The kingdom of Kuntala was stirring with a newfound energy. It was subtle at first—a shift in posture, a faint spark in the eyes of the commoners, and a rare confidence in their voices. But now, the change was undeniable.
Virendra sat astride his onyx-black stallion, its powerful muscles rippling as it moved gracefully through the winding village roads. His eyes scanned the surroundings, noting the visible transformation that had taken hold.
It had been almost a year since the spread of education had started, and the effects were gradually weaving into the fabric of the kingdom.
---
As Virendra rode through the village, he saw the tangible signs of empowerment taking root:
A small group of farmers sat together, not merely discussing the weather but comparing the pricing of grain across different markets. Their rough, calloused hands held pieces of parchment as they calculated and debated with newfound confidence.
The blacksmith's young apprentice, once barely literate, now managed the ledger and kept precise records of debts and payments.
The wives of artisans—once confined to haggling at the local markets—now carried price sheets and calculated costs with ease, no longer vulnerable to being cheated.
At the village square, Virendra dismounted, his boots sinking slightly into the sun-warmed earth. He moved through the small marketplace, pausing occasionally to listen.
He watched as a gray-haired merchant, wearing a simple dhoti, pulled out a contract and meticulously read every line before sealing the deal with a neighboring trader. Only a year ago, this man would have accepted the terms blindly.
As he moved further, he noticed a group of young men gathered around a scribe, learning to draft basic legal petitions. Virendra paused near them, listening quietly.
One of the young men, his voice clear and steady, asked,
"Guruji, if a landlord unlawfully takes more than the agreed share of the harvest, what law protects the farmers?"
The scribe, a learned man from the royal court, explained with measured calm,
"The law states that no more than one-fourth of the harvest shall be taken as land tax. If the landlord demands more, you have the right to appeal before the local magistrate."
Virendra's eyes narrowed slightly, watching the young men's faces as they absorbed the knowledge. They were no longer helpless laborers—they were informed men, slowly but surely becoming aware of their rights.
A faint, satisfied smile tugged at Virendra's lips. The kingdom was no longer populated by silent, fearful subjects. They were learning to think, question, and defend themselves.
---
Later that evening, Virendra sat with his family in the private courtyard, where the gentle glow of the palace lanterns cast warm hues over the finely carved marble columns. The garden was alive with the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional chirping of crickets.
Seated on the silk cushions, Jayvarma and Devasena laughed easily, their voices light and carefree.
Queen Yashodhara reclined against the armrest of a low couch, her sari shimmering in the candlelight, and her lips curved in a rare but genuine smile as she watched her children.
Virendra sat with one leg folded beneath him, a goblet of wine in his hand. His eyes flicked toward Jayvarma, who was lazily flicking small stones toward a decorative pool.
"You seem particularly at ease tonight, brother," Virendra remarked casually, his lips curving slightly.
Jayvarma let out a low chuckle, tilting his head.
"I have no battles to fight today," he replied with a sly grin. "For once, the only conflict I have is with my own boredom."
Devasena, seated nearby, leaned forward with mock seriousness.
"Then perhaps you should let Mother find you a wife, Jayvarma," she teased, her eyes gleaming mischievously.
Jayvarma's hand froze mid-air, the pebble falling from his grasp and plopping into the water.
Yashodhara's eyes flicked toward him, her sharp gaze turning subtly calculating.
"Your sister makes a good point," she said smoothly, her voice calm but purposeful. "You are of age. It is time we consider… suitable alliances."
Jayvarma's jaw clenched faintly, but he masked his discomfort with a casual smile.
"Why the sudden eagerness to see me wed?" he asked lightly, though his voice held a note of wariness.
Virendra's eyes gleamed with amusement, but he remained silent, simply watching the exchange with a faint smirk.
Yashodhara's voice remained calm but firm, her gaze unwavering.
"You are the heir, Jayvarma," she said evenly. "And the kingdom will need strong alliances. Political marriages strengthen ties and secure our future."
