𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧

67⚚ Blood

Author POV:

Viraj turned his deadliest gaze toward Veer — that stare so silent, so venomous it seemed to squeeze the air out of the grand, ruined hall. 

His voice, when it came, was soft... a whisper that somehow rolled and echoed through every broken marble corridor and burning courtyard;

"Shall we write your ending now?"

Veer's throat bobbed. 

For a moment — just a moment — the mask cracked. Terror flickered behind his eyes, creeping through the iron wall of his arrogance. The once-mighty king felt the true taste of his own ruin on his tongue — bitter, choking.

In that heartbeat, every sin, every secret, every ounce of stolen power clawed around his neck like a tightening noose. He'd fed on fear, ruled with an iron fist, spilled royal blood to feed his greed for a throne that was never his by right. 

And he had known — oh, he'd known what it meant to wipe out the Kshatriya line. He should have scoured the earth until no drop of their blood remained to remember him. 

But he'd failed.

And now, standing here in the burned-out bones of his grand kingdom, knee-deep in the ghosts of everything he'd destroyed, Veer realized the Kshatriya bloodline hadn't just survived — it had risen into a monster wearing a crown of vengeance.

Yet despite the pounding of his heart, the bile in his throat, the tremor in his clenched fist — his arrogance, the same poisoned pride that ruined him, refused to bow. 

He straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin. Even as sweat trickled down his spine, he forced out the last poison in him — that final lie he wanted to believe;

"You are underestimating me, kid."

The silence that fell after that was deafening. Even the flames crackling somewhere behind them seemed to cower.

Viraj's lips parted — and then he threw his head back and laughed. 

A laugh sharp and cutting, echoing off the broken pillars, twisting into something monstrous. He doubled over slightly, one hand on his knee as if Veer's arrogance was the funniest joke he'd heard in centuries. He glanced sideways at Bhageera, eyes dancing with mock delight.

"You heard that, Bhageera? Underestimating!" Viraj's voice cracked like a whip, dripping mockery. "Oh, my god— Did you hear that?"

Bhageera stood stiff as stone, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a grim ghost of a smile. He dipped his head, voice cutting through the heavy air. "I heard, King."

Viraj's laughter died in his throat — replaced by something cold and lethal. His smirk flattened into an icy line as he took one slow step toward Veer, eyes locked, a predator savoring the kill.
"Tell him, Bhageera."

Bhageera straightened, voice sharp and unyielding, echoing the truth Veer refused to see; "Twenty-five minutes, King. That's how long it took for our men to erase the Northern Kingdom from the earth."

Viraj's jaw flexed, and he tilted his head slightly, his eyes burning like coals as they bored into Veer's soul — stripping him naked of every lie he'd ever wrapped himself in. His voice dropped to a quiet, deadly whisper.

"Twenty-five minutes." He chuckled darkly. "You're not underestimated, Veer. You're irrelevant."

And Veer — the so-called royal king — felt it then, the weight of his own ending. Not written by his hand, but carved by the last heir of the line he failed to wipe out.