The first light of dawn crept over the hills, brushing the Kuntala palace with hues of gold and amber. The marble towers caught the morning sun, glimmering faintly through the dissipating mist. Down in the streets, the city was already stirring—merchants haggled with buyers over sacks of grain, while armored patrols marched through the narrow alleyways, ensuring order.
Within the royal citadel, however, the day began not with commerce, but with politics and power plays.
---
The grand hall was filled with the murmurs of nobles, ministers, and commanders gathering around the royal table. The chamber's high-vaulted ceiling, with its intricate carvings of Kuntala's founding, loomed over them like a silent witness.
At the head of the table, Rani Yashodhara sat, regal and composed. Her emerald sari caught the sunlight spilling through the arched windows, making the golden threads shimmer faintly. Her expression was calm, but her eyes were sharp—watchful and calculating.
To her right sat Jayvarma, his youthful face carrying a mature seriousness beyond his years. Though only ten, his posture was rigid and disciplined, mimicking the noblemen around him. His dark eyes flickered between the ministers, observing their every word, every gesture.
And to her left, Virendra sat in silence, his eyes sharp and perceptive. Though still a boy, his reputation as the truth-seer of Kuntala had already taken root. The ministers, once dismissive of his presence, now avoided his gaze, fearful of being caught in a lie.
The heavy oak doors swung open, and the guard captain announced the arrival of Rajan Baladeva, the envoy of Gandhara.
The man entered with measured steps, his robes woven with silver-threaded patterns—Gandhara's royal colors. His thin mustache twitched upward in a polite smile, though his eyes were cold and watchful.
"Rani-sa," he greeted with a fluid bow, his voice honeyed but calculated.
"Gandhara extends its hand in friendship."
---
Baladeva's attendants laid fine silk scrolls on the table, each one bearing the royal seal of Gandhara. The ministers glanced at one another as the envoy began to speak.
"Our king offers a ten-year non-aggression pact," Baladeva declared smoothly.
"In addition, he proposes a reduction in spice tariffs, granting Kuntala favored access to Gandhara's river ports. And," he added, pausing slightly, "military support should Mahishmati turn hostile."
A faint murmur rippled through the chamber. The offer, on the surface, was incredibly generous.
Too generous.
Yashodhara's gaze remained steady, but her fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of her throne—a silent signal to Virendra, who immediately noted the envoy's body language.
As Baladeva spoke, Virendra's eyes narrowed.
The envoy's voice was smooth, but there was a faint tremor in his tone—a deliberate measured slowness that didn't match the confidence of his words.
"He's lying," Virendra realized.
But Yashodhara did not glance at him, nor did she wait for his signal.
She already knew.
Her voice was cool and composed.
"A generous offer, indeed," she said softly, her eyes meeting Baladeva's.
"Perhaps… too generous."
The envoy's smile stiffened slightly, but he maintained his calm.
"There is no deception, Rani-sa. Only goodwill."
Her expression remained unreadable.
"Goodwill often carries a price," she remarked.
Her eyes sharpened.
"What is the price of Gandhara's friendship?"
Baladeva hesitated, but only for a fleeting moment.
"A marital alliance, Rani-sa," he answered smoothly.
"Our king proposes a bond with one of Kuntala's noble families."
The chamber fell into heavy silence.
---
Every eye turned to Yashodhara, awaiting her decision.
But she did not look at Virendra.
She did not need to.
Her voice was calm but unyielding.
"You offer military support," she said evenly.
"But should we accept, we must first know the full cost of this alliance."
She leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing.
"Proof of your military strength," she added softly.
"A full accounting of your troops, horses, and armaments."
Baladeva's smile tightened faintly, but he kept his expression neutral.
"That is an… unusual request," he replied.
"Surely, Rani-sa, such records—"
Her voice hardened, cutting through his words.
"Without them," she said icily, "I cannot consider this offer seriously. I will not gamble my kingdom's future on vague promises."
The envoy's eyes flickered with momentary unease.
Finally, he bowed stiffly.
