Seasons- Golden Hours

🌻Meeting the Enemies🌻

Eshani 

Inder Uncle handed a small invitation card to the Royal Guard, who stood at the entrance of the majestic pathway leading to the Raajmahal. The guard, wearing a deep red pagdi with pride, had a thick, traditional moustache curled at the edges. After inspecting the card, he nodded, and our carriage began to move forward. The pathway was fortified, ensuring no one could trespass without permission, heightening the grandeur of the palace ahead.

I shifted slightly in my seat, adjusting my indo-western gown. The silk fabric clung to my body in a way that was both unfamiliar and flattering, outlining my curves with elegance. At first, I was reluctant to experiment with these fabrics—the green saree had been a bold choice, and now, this gown felt like an even greater leap. But tonight wasn't about fashion; it was about something far more important.

Agastya sat beside me, his hands interlocked, fingers pressed tightly together as though containing a storm within. A striking crimson shawl, adorned with intricate designs, draped over his shoulders. It was in contrast to the simplicity of his white kurta, the sleeves rolled up in that effortlessly confident manner of his. Even in his calmness, Agastya exuded authority, a quiet power that made my heart beat faster.

I felt my throat go dry.

The carriage came to a halt, and a breeze loosened a strand of my hair from the carefully arranged bun. I quickly gathered my composure, reminding myself that this was more than a mere appearance. I had to look both royal and approachable. The rich green of my gown symbolized growth and resilience, while the soft curls framing my face gave an impression of gentleness. My bun remained intact, save for the few stray curls meant to soften the look. With a deep breath, I stepped out of the carriage, my eyes sweeping over the grand Raajmahal before me.

The palace was a vision of opulence—carved marble pillars, delicate filigree arches, and a sprawling staircase leading up to the gilded doors. The air was heavy with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, creating an aura of both luxury and heritage. In the distance, I could hear the faint sound of traditional shehnai music, a gentle reminder of the evening's royal gathering. As I stepped forward, my nerves threatened to surface. The palace wasn't just a monument; it was a symbol of everything we were about to confront, the lineage Agastya was born into and the expectations that awaited. I could feel the weight of it all pressing down on me.

Agastya's hand grazed mine as we stood before the grand entrance, his touch grounding me in the moment. "You look stunning," he murmured, his voice low and rough. His gaze met mine, the intensity in his eyes matching the quiet strength in his posture.

"And you look like you own this kingdom," I replied, trying to break the tension with a smile.He gave a small smirk, but his eyes remained fixed on the Raajmahal. "Let's get this over with. I don't like royal politics, but we need them on our side."

Together, we walked up the grand staircase, the gold-encrusted doors slowly swinging open to reveal the world of royalty awaiting us.

The golden chandelier hanging with around 50 small ones on the ceiling seemed to be the main focus but there were so many things... a champaign fountain one side and a castle made of cards on the other. The staircase leading towards the guest house had various paintings, each painted of the lineage of the Rajvanshi family. 

In the highest place, there was a photo of a smug looking person, dark eyes and his face lifted while holding a sword with dragon on it's top body. Gaurav Rajvanshi it read. 

Beneath him, there was a photograph of a clean shaved boy- around Agastya's age. He was wearing a Navy coat, holding a dead Dodo in his hand with a grin on his face.