"Maa, who gave this?" A six-year-old boy in ragged clothes asked his mother as she carefully fed him a piece of chapati dipped in curry. He couldn't remember the last time he was lucky enough to eat such a meal. It had always been a struggle.

His mother, worn with age and labor, smiled through her wrinkles, strands of hair escaping from her braid. "An angel," she said softly, her eyes gleaming with warmth.

The boy’s eyes widened in wonder. "Maa, can I meet her too? Will she give me Barfi?" he asked eagerly.

His mother chuckled at his innocent excitement. "Yes, my boy, she’ll give you that too," she said, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

"Who gave all this, Brinda?" The little boy's grandmother asked, disbelief in her voice as she looked around the small house. "I can't believe there’s food here. My good-for-nothing son spends all his earnings on alcohol, and now we’re blessed with food?"

"Rajkumari Vaidehi gave it, Maa," Brinda replied softly, a deep respect in her voice.

"I met her today in the market."

Her mother-in-law blinked in surprise. "The princess? You met her? But why... why would she give you all this?"

Brinda nodded, her eyes reflecting the wonder she still felt. "She... she saw me struggling with my bag, carrying the little food I could manage. I didn’t even know how to thank her. She just... stopped. She insisted I take the moeny she offered and buy whatever we needed. She even told me to come to the palace if i needed anything ever."

Her mother-in-law stared at her for a long moment, her disbelief melting into something softer. "That... that’s unbelievable," she muttered. "A princess, helping like that. In all my years, I’ve never heard of such kindness from someone so high-born."

Brinda smiled, a mixture of awe and gratitude in her eyes. "I didn’t know what to say. She didn’t even want to know our names, didn’t care who we were. She just... helped. Like it was the most natural thing in the world."

Her mother-in-law fell silent, her gaze lingering on the food as she reflected on the rare generosity. "She must be different from the others," she murmured. "I can’t believe it."

Brinda’s voice was soft, still stunned by the memory. "Maa, you should’ve seen her—I can’t even describe it properly. She looked like something... beyond this world."

Her mother-in-law looked up, eyebrows raised. "What do you mean?"

Brinda's eyes were wide as she tried to explain. “You know how people talk about gods and goddesses? Well, she was like that. I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful in my life. Her skin, it was like milk—so fair, it almost glowed in the sunlight. And her hair, Maa! It was long and so dark it seemed like the night sky, flowing down her back like silk. When she moved, it was like the world around her paused."

She paused for a moment, lost in the memory. "Her eyes... they were like nothing I’ve ever seen—so bright, so full of life. You couldn’t look at her and not feel like you were in the presence of something special. Men would’ve fought wars for a single glance from her, and yet, she didn’t seem to notice. She had a calm, gentle smile, like she didn’t even know how captivating she was."

Her voice became almost reverent. “But the most amazing thing was that she wasn’t even trying. She didn’t wear jewels or rich clothes, but her beauty... it made everything else seem insignificant. It was like she didn’t need any of that. She didn’t need to flaunt it, it just was.”

Her mother-in-law looked at her, still processing the words. "And the guards? Were they with her?"

Brinda nodded, as if just remembering. “Yes, there were guards around her, but not as many as we usually see around the royals.”

Her voice trailed off, lost in awe. “She was like a princess from another world. I could hardly believe she was real.”

The old woman gave a soft, bittersweet smile. "But the poor girl lost her mother at the tender age of seven."

Her words hung in the air when suddenly there was a knock on the door. Veena, their neighbor, stepped inside, carrying huge boxes of sweets. "Here, sweets for you!" she said, offering boxes that seemed to have at least twenty different varieties—some Brinda had never even seen before.

"Who sent this?" Brinda asked, her voice full of surprise.

Veena’s face lit up with a smile. "Who else? The angel from heaven—Rajkumari Vaidehi." She laughed softly.

"You know I work in the palace, right? I was with her when your sweet little encounter happened. She asked me what Chotu liked, and I mentioned sweets, so she sent these for all of you."

