The golden sun dipped low on the horizon, splashing streaks of amber and rose across the evening sky. A warm breeze drifted over the Kuntalan palace, carrying the faint scent of jasmine blossoms from the garden below.
On the stone terrace, Devasena sat cross-legged on a plush woolen rug, her small hands carefully sorting a pile of pebbles. Her tiny brow furrowed in concentration as she arranged them in neat rows, trying to mimic the battle formations she had seen her brother practice with the soldiers.
Nearby, Jayvarma leaned against the balcony railing, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her with faint amusement.
"You're supposed to be playing, Deva. Not plotting a siege," he teased.
Devasena shot him a scowl, her little hands firmly placing the last pebble.
"This is not a game, Jay."
She jutted her chin stubbornly.
"You said you would teach me how to defeat a cavalry line. I am practicing."
Jayvarma's lips curved with a mixture of pride and exasperation.
"You're not even old enough to lift a sword, Deva."
"But I will be soon," she shot back, her eyes glinting with defiance.
Seated nearby, Virendra smiled faintly at their bickering. His legs were stretched out on a low bench, his arms draped loosely over the backrest.
He watched them with a sense of quiet contentment, their playful exchange filling the terrace with warmth.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted Yashodhara approaching. She carried a silver tray with two copper cups of spiced milk, the faint steam curling into the evening air.
She set the tray down and handed a cup to Devasena, who took it without breaking her focus on her battle formation.
Yashodhara's eyes glimmered with fondness.
"Do you plan to conquer Mahishmati with pebbles, Deva?" she asked lightly.
Devasena frowned with childish seriousness.
"No. That would be foolish. You need catapults."
Yashodhara and Jayvarma both chuckled, but Virendra only smiled quietly, watching the scene unfold.
The moments were rare but precious—simple family time, unburdened by politics and power plays.
For once, they weren't rulers or strategists. They were simply mother and children.
---
As the sky darkened, Virendra stood from his seat and walked to the edge of the terrace, leaning lightly against the stone railing.
From below, he could see the courtyard gardens, where the servants were lighting the oil lamps, their orange glow flickering in the twilight.
He turned back toward his family, his eyes thoughtful.
"I have something to show you," he said, his voice casual but carrying a glimmer of anticipation.
Yashodhara arched a curious brow, setting her cup down.
"Another scheme, Virendra?"
He smirked slightly, though his eyes were warm.
"No. This one is purely for comfort."
He gestured for them to follow, leading them through the palace halls, down the stone staircase, and into a small workshop he had claimed for himself.
The space was cluttered with wooden carvings, brass fittings, and strips of leather. Scattered tools and parchments with rough sketches covered the worktable.
Devasena's eyes widened with delight at the messy chaos, while Jayvarma squinted at the strange contraption in the corner.
It was a large, cylindrical tub with a wooden frame, attached to a network of thin copper pipes leading to a clay boiler in the corner.
"What is that?" Jayvarma asked, eyeing the odd device with suspicion.
Virendra grinned slightly.
"A bath."
Devasena wrinkled her nose.
"We already have baths."
"Yes, but not like this," Virendra countered, leading them closer.
He moved to the boiler, where he had lit a small flame before they arrived.
He turned a simple copper valve, and hot water flowed smoothly from the pipes into the large tub, filling it with gentle steam.
The room was filled with a collective gasp.
Devasena's eyes widened, and she immediately darted toward the tub, peering over the edge with fascination.
"You made hot water appear?" she asked, her voice filled with wonder.
Jayvarma's eyes narrowed, more skeptical, but equally intrigued.
"How did you manage this?"
Virendra smirked faintly.
"By using the boiler to heat water and directing it through copper pipes."
He tapped the valve lightly, making the water pressure increase slightly.
"No more waiting for servants to carry buckets or boiling water in clay pots. Just turn the handle."
Devasena clapped her hands excitedly.
"I want to try!"
Without waiting for permission, she stuck her hand into the warm water and immediately beamed with delight.
"It's so warm!"
Yashodhara's eyes were sharp with interest, but there was also a faint softness in her expression.
She walked closer, running her fingers through the water, testing the temperature.
"This will make winters easier," she murmured.
Her voice was casual, but Virendra caught the faint shift in her tone.
Not just easier—safer.
The long winters were often cruel. The old and the young were particularly vulnerable. This invention was more than a luxury—it was protection.
"How many homes can you equip with this?" she asked, already calculating the logistics.
"Slowly, but steadily," Virendra replied, his voice steady.
"We'll start with the palace first. The pipes and boilers will take time, but once they are in place, the work will be easier to replicate."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, weighing the possibilities.
"And the fuel?"
Virendra's lips twitched faintly.
"Wood and oil for now, but I'm considering clay ovens with vents. More efficient."
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, her eyes quietly measuring.
Then, without another word, she reached into the warm water, splashing Devasena lightly.
The girl squealed with laughter, sending water droplets scattering.
For a moment, Yashodhara's regal composure slipped, and she splashed Devasena again, laughing softly.
Jayvarma smirked, stepping back, avoiding the water entirely.
"I am far too dignified for this."
Devasena's eyes narrowed with mischief.
"You are not!" she declared.
Before he could move, she flicked water toward him, making him stumble backward with a startled curse.
"Devasena!" Jayvarma barked, glaring.
But his lips were twitching, betraying his amusement.
Virendra leaned against the wall, watching them with a rare smile.
For a brief moment, the world outside—the politics, the wars, the future—ceased to exist.
There was only family.
Laughter.
Warm water and flickering lamplight.
And the bond of blood.
---
The sunlight poured through the high-arched windows of the Kuntalan palace, illuminating the polished marble floors with its golden rays.
It was early spring, and the courtyard gardens were alive with the fragrance of wild jasmine and the gentle hum of bees drifting lazily over the blossoms.
