𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧

80⚚ Little Princess

One Year Later.

"Dadaaaaaa!"

A loud, ringing voice echoed through the vast royal courthouse.

The guards stationed near the towering golden doors instantly straightened, bowing deeply at the sight of the little one. The voice, belonging to none other than the twenty-three-month-old Princess Sharvi Kshatriya, made even the stern soldiers soften.

And as if she understood the gesture, the tiny princess bowed back with a wobbling little bend, her round face breaking into an eye-smile. 

The move was so clumsy, so adorably earnest, that the guards nearly cooed aloud.

Behind her stood her favorite Papa, Gaurav. 

He held his hands neatly folded behind his back, his stern soldierly stance softened only by the small, proud smile tugging at his lips.

The guards pushed open the heavy doors, and in that instant, the princess broke into a sprint. Her tiny feet pattered against the polished marble floor as she shouted again, louder this time, "Dadaaaaa!"

She ran straight toward the high throne. There, upon it, sat her father... King Viraj Kshatriya, lost in a deep discussion with his ministers. But at the very first sound of her voice, his head snapped up.

The sternness in his expression melted. A smile, pure, unrestrained, and full of love, lit his face. The king abandoned his throne and bent down just in time to scoop her into his arms.

"Hey, my little love," Viraj chuckled, pressing his lips to her chubby cheek. "What are you doing here?"

Sharvi's lips formed the tiniest pout as she explained in her sweet, broken toddler tongue,
"Mama go see oul people... so Papa slay with me... but I want Dada... so I run hele."

It was a long sentence for someone so little. Her words were slightly jumbled, her baby voice rolling them together, but Viraj understood. 

He always did. 

His heart swelled with pride; after all, she had only recently begun forming such long thoughts, even if most others needed Amaira to interpret.

But to him, every word was crystal clear.

His mind drifted briefly to the memory of her first spoken word—Dada. That single word had sent him to the skies that day, so overjoyed that he ordered gold coins to be distributed in every household across the kingdom.

He hugged her closer, chuckling softly. "Dada missed you too, my little highness."

The ministers, who had silently witnessed the exchange, shared fond smiles at the sight of their fierce king melting into nothing but a doting father. 

It was only when Rithvik gently cleared his throat that the ministers excused themselves, allowing their group a much-needed small break with their princess.

"Dada, me want cookies!" Sharvi demanded, her tiny voice echoing through the grand hall, making every stern guard secretly bite back a smile.

Rithvik was already halfway toward their palace before Viraj's firm voice stopped him. "Bhai, she ate an entire basket yesterday. No more for a week."

Before Rithvik could protest, little Sharvi cupped her father's face with her soft, chubby palms, pressing his cheeks together until his lips puckered. She leaned close, her pout in full display. "Dada... Shalvi is good girl, light? Can I have one, please?"

Viraj gulped. He knew this battle was lost before it even began. 

Those puppy eyes—the very same ones Amaira always use—were his only weakness in this entire kingdom. He thought he had built himself into an unshakable king, but this little girl had him surrendering in seconds.