Brinda stood speechless, her eyes filling with tears. She had never imagined someone like Rajkumari Vaidehi would think of them. The kindness was overwhelming, too much for words.

Veena continued, her voice full of warmth. "Now that you've come under her notice, get used to it. She’s the type to do little things like this. This is only the beginning of her kindness. She cares, Brinda. She really does."

"How is she so nice?" Brinda asked, disbelief in her voice. "I’ve met royals before, but they always look at you like you're nothing. As if you're no better than the dirt beneath their feet."

Veena nodded, her smile a little more knowing. "I know, Brinda. Rajkumari Vaidehi is unlike any royal I've seen. She doesn’t act like she’s better than anyone.

You know, in the palace, she doesn't have all the luxuries that others have. She doesn't get special treatment like her stepmother and stepsisters. But you’ll never see her complain. She finds ways to help those around her—even when it’s just a kind word or a gesture of comfort.

She’s always looking out for others, even though she's got her own struggles."

Brinda was quiet for a moment, her eyes wide. "She doesn't have luxuries?" she asked, surprised.

Veena shook her head, a slight frown on her face. "No, not like the others. Her stepmother and stepsisters are always making things difficult for her. They’re cruel in ways that most people wouldn't believe. But despite all that, she never lets it change her.

She still finds ways to make people feel seen and cared for, even if it’s just a small act of kindness. She doesn't let their treatment of her break her spirit."

Brinda's heart sank as she processed Veena’s words. "But how? How does she keep going when they treat her so badly?"

Veena sighed softly. "Because Rajkumari is strong in a way that most people can't even imagine. She’s been through so much, and yet she still has the heart to help others.

It’s like... no matter what they do to her, she refuses to let it change who she is. She’s the type of person who sees the good in others, even when they don’t deserve it. She’s a true princess, not because of her title, but because of the way she treats people."

Brinda was silent for a moment, her eyes welling up as she thought about the princess's kindness, even in the face of her own hardships. "That’s... that’s amazing," she whispered. "I don’t understand how someone could be so kind after being treated like that."

Veena smiled gently. "You don’t have to understand, Brinda. You just need to know that people like her are rare. And once she notices you, once she sees that you’re in need, she won’t turn her back on you. She’ll find a way to help, no matter what."

_______________________

SAMRAT'S RAJBHAVAN, HIND

In the dark, cold dungeon of the Rajmahal, a man trembled in fear, his body shaking with terror as he knelt before his impending punishment. His hands were bound, and his bloodshot eyes darted desperately around the room, searching for mercy.

"Sam... Samra... Samraaat... Mujhe Kshama kar dijiye... Yeh paap... pata nahi kaise ho gaya... Yeh antim baar... ke liye... mujhe jaane dijiye..." His voice wavered as he begged, each word an attempt to cling to his fading hope.

But before he could finish his plea, a cold, sharp sword was driven into his left eye socket with terrifying precision.

"AAAAHHHH!" His scream echoed through the dungeon, a raw, primal cry of pain. The sword was pulled back swiftly, but before he could even blink, it was plunged again, this time into his right eye.

"AAAAAHHHHH!" His agonized shrieks filled the room, louder this time, as his body jerked violently in response to the unbearable pain. The darkness of the dungeon seemed to press in on him, and his screams rattled the stone walls.

A deep voice, rich and menacing, broke through the chaos, its command cutting through the man's cries like a blade.

"This is what you get," the voice roared, sending a chill down the man’s spine. He tried to gather himself, to beg, but the voice silenced him with its power. His breath quickened, panic overtaking him as he realized just how helpless he was.

"You thought you could steal from the royal chamber, sell the kingdom’s weapons, betray those who trusted you? You’ll pay for this," the voice growled, low and dangerous.

The sword was ripped from the man’s skull, and in a moment of pure dread, the voice whispered coldly, "This is just the beginning."

The sword was raised once more, its heavy weight moving through the air with a haunting sound, as if it were a harbinger of doom.

"You need to know every ounce of pain the people who depend on those weapons have felt," the voice murmured darkly, the words laced with venom.

