𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧

87⚚ Symphony

"Daddaaa!" the shrill, impatient shout of their two-and-a-half-year-old crown princess echoed through the marble halls of the Kshatriya palace, bouncing off the tall pillars and reaching all corners of the grand corridors. 

Even the guards smiled knowingly at the familiar sound.

Viraj, who was in his chamber fastening the last strap of his leather belt, rolled his eyes with a helpless grin. 

"Be there in a sec, star!" he called back, his deep voice carrying the warmth of a father wrapped around his little girl's finger.

It had been a few months since the kingdom learned the joyous news—Queen Amaira was expecting again. 

The announcement had been nothing less than a festival. Citizens lit lamps, decorated the streets, and sent endless gifts—handmade toys, embroidered blankets, jars of sweets, fruits, and baskets of strawberries because everyone knew of their queen's fondness. 

Amaira, glowing and rounder now, had been showered with love from every corner of the realm, and she had never felt more cherished.

This time, unlike the rougher days of her first pregnancy, things had been kinder. No morning sickness, no wild mood swings, except for her eternal love for strawberries, which remained her one true craving. 

Her belly had bloomed visibly, round and precious, enough for Viraj to constantly tease her. "Feels like you're hiding twins in there, moon," he'd joke with a smirk, only to earn an exasperated glare from Amaira. 

Sometimes, even Sharvi would jump in to glare at him, her little hands on her hips, ready to defend her mother. And every single time, the mighty king of Kshatriya would raise his hands in surrender and shut up.

Currently, Amaira sat on a cushioned chair in Sharvi's bright, toy-filled room, her strawberry bowl in her lap as she happily nibbled. Beside her, the little crown princess was standing with her tiny fists planted on her hips, her brows furrowed, tapping her tiny foot against the carpet.

"Mummaaa," Sharvi pouted, tugging on Amaira's hand. 

"Dada is late! He is always late! You sit here, no moving. I said I will take care of you and baby. Dada will dress me up, not you. You're my baby, Mumma, no doing work!"

Amaira giggled softly, brushing her daughter's cheek. "My star, your dada is coming. Don't worry. And you don't have to take care of me like a baby, hmm? I'm your Mumma."

Sharvi shook her head so dramatically that her curls bounced. "Nooo, Mumma! You're my baby. Dada said it too."

Amaira groaned softly, hiding her laughter behind her hand. "Oh, your dada is teaching you too much nonsense," she mumbled, biting into another strawberry.

Just then, the heavy wooden door creaked open, and Viraj finally appeared, dressed in his dark royal shirt with lion symbol on it, hair still slightly messy from his hurried dressing. 

"Who is calling me as if the palace is on fire?" he teased, walking in with a mischievous grin.

Sharvi immediately ran to him, her tiny arms wide. "Dadaaa! You are late! Mumma is not allowed to work, you dress me!"

Viraj chuckled, scooping her up effortlessly. "Aye aye, crown princess. Forgive me, I was just finishing up." 

He pressed a playful kiss to her cheek, earning a squeal of laughter. Then he glanced at Amaira, who sat watching them with her soft smile, the glow of motherhood making her look ethereal.

"You see this, moon?" Viraj teased, settling Sharvi on his hip. "Our little star is bossing me around more than you do."

Amaira smirked, popping another strawberry into her mouth. "Well, I wonder who she gets it from, hubbs."