Jayvarma's fingers drummed lightly against his knee, his gaze briefly flickering toward Virendra, silently seeking reinforcement.
But Virendra only smiled faintly, clearly enjoying his brother's discomfort.
After a long pause, Jayvarma let out a mock sigh of defeat and shrugged.
"Very well," he drawled. "Let the matchmakers come. I will humor them."
Devasena clapped her hands in mock delight.
"Oh, I cannot wait to see you struggle through courtly pleasantries," she teased, her eyes gleaming.
Even Yashodhara, ever the composed queen, let out a rare, soft chuckle.
---
The next day, as Virendra rode through the capital, he saw the subtle yet profound impact of the education spreading among the commoners.
At the royal apothecary, he watched as a young woman, once a mere assistant, now skillfully read through complex herbal manuscripts, helping to prepare medicine more effectively.
Near the merchant's guild, he saw two young scribes teaching peasants to read land agreements, ensuring they were not misled by deceptive contracts.
At the blacksmith's forge, an apprentice—barely in his teens—negotiated with a supplier, calculating the costs confidently, no longer needing his master's oversight.
The changes were gradual but visible, and Virendra knew it was only the beginning.
---
That evening, as Virendra and Yashodhara stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, the faint scent of jasmine drifting in the cool night air, she spoke quietly.
"The nobles are wary," she said calmly, her eyes distant as she gazed into the horizon.
"They see the commoners growing more capable—and they are… uneasy."
Virendra's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Let them be uneasy," he said evenly. "It will make them… careful."
The queen's lips curved faintly, though her gaze remained contemplative.
"You are changing this kingdom," she murmured softly, her voice filled with measured admiration.
Virendra's eyes met hers, calm and steady.
"I am merely removing the blindfold from the eyes of our people," he replied smoothly.
Her lips twitched faintly, a rare smile tugging at the corners.
"And what shall they see once they are free to look clearly?" she asked softly.
He smiled faintly, his eyes sharp with quiet confidence.
"Whatever they choose to see," he answered simply.
As the faint glow of lanterns illuminated the palace gardens below, mother and son stood side by side, watching as their kingdom slowly but inevitably changed—brick by brick, mind by mind.
"You're… unusually quiet tonight," she said softly, swirling the wine in her goblet.
Virendra's lips curved faintly, but his gaze remained fixed on the horizon.
"I was thinking," he replied, his voice calm but firm.
"About the nobles and their worries."
Yashodhara arched a delicate brow, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly.
"They are… concerned," she said slowly, her voice carefully measured.
"Some say the commoners are becoming too bold. That they no longer show the same reverence."
Virendra's jaw tightened faintly, but his voice remained calm.
"Reverence born of fear and ignorance is not loyalty, Mother," he said softly.
"It is just obedience."
Yashodhara turned slightly, studying her son's face in the candlelight.
"And you believe this… education will not threaten us?" she asked evenly.
His eyes finally met hers, steady and unwavering.
"It will only threaten those who deserve to be threatened," he answered.
"The corrupt nobles, the ones who exploit the weak—they will feel the ground shift beneath their feet. But the just ones, the fair ones? They will stand stronger than before."
The Queen's eyes narrowed slightly, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"You're confident that the nobles won't revolt?" she asked quietly.
Virendra's expression was calm and certain, his voice steady.
"Let them revolt if they dare," he replied coolly.
"We will be better off without them."
For a brief moment, the Queen's eyes widened slightly, startled by her son's merciless pragmatism. She studied him in the dim light—the calm confidence in his voice, the unwavering sharpness in his eyes.
A faint smile curved her lips.
"You're becoming… quite the statesman," she murmured softly.
"Perhaps you should reconsider. Take a noble bride, step into court politics, and—"
But Virendra's voice cut in softly, yet firmly.
"No," he said with finality, his eyes hardening slightly.
"I have no desire for a crown or a throne."
Yashodhara's brows furrowed faintly, but she said nothing.
