Burning Red Of Wrath - ✨🪭

✨🪭37. And what of children? How many will you give her? I expect strong heirs!

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Kingdom of Rana (Palace)🏰

Varun nodded, though his gaze held that same quiet intensity as before. "Indeed, Princess. Then let me take my lea—"

Before he could finish, the hurried steps of maids and soldiers interrupted him. A frantic buzz filled the air as an older, commanding voice called out.

"Anya! My doll! I've been searching everywhere for you!"

Anya and Varun both turned at the sound of the booming baritone, one that carried the weight of authority but was now softened by age. It was none other than the old king—Anya’s grandfather. The once-great ruler, now weathered by time and dementia, had moments of clarity, especially when it came to his grandchildren.

Tears immediately welled up in Anya’s eyes. It had been so long since her grandfather had addressed her with such familiarity. “Daddu!” she gasped, standing up quickly. She moved to him, embracing him tightly, her stoic composure melting into pure emotion. Varun, meanwhile, stood frozen in surprise. He had only known Anya as controlled and poised, never once imagining she had this vulnerable side.

The old king hugged Anya back, but his sharp gaze fell on Varun, eyeing him suspiciously. Varun quickly realized who this was—the former King of Rana, renowned in his time, though now suffering the effects of dementia. Out of respect, Varun bowed deeply. However, the king didn’t seem to recognize him and instead made an assumption.

“Ah, Prince Nayan!” the old king exclaimed, mistaking Varun for Anya’s actual fiancé. “It seems my dearest Anya has found love! Only yesterday, it feels like, I held you as a baby in my arms.”

Anya stiffened at the mention of her real fiancé’s name, but her grandfather was already lost in a wave of nostalgia. “Yes, yes,” the old king continued, his eyes glazed as he tried to recall his scattered memories. “Anya, Aamir, and the others… Oh, they were all so small then.”

At that moment, Aamir, Anya’s younger brother, came running in, drawn by the commotion. Seeing his grandfather up and about, Aamir’s face lit up, though the old king barely recognized him, patting him on the head more out of habit than memory.

"Grandfather," Anya said gently, her voice thick with emotion. She knew these moments of lucidity were fleeting. As much as she longed to correct her grandfather’s mistaken identity of Varun, she also knew it would be futile. The effort would only confuse him further, and for now, it was better to keep up the pretense.

The old king, now turning back to Varun with a critical eye, asked, “So, tell me, my boy, are you keeping my Anya happy? Is she smiling, or is she troubled?” His voice was laced with both care and caution, the protector in him still very much alive.

Varun stayed silent thinking Anya would handle it but soon felt Anya's stern gaze burn into him, silently commanding him to play along. He smiled charmingly, giving a slight bow. “Your Majesty,” he began, his voice measured and sincere, “I would do nothing less than ensure your granddaughter’s happiness. Her well-being is of the utmost importance to me.”

The king, though satisfied with this, wasn’t done. His mind flickered between the present and the past, old memories resurfacing in fragments. “But how will you lead the country, Prince Nayan? The kingdom is vast, and alliances are fragile. What are your plans for the throne? You must ensure that Rana and Nanda remains strong. What will you do about the land disputes? And the treasury, mind you, it needs replenishing. We cannot rely solely on trade with the northern kingdoms.”