"Of course, Rani-sa," he murmured.
"I will personally deliver the records within the fortnight."
Without another word, she dismissed him with a sharp nod.
The envoys left the chamber in uncomfortable silence.
---
As the ministers filed out, Yashodhara turned to her children.
Her eyes softened slightly as she addressed Jayvarma and Virendra, but her tone remained firm.
She gestured toward the map of Gandhara that lay on the war table.
"What did you learn from today?" she asked, her voice calm but instructive.
Jayvarma frowned slightly, his hands clenching into small fists.
"They were hiding something," he declared.
"Their offer was too generous."
Yashodhara gave a faint smile, but she shook her head slightly.
"And if they were sincere?" she challenged.
"Would you reject them simply because of suspicion?"
Her voice became measured and steady, the voice of a teacher.
"Politics is not about rejection. It is about extracting the most value from every offer. Even when you know they are lying, you must leave them convinced that you might trust them."
She turned to Virendra, her gaze sharp.
"Do you understand why I did not expose him directly?" she asked softly.
He nodded slowly.
"Because you wanted leverage," he murmured.
"If you revealed the lie, he would leave without giving you more."
Her lips curved faintly, and pride glimmered in her eyes.
"Exactly."
---
That evening, as the palace halls grew dim with flickering torchlight, Yashodhara stood with her children in the library. She unrolled ancient scrolls and maps, guiding them through diplomatic histories and strategies, teaching them how past alliances were made and broken.
"You must see every offer as a blade," she said softly, her eyes steady.
"It can protect or cut you, depending on how you wield it."
And as the candlelight flickered against the scrolls, Virendra listened carefully, absorbing every word.
He realized that his mother was shaping them into rulers—not just through power, but with wisdom and foresight.
---
The amber sun slowly dipped beyond the jagged mountains, painting the Kuntala sky in streaks of copper and crimson. The day's warmth faded, but in the royal court, the tension only grew thicker.
Rani Yashodhara stood before the large map of Kuntala's territory, her hands resting lightly on the edges of the polished stone table. Her sharp eyes scanned the village reports spread across its surface.
Behind her, Virendra sat in a high-backed chair, quietly observing. The warmth of the hearth flickered across his face, but his eyes were cold and calculating.
In his hand, he idly rolled a small iron coin between his fingers—a subtle habit he'd formed when deep in thought.
At the far end of the room, Jayvarma leaned against a pillar, watching his younger brother with quiet curiosity. Though they were barely two years apart, he sometimes found himself awed by Virendra's uncanny insights, as if his younger sibling had lived a lifetime before this one.
---
One of the royal scribes stepped forward and bowed.
"My Rani, the harvest reports have arrived from the eastern villages."
He placed several scrolls onto the table, and Yashodhara quickly scanned them.
Her brows furrowed.
"The yield is lower than last year." Her voice was calm but clipped.
She turned to Mantri Dattaka, one of the two ministers Virendra suspected of harboring divided loyalties.
Dattaka smoothed his silk robes, feigning a sympathetic expression.
"The riverbeds are drying earlier, Rani. The villages by the floodplains depend on them, and without rain, they struggle. It is merely nature's cruelty."
Virendra's eyes narrowed slightly.
He could tell, by the faint shift in Dattaka's breathing, that the minister was lying.
The wheat shipments from those regions hadn't decreased when he visited the market. In fact, the merchants were selling more grain than before.
Jayvarma's fingers curled into a fist, but Virendra subtly shook his head.
"Let him lie, brother," his gaze said.
"We'll pull the noose tight once he believes he's safe."
---
That night, Virendra sat in his private study, surrounded by parchments and scrolls. He slowly traced figures and equations onto the brittle surface, his mind lost in thought.
His memories drifted back to his previous life—to documentaries about agriculture, discussions of water conservation, and history books on ancient irrigation techniques.
"Simple aqueducts, trench channels…" he muttered to himself.
"It's basic hydrology. We're wasting water every season."
The next morning, he requested an audience with Yashodhara.
