Anya's ancient antics: a mahabharat tale

chapter 41

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Duryodhan woke up with a slow, contented smile as he felt the warm weight of Anya sprawled across him. Her soft, rhythmic breathing tickled his chest, and as he blinked himself awake, he couldn't help but chuckle. His wife, the queen of Hastinapur, looked more like a wrestling champion than royalty, limbs draped across him like she’d been fighting in her sleep.

Her arm was flung possessively across his chest, one leg tangled in the sheets, and her face pressed adorably into his side. Even in sleep, she was a handful.

“She really sleeps like she’s in the middle of a battle,” Duryodhan murmured to himself, his voice tinged with affection. Carefully, he reached over and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, pausing to admire how peaceful she looked. Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

The past few days had been a whirlwind—Nakul’s looming marriage to Anya, his burning jealousy, their elopement, and finally, the sacred vows that bound her to him. Now, she was truly his, and the thought filled him with a deep sense of satisfaction and relief. She had chosen him, and there was no fear left, no threat of her slipping away into someone else's arms.

Still, despite his calm exterior, a small part of him felt a twinge of guilt. He hadn't exactly lived up to her romantic expectations last night. Anya, being the spirited and playful woman she was, had probably imagined something far more dramatic, but he had been exhausted—no, completely worn out.

He chuckled quietly to himself. *I’ll make it up to her.*

Slipping out of bed with care, Duryodhan moved across the room, freshening up and dressing in his royal attire. His eyes flickered back to Anya, who was still fast asleep, her face now smushed into the pillow, completely unaware of the world around her.

With a sigh, he sat back on the edge of the bed, leaning down close to her ear. “Anya, it’s morning,” he whispered, his deep voice soft. “Time to wake up.”

No response.

He gently shook her shoulder. “Anya, wake up.”

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

Raising an eyebrow, Duryodhan tried again, his tone a little more forceful. “Anya, it’s time to get up. You can’t sleep all day.”

Still, she didn’t stir. Instead, she mumbled something incoherent under her breath, turning her face further into the pillow, refusing to acknowledge his existence. Her only contribution to the conversation was a small snore, as if to make a point.

Duryodhan sighed, though a playful smile tugged at his lips. “You really are a stubborn one, aren’t you?”

He leaned down close to her ear, his voice dropping to a mischievous whisper. “Fine. I’ll just go eat all the sweets Tara prepared for us. You can stay here and sleep, if that’s what you prefer.”

At the mention of sweets, Anya’s eyes fluttered open—barely. “Sweets?” she mumbled groggily, her voice thick with sleep. “Where?”

Duryodhan laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Yes, sweets. But only if you get out of bed.”

Anya groaned dramatically, turning over and throwing an arm across her eyes. “Five more minutes,” she whined, her voice muffled. “I’m exhausted, okay? Looking this good is hard work.”

Duryodhan folded his arms, grinning down at her. “Oh? I thought warriors rose with the sun. Didn’t you say that yourself?”

She cracked one eye open, shooting him a half-hearted glare. “Warriors need their beauty sleep too, you know. Can’t fight battles looking like a mess.” She sighed dramatically, stretching out like a lazy cat, her gown tangled around her legs. “And let me remind you—I’ve had to marry you twice in the past few days. That’s exhausting.”