with bright, curious eyes, rushed to her side. Placing his tiny hands on her round belly, he asked with pure innocence, "Mumma, is there a baby in here?"

Queen Vaishali chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Yes, champ, there is a baby in here," she said.

"When will the baby come out? I want to play!" he demanded with the impatience only a child could muster.

The queen smiled again, a soft glow of love radiating from her. "Very soon, my little prince. Who do you want—a brother or a sister?"

Agastya leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss on his mother's stomach. His small voice filled with sincerity as he said, "A sister."

"Oh, and why is that?" the queen cooed, gently stroking his hair.

"Because I want her to be beautiful like you, Mumma. And I'll protect her from everyone." His innocent words, filled with so much love and promise, made the queen's heart swell with happiness. She felt her eyes misting, overwhelmed by the sweetness of her son's devotion.

The queen, her voice tender, asked, "What do you want to call her then?"

Without hesitation, Agastya grinned. "Princess! Because she will be the kingdom's princess."

Vaishali let out a soft laugh, her heart full. She kissed the top of his head and whispered, "How about Amaira? Does that sound good?"

Agastya's eyes lit up. "It's beautiful, Mumma! Does Amaira mean princess?"

The queen nodded, her smile growing. "Yes, my prince. Amaira means princess."

A few days later, a painful cry echoed through the royal palace, and the walls seemed to tremble with it.

"AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

The queen was in labor. Outside the royal chamber, King Prathap paced, his face tight with worry, while Agastya sat quietly nearby, his small hands fidgeting with the edge of his hoodie.

Though they live in a modern era, where technology is advanced and medical care top-notch, the royal family still clung to some traditions.

The king had insisted the queen give birth at the palace, ensuring that everything she needed was prepared there.

Time passed slowly, and tension hung thick in the air. Then, after what felt like an eternity, the sound of a baby's first cry pierced the silence.

Agastya's ears perked up, and he looked at his father, whose body froze for a moment.

A few moments later, a maid stepped out and bowed to the king. "Your Majesty, you may come in."

King Prathap hurried into the room, leaving Agastya behind for a moment, his small body buzzing with excitement.

The little prince sat patiently, his heart pounding in his chest, waiting for the moment when he could finally meet his baby sister—the princess he had already promised to protect.