𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧

86⚚ New chapter

2 Months later. 

It was a normal day in Kshatriya kingdom. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, spilling soft golden rays across the endless stretch of fields. Birds chirped happily, hopping from tree to tree as if announcing the new day with a cheerful choir. 

The farmers were already at work, their voices carrying through the air as they sang morning folk songs while tending to their crops. The fragrance of fresh mud and blooming flowers mixed into the breeze, making the whole kingdom smell alive.

In the narrow stone-paved lanes of the town, shopkeepers pulled open their shutters one by one, sweeping the fronts of their stores with brisk movements. 

Mothers scolded sleepy children who rubbed their eyes stubbornly, refusing to get up for school. Tiny sandals slapped against the streets as groups of little ones, half awake and half grumpy, marched reluctantly with their satchels. 

Women carried pots of water on their hips, exchanging morning greetings with neighbors, while elders sat on the temple steps, telling old tales or humming prayers. 

Life was busy, messy, and heartwarmingly full.

Meanwhile, in the heart of the kingdom, inside the grand main palace, everything was still and quiet. The royal king of Kshatriya, the head of all kings across the allied kingdoms, was nowhere close to being awake. 

Instead, he was sprawled on his enormous bed, mouth parted as soft snores escaped him. For all his towering presence and monstrous muscles, he looked utterly boyish, sleeping on his stomach like a giant starfish.

But what completed the sight was the tiny figure resting on top of him—his little princess. 

Sharvi, the joy of the palace, was sprawled on his broad back in the same starfish position, cheek pressed into her dada's warmth. Her tiny arms clutched his shoulders, her little breaths syncing with his, as though she had claimed her favorite spot in the world. 

The contrast was so endearing, the fierce king, feared by armies, was nothing but a giant mattress for his daughter. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Now, you all might be wondering, where is the angel queen of this kingdom? Yes, the one everyone across lands adores and reveres, the mother of little Sharvi, the wife of the mighty King Viraj. 

The answer to that question is easy. Follow the sound of soft giggles drifting up from the kitchen, and there you will find her—Amaira Viraj Kshatriya.

She sat there with a steaming cup of coffee in her delicate hands, her messy morning hair falling loosely around her shoulders, cheeks still carrying the freshness of sleep. 

Her eyes sparkled as she laughed, a sound so melodic it could make the dullest morning bloom into sunshine. Across from her, Daksh was busy making ridiculous faces, exaggerating every expression just to coax more laughter out of her. 

He succeeded, of course, and each time she giggled, he puffed up with pride like a child who had won a prize.

Rithvik, however, was not amused by Daksh's antics. Wearing an apron tied haphazardly around his waist, he was at the stove flipping pancakes with skillful ease, his brows furrowed as he turned to smack Daksh time to time. 

"Behave," he scolded, even as Amaira laughed harder at the scene.

Nearby, Ash sat calmly at the table, sipping his tea in silence, though the small twitch of his lips betrayed how much he enjoyed watching the chaos. 

Beside him, Gaurav had a pile of scrolls spread open, his sharp eyes darting over messages and reports from all the kingdoms, yet his ears remained tuned to Amaira's laughter, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.