Seated on her carved stone throne, she studied him as he laid out his plan.
"We need to build irrigation channels," he declared without preamble.
"No more relying on rainwater alone."
Yashodhara's sharp eyes narrowed slightly.
"Irrigation?" she repeated, her tone laced with skepticism.
"In every village? It will take years."
Virendra shook his head, his voice steady.
"Not every village."
He pointed to the map, marking three strategic regions: the fertile floodplains near the river, the grain-producing eastern villages, and the smaller hamlets bordering Mahishmati's territory.
"We start with these."
His voice grew more intense, his hands moving with conviction.
"We divert the river water through trenches. Not aqueducts." He met her gaze.
"Smaller, faster, and cheaper. We don't have to reinvent the wheel. We just make it turn better."
Yashodhara's lips pursed slightly, her mind weighing the logistics and risks.
"The costs?" she asked simply.
Virendra's eyes gleamed.
"High at first, but the yield will double. Triple in some regions. It'll pay for itself in two harvests."
Jayvarma, standing by the window, smirked faintly.
"Or we drown our own crops," he muttered.
But Yashodhara was already convinced.
She turned to Mantri Vishala, one of her most trusted advisors.
"Find me the best engineers, builders, and masons. Spare no expense."
---
The next few weeks were a blur of labor and sweat.
Virendra personally oversaw the construction, walking through the muddy trenches in his plain riding clothes.
He worked alongside the peasants, driving stakes into the ground and measuring the depth of the canals.
His hands blistered and his face was streaked with dirt, but he refused to simply observe from the palace.
When the first trenches were completed, Virendra watched with satisfaction as the river water diverted into the channels, spreading across the dry fields in shimmering streams.
The farmers stared in disbelief, some kneeling in the wet soil, blessing the gods.
"You've brought the river to us, Lord Virendra," an elderly farmer whispered, his eyes glassy with awe.
The peasants began working harder, clearing debris and expanding the channels themselves, driven by newfound hope.
---
Two months later, when the first harvest came, the results were staggering.
The grain yield had doubled.
Fields that once yielded three bushels of wheat per acre now produced seven.
Virendra stood at the edge of the fields, watching the peasants cheer as they hauled massive sacks of grain into their carts.
Yashodhara rode out with Jayvarma to inspect the harvest herself.
She dismounted and knelt by the freshly tilled soil, running her fingers through the rich, moist earth.
"You were right," she admitted softly, her voice tinged with rare admiration.
"This was worth the risk."
---
The surplus harvest brought unexpected advantages.
Grain prices stabilized in Kuntala, making food affordable for the poorest villagers.
Peasants grew healthier, no longer weakened by seasonal famine.
But more importantly, Kuntala's grain reserves grew large enough to export.
Merchants from neighboring kingdoms came, eager to purchase surplus wheat.
Rani Yashodhara, ever the strategic mind, seized the opportunity.
She personally negotiated trade agreements, demanding favorable tariffs in exchange for grain exports.
Within months, Kuntala's coffers swelled.
In the palace, Yashodhara sat with her children, including Devasena, who was now old enough to understand the basics of trade.
She unfurled the new trade agreements, explaining the advantages and risks.
"See this, Devasena," she said softly, pointing to the trade clause.
"We give grain at a lower price now, but when their kingdoms face drought, we control the market."
Devasena, her sharp eyes narrowing in thought, nodded slowly.
"So they become dependent on us," she murmured.
Yashodhara's lips curved faintly in pride.
She was teaching her daughter not just to rule, but to dominate through strategy.
---
While Kuntala prospered, Mantri Dattaka grew restless.
The grain surplus disrupted his smuggling routes, cutting into his profits.
His bribed merchants could no longer hoard food to sell at extortionate prices.
That night, in a secluded chamber, he met with a cloaked figure—one of Bhallaladeva's spies.
He offered details of Kuntala's new trade routes, hoping to gain favor with Mahishmati.
But he didn't know that Virendra's spies were watching.
And when the time was right, Virendra would strike.
---