But inside the palace, there was no leisure or idleness—only the steady rhythm of discipline and purpose.
---
Virendra, now twelve years old, stood at the edge of the training ground, his bare feet pressing into the damp soil.
His once round, childish face had sharpened into the angular planes of youth, though his eyes still held the same piercing clarity.
He was taller and leaner, his frame layered with the sinewy muscle of early adolescence.
The sunlight kissed his bronzed skin, highlighting the faint scars along his forearms—the remnants of countless sparring sessions.
Clad in a sleeveless leather jerkin over a linen tunic, he twirled a practice sword in his grip, his movements swift and fluid.
His arms no longer trembled beneath the weight of the steel, nor did he flinch at the clash of blades.
The years of training had stripped away the awkwardness of childhood.
Now, his strokes were precise—deliberate.
Not yet flawless, but practiced enough to make a seasoned soldier sweat.
Across from him stood Jayvarma, now fourteen, taller and broader, with his shoulders filling out into the frame of a young man.
He was already approaching the build of a warrior, his strikes faster and heavier.
The two brothers circled each other, swords flashing in the sunlight.
Jayvarma grinned faintly, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
"You're still slow, little brother."
Virendra's lips curved slightly, his grip tightening subtly.
He feinted left, but cut sharply right, aiming for Jayvarma's side.
The older boy barely managed to deflect the blow, his boots skidding slightly in the dirt.
But instead of stepping back, Virendra pressed the attack, his strikes becoming more aggressive—faster, sharper, unpredictable.
Jayvarma grunted as he parried, barely able to keep up with the flurry of blows.
Then, suddenly, Virendra pivoted low, sweeping Jayvarma's legs out from beneath him.
The older boy crashed to the ground, his back hitting the dirt with a heavy thud.
Before he could recover, Virendra was on him, his wooden sword pressed lightly against his throat.
There was a brief pause—both of them panting.
Then Jayvarma's lips twitched faintly with a rueful smile.
"You've been practicing."
Virendra smirked slightly, his chest heaving.
"You're still too slow, big brother."
---
The five years had transformed Virendra in more ways than one.
His combat skills had grown sharper.
Though he was still far from a master, he was agile and cunning, compensating for his lack of strength with speed and precision.
But his mind was where his true weapon lay.
Under Yashodhara's tutelage, he had absorbed the art of politics—the intricacies of alliances, the weight of favors, and the cost of deception.
More importantly, he had refined his truth-detection ability into a subtle tool of power.
He no longer immediately exposed lies—instead, he let people speak, listening carefully, observing the nuances of their words.
Only when they finished did he test their honesty with his power, discerning whether they had spoken the truth or woven deceit.
But the ability did not show him everything.
He knew only when a lie was told—the rest he had to deduce with his own intellect.
It was a powerful tool, but only when paired with wisdom and caution.
---
The kingdom itself had also changed.
Under Yashodhara's reign, Kuntala had flourished.
The public granaries were larger and better stocked.
The trade routes had expanded cautiously, with profitable agreements negotiated with neighboring fiefdoms.
And Virendra's inventions had subtly transformed palace life.
The bathhouse system he had introduced was now standardized in the royal quarters, making winters easier and less brutal.
He had designed wheeled carts with iron-rimmed tires, making transport of heavy goods faster and more efficient.
The fortifications of Kuntala were also gradually being strengthened.
Stone walls were reinforced with iron braces, and the watchtowers had been outfitted with improved oil cauldrons, inspired by his knowledge of medieval siege tactics.
The kingdom's economic prosperity had grown steadily—nothing grand or sudden, but small, meaningful steps that strengthened their foundation.
---
Later that day, Virendra joined his mother in the royal chamber.
The throne room was grand but modest by Mahishmati standards.
The stone pillars were engraved with simplistic carvings of lotus vines and elephants, unlike the more ostentatious designs of greater kingdoms.
The court was smaller but vigilant, with only a handful of ministers seated at the table—a circle of trusted advisors.
Yashodhara sat regally, her hands resting lightly on the armrests of her throne.
Her presence was sharp and commanding, but there was a subtle softness when she met Virendra's eyes.
The senior trade minister was speaking, outlining the details of a trade route negotiation with a neighboring province.
"The merchants request a reduced toll," the man said, his voice steady but cautious.
"In return, they offer higher levies on imported salt."
Yashodhara's brows furrowed slightly, her gaze calculating.
Virendra remained silent, listening carefully.
The man continued speaking, listing terms and agreements, but something in his voice was too rehearsed—too polished.
When he finished, Virendra glanced at his mother, giving her a barely perceptible nod.
She knew.
Turning her gaze back to the minister, she asked lightly,
"And you guarantee that these merchants speak with the full authority of their province?"
The man's shoulders stiffened briefly.
"Yes, Rani."
He lied.
Virendra remained still, his expression neutral.
Yashodhara's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, though she gave no indication that she knew.
Instead, she pressed,
"And if they fail to deliver?"
The minister's throat bobbed slightly, but he kept his voice steady.
"Then they will pay the penalty, Rani."
Another lie.
Yashodhara's gaze hardened, but she gave no visible reaction.
Instead, she dismissed the man with a nod.
Once the chamber was empty, she turned to Virendra.
Her voice was quiet but firm.
"They have no intention of honoring the salt levy."
Virendra's eyes darkened slightly, impressed by her perceptiveness.
"No. They intend to reduce our profits and raise tariffs on the goods we import."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she let out a faint sigh.
"Then we prepare. We will negotiate again, but this time we demand a guarantee in writing—before the tolls are reduced."
Virendra's eyes glimmered faintly with pride.
His mother didn't need his ability to see deception—her instincts were sharper than any gift.
---