The museum was buzzing with excitement. Prerna Agarwal, a college student, walked through its grand halls . This trip was supposed to be a fun escape, but something about this place felt like it was calling to her.
The highlight of the museum was...
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One week had passed since my marriage to Prithviraj Kshatriya, and life had begun settling into a routine. It was strange—sleeping in the same room as him, yet feeling the weight of an invisible line drawn between us. Our interactions were civil, polite even, but there was always an undercurrent of something more. Something neither of us was ready to acknowledge.
Every night, I lay on my side of the massive royal bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft crackling of the lamps and the distant sounds of the palace. He slept on the other side, always silent, never making a move toward me. I should have been relieved—this was what I wanted, wasn’t it? Yet, a strange restlessness crept into me every time I glanced at his sleeping form from across the room.
During the day, my schedule was filled with endless responsibilities. The palace maids, who once addressed me as ‘Rajkumari,’ now called me ‘Maharani.’ The change in title still felt foreign to me, but I played my role well. Attending court meetings, familiarizing myself with the inner workings of Kahilya’s administration, and making sure the people saw me as their queen—it all came with the marriage. And yet, despite all the duties that came with my new role, my mind often wandered back to something else.
The sword.
I had always known how to fight, but my training was different from the warriors of Kahilya. I had learned to fight in heavy attire, to defend myself, but now I wanted to refine my skill—to master the blade as he did.
That morning, as I sat in the open courtyard of the palace, watching the soldiers train under the bright sun, an idea formed in my mind.
Prithviraj was speaking to one of his generals, his stance authoritative yet relaxed. He was dressed in his usual deep-colored robes, the golden insignia of Kahilya embroidered onto his shoulder. His sword was strapped to his side, gleaming under the sun.
I stood up, brushing the dust off my attire, and made my way toward him. He noticed me immediately, his gaze flickering with something unreadable.
“Viraaj,” I said softly, testing the name again. He never corrected me when I called him that, never insisted on being addressed as Prithviraj.
He raised an eyebrow. “Shivi?”
I ignored the way my heart jumped at the way he said my name. “I want you to teach me.”
His brows furrowed. “Teach you what?”
I gestured toward his sword. “To fight like you.”
His expression darkened slightly, and for a moment, I thought he was going to refuse. But then, after a long pause, he sighed and unsheathed his sword. “Fine. But don’t complain later when your arms feel like they’re on fire.”
I smirked. “I’ll take my chances.”
A small crowd gathered as I picked up a wooden practice sword. Adinath and Manik, who had come to visit, stood at the side, watching with amusement. The soldiers pretended not to be interested, but I could feel their eyes on us. After all, it wasn’t every day that they saw their new queen training with their king.