His voice lowered, almost a whisper, but his words were heavy with meaning.
"I will serve my kingdom. I will strengthen it. But I will never rule it."
For a long moment, the Queen said nothing, her gaze sharp and searching.
"Then who will you stand beside?" she asked quietly, her voice laced with subtle curiosity.
"Will you at least marry? Build a household of your own?"
Her question was calm and composed, but her eyes were unyielding.
Virendra's eyes drifted slightly, his gaze becoming distant.
"Perhaps," he murmured softly.
"But if I do, it won't be someone from the noble courts."
Yashodhara's brow lifted faintly, her lips parting slightly.
"Oh?" she questioned softly, a note of interest in her voice.
"And who, then?"
For the briefest of moments, a face flashed in Virendra's mind—dark eyes, sharp wit, and a confidence that had rattled his composure.
He quickly masked the flicker of heat in his gaze, his voice cool and measured.
"Someone… different," he answered softly, evading the question.
---
The following evening, the royal hall buzzed with activity. The courtiers and ministers gathered as Jayvarma's marriage was formally announced.
The bride-to-be was Lady Sumitra, the daughter of Lord Bhadran, a nobleman known for his wisdom and fairness. She was kind-hearted, intelligent, and renowned for her generosity toward the commoners—a rarity among the nobility.
In the royal courtyard, Jayvarma stood with his arms crossed, his expression carefully neutral.
"So," Virendra drawled as he approached, his lips curving into a slow, teasing smile.
"A bride has been chosen for you, brother. Shall I start preparing my wedding speech?"
Jayvarma shot him a mock glare, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"I'll have you know," he said with mock seriousness, "that I am very charming. The lady will fall for me instantly."
Virendra chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Let's hope your wit doesn't scare her away first," he teased lightly.
Nearby, Devasena clapped her hands in excitement, her eyes wide with glee.
"I want a grand wedding!" she declared, bouncing slightly.
"With music and dancing and—"
Jayvarma groaned playfully, ruffling his sister's hair.
"You'll be the death of me, little one," he muttered with mock exasperation.
The courtyard echoed with laughter and teasing, the family bond evident in their easy camaraderie.
---
Two days later, Virendra rode into the bustling merchant district, his gaze sharp and purposeful.
He dismounted before the weapon merchant's shop, tying the reins loosely to the post. The clink of metal and the scent of heated iron filled the air.
As he stepped inside, the faint clatter of swords being arranged echoed through the room.
And then, he saw her.
The weapon merchant's daughter, dressed in a simple but elegant maroon tunic, stood behind the counter. Her hair was loosely braided, a few strands framing her face. Her dark eyes—sharp and observant—lifted toward him, and for the briefest moment, he forgot to speak.
She arched a dark brow, her lips curving faintly.
"Prince Virendra," she greeted smoothly, her voice low and rich.
"To what do I owe the honor of your presence?"
Her eyes were calm and measured, but there was a faint challenging glimmer in them—a boldness that was distinctly hers.
"I need a new sword," Virendra said evenly, his voice carefully composed.
She tilted her head slightly, stepping out from behind the counter.
"Do you?" she mused softly.
"Or are you just here to… see me?"
Her voice was smooth, almost teasing, her eyes locked onto his.
Virendra's lips twitched faintly, but he didn't look away.
"I thought I'd see both," he replied evenly, his voice low.
For a moment, there was only silence—thick, heavy, and crackling with unspoken tension.
She turned and retrieved a finely crafted sword, her fingers brushing his hand as she passed it to him. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, he felt his breath catch.
Her lips parted slightly, her dark eyes gleaming faintly.
"You handle it well," she murmured, watching him test the blade's balance.
Virendra's eyes glinted faintly, his voice low.
"I'm a fast learner," he said smoothly, his tone edged with quiet meaning.
She held his gaze for a moment longer, then smiled faintly—a smile filled with quiet challenge.
"Good," she murmured softly, her voice almost a whisper.
"Then I'll expect you to return soon… to practice."
---