"Every life you endangered will come back to you, multiplied a thousandfold."

The man’s body convulsed, his pain overwhelming him, his mind too clouded with agony to comprehend anything but the searing fire coursing through him.

The man’s screams echoed through the dungeon, his voice breaking as the agony intensified.

His body, already bruised and bloodied, jerked with each brutal strike. “Please... forgive me... I didn’t mean to... please...” The words barely formed between sobs, but the figure before him was unmoved, his gaze as cold and unforgiving as ice.

The sword raised again, heavy and gleaming in the flickering torchlight. Without a word, the man slashed down, cutting open the victim’s chest in one clean stroke.

Blood splattered across the cold stone floor, and the man shrieked in pain, but there was no mercy in the cold, rage-filled eyes of his tormentor.

Without a word, he motioned for one of the guards to bring a torch. The flame was brought near, and the heat singed the air. The man’s skin hissed as the fire touched it, the smell of burning flesh filling the room.

The man’s gasps turned into desperate, painful breaths as the fire seared his skin, sinking deep into the bleeding wounds. The scent of burning flesh filled the air, thick and suffocating. His body twitched and spasmed in a futile attempt to escape, but there was no hope of salvation.

The man above him didn’t flinch, his grip on the sword as firm as ever, his jaw tight, his fists clenched. His eyes were filled with fury, a rage so intense it seemed to burn hotter than the flames surrounding them.

"This is the cost of betraying me," the voice came, low and gravelly, cutting through the victim’s cries. Each word was cold, deliberate, a whisper that sent a shiver down the man's spine.

"The price for stealing from the royal chamber."

With those words, the sword was raised once more. The guards, standing in the shadows of the room, couldn’t tear their eyes away. Their hearts raced in fear, not just from the brutality unfolding before them, but from the sheer presence of the man doing the tormenting.

They had seen his power on the battlefield—how he’d single-handedly destroyed entire armies without even a scratch. His fury had cut through his enemies like a storm, but this... this was something else. Something darker. Something personal.

The guards looked on as the man wielded the sword. It was massive—so heavy that two of them had struggled just to lift it, their muscles straining under its weight. But in his hands, it seemed light. Effortless. Like it was made of feathers.

He swung it with precision, each strike deliberate, calculated to cause maximum pain. The sound of the sword cutting through the air was haunting. And when it sank into the man’s chest once again, the victim’s scream echoed through the dungeon—raw, gut-wrenching, and impossible to ignore.

One of the guards, watching from a distance, couldn’t help but think back to the battles they’d fought together. He’d seen the Samrat in action before—cutting through armies like a force of nature.

Rebels had fallen at his feet without so much as a scratch on his skin. The man was untouchable, a warrior forged from the fires of war. He had defeated dozens in a single night, his sword never missing a beat, never faltering. And now, here he was, doing the same to a single, helpless man. It was terrifying, yet awe-inspiring. This was power in its purest form.

The man wasn’t just a leader—he was a force. A king. A warrior who could not be challenged. The guard had seen him take down an entire army, his strikes swift as lightning, as deadly as the God of the Devils himself.

His body, built for battle, was a masterpiece of strength and muscle. He was tall, towering, his presence alone enough to make even the bravest warriors kneel.

The fire flickered in the dim light as the man brought the sword down one final time. The blade cut through the victim’s neck, clean and brutal, ending the suffering with a sickening finality.

Silence fell over the room. The man’s body crumpled to the floor, blood pooling beneath him.

The Samrat stood there, looking down at the lifeless body. His breathing was steady, but his eyes still burned with a quiet, seething rage.

He wiped the blood from his sword, his gaze sweeping over the room, locking onto each guard standing in the shadows..

The guards stood frozen, their faces pale, their eyes wide with fear. They knew it wasn’t just the man lying on the floor who had been crushed by his fury. It was everyone in this room. It was everyone who dared to even think of crossing him.

No one could challenge him. Not in this room, not on the battlefield, not anywhere.

He wasn’t just a man. He was a storm. An unstoppable force. And no one, not a single soul, was safe from his wrath. From the wrath of the most powerful man alive.

______________________

The heavy wooden doors of the Samrat’s private chamber creaked open as he stepped inside, the air still thick with tension after his display of brutal power.

His eyes burned with the remnants of his fury, and his presence seemed to make the very room quiver. His guards, ever loyal but cautious, stood silently in the corners, aware of the storm that raged within their ruler.

Vikram, the Samrat’s trusted general, approached, bowing slightly with respect. Despite the respect, there was an undeniable wariness in his stance, for the Samrat’s rage still lingered, palpable in the air.

The Samrat’s cold gaze flickered to his general, his expression unreadable but full of quiet menace.

"I leave for Devdhara at sunrise. Is everything ready?"

Vikram nodded without hesitation. "Ji, Samrat. Everything is ready as per your orders. The infiltration is complete. We’ve arranged for you to be appointed as the Rajkumari's personal guard. The pieces are in place."

A small smirk tugged at the corners of the Samrat's lips, amusement briefly flashing in his eyes.

"How easy was this?" he mused aloud. "Infiltrating their kingdom, getting myself into their inner circle as the Rajkumari's guard. It was almost too simple."

Vikram, replied with quiet confidence. "How could it not be, Samrat? You are the Raktveer, the ruler of the whole of Hind.

Devdhara is a small, inconsequential kingdom compared to the vastness of your empire. With you pulling the strings from the shadows, there was no escape. Nothing has ever strayed from your plan. Ever."

The Samrat let out a low, dark chuckle, his voice deepening.

"Yes... and now, it’s time for the beginning of the ruin of Devdhara, " he said, his tone colder, sharper. "The kingdom that dared to take the most precious thing from us."

Vikram hesitated for a moment, as if contemplating the Samrat's words. "But Samrat," he said carefully, "You rule over the whole of Hind. With one order, you could bring their entire rule to an end. Why not crush them quickly, in seconds?"

The Samrat’s expression shifted, a dark smirk curling on his lips.

"Because, Vikram, destruction is easy. But suffering? Suffering takes time. I want them to experience it fully. I want each and every royal to feel the weight of their actions. And they will know exactly who made them suffer."

Vikram could not even begin to comprehend how badly Devdhara was going to suffer, now that no other than the Samrat Of Hind himself had his eyes set on it.

“What is the name of the princess I’m supposed to guard?” Samrat Shaurya’s deep voice brought Vikram out of his trance.

"Princess Soundarya, Samrat." Vikram continued, “The elder one of the two is Princess Aishwarya. Regal, sharp-tongued, proud of her bloodline. The younger one is Princess Soundarya—graceful, diplomatic, often seen by the king’s side.

She is the one you are to be assigned to.”

The Samrat gave a slow nod, processing the information, but Vikram didn’t stop there.

(Can you please click on the star button my cuties?? Lmk how you like the chapter hehe)

“There’s also Prince Prithvi, the crown prince. Fiercely loyal to his father. Military trained, arrogant in his ways, but sharp. He’s the one to keep an eye on.”

His eyes shone with an evil glint, but he said nothing.

“And then… there is the third princess.”

“Third?” Shaurya’s voice was a low, curious whisper now.

Something had shifted. His instincts, picked up on the subtle hesitation in Vikram’s tone.

“There is Princess Vaidehi. Eldest by blood. She holds the title, yes, but... she isn’t involved in state matters. Keeps her distance. Hardly anyone speaks of her unless necessary.”

The room seemed to still for a second.

Shaurya finally turned, his eyes catching the flicker of firelight.

VAIDEHI.

Shaurya repeated it softly, tasting the syllables like a secret. The name rolled off his tongue as though it belonged there.

Vikram shifted slightly. “Shall I begin the final arrangements Samrat?”

Shaurya gave the faintest nod, still facing the window.

“At sunrise, we enter their palace.”

His voice grew lower now.

“And from that moment… it begins.”

THE RUINATION OF DEVDHARA.