Love can be confusing, but know if you ask Shiva, he is definitely going to answer.

****

"We need to take the next step."

In the private chambers of Hamal, Aishan and powerful ministers had gathered for a meeting. A translucent yellow curtain separated the Rajan from his subordinates.

Aishan clapped his hands, shouting at the top of his voice. "Chandramukhi! You have been summoned!"

The men eagerly heard the jingle of anklets and the thudding of heavy steps, becoming louder and louder with each passing moment. The strong, numbing scent of amla oil wafted to their noses.

It was a woman with a grey head. "May the Rajan live long."

"Have you prepared a dark mage?"

"Yes, my Rajan."

Hamal grinned. "Impressive. She should be adept at using silver and be clean and accurate in her moves."

"She won't disappoint you, I give my word."

Chandramukhi had draped herself in the fur of a yak and a woollen bodice with pearl embedded in it. Her green eyes shone like two pretty edgy emeralds, a pair of magical pole stars in the dense amalgamation of masculine superiority.

"I wish to meet her tomorrow morning, Chandramukhi. And Aishan, look for an opportunity so that we may be able to send her soon in the palace of Aryavarta."

"I will do my duty diligently," Aishan said.

"Court is adjourned."

The men retired to their works. Hamal poured himself some wine and relaxed. Though, the silence was soon perturbed by the chime of anklets. Sometimes, Hamal would grow tired of these melodious noises. He hated anklets, so much that he would break those into sharp shards and pierce it through the thin veins of the girls.

Immediately, a fragrance reminiscent of exotic blossoms engulfed him, leaving an indelible mark of royal sophistication. Hamal kept the chalice of wine down with a rude clank and glared at the entrance.

It was his queen, Danube, gliding into the room, her presence a silent cascade of grace. Wrapped in flowing silks that caught the ambient light, she moved with a measured elegance, each step a delicate dance upon the intricately patterned carpets beneath. What struck Hamal the most were her emerald eyes. Unlike Chandramukhi, hers glimmered with timidity.

"He won't die." Those were her first words as she met Hamal's furious gaze. He raised his hand to touch her curls underneath the diaphanous veils. Admiration soon turned to violence as he grabbed her by the hair and made her wince.

Hamal gritted his teeth. "You won't try to be his saviour. You are now the wife of a god, and you must serve your husband."

He pushed her on his bed and tugged at her clothes. Slowly, he ripped the gossamer silk and callously threw away her jewellery. Danube sat there like a lifeless doll who had been taught to endure every ugly night as a passing nightmare.

"I know what my limits are, Hamal. I accept my fate."

He hovered above her. "You better do, my lovely queen."

Danube allowed the diabolical hunger of her husband to shroud her reality. Helplessly, she shut her eyes and bit on her lips as each of his kisses grew more wrathful. She had forgotten how to cry. The marks on her body had become more personal than her own emotions and consent. Danube was shunned in the present– the consequences of a sinful life she had led in the old past before dying at the hands of her so-called son.

A past where she was a widowed queen and a failed mother.

****

Indumala was making her bed before going to sleep. Ah, the past days got over so swiftly! She missed the celebration– the dancing, singing, food and utter chaos. It made her feel herself. Who would want to be always quiet and obedient? Sometimes, freeing the wild senses worked wonders. The thrill conquered her; it was so strong that she had dreams of the feast when asleep. She saw her Maa and Baba spinning in merry circles, hand-in-hand, surrounded by the mages of Makba's guild. She saw the Ishgarians compete on who could gobble up the most fish. Then there were the silent Gandharian royalty, who almost never interacted with her Maa. A particular Arundhati avoided her mother at all cost. They were physically present in the celebration, but their souls seemed to be long dead and rotten.

Yet, when the various colours of the dream faded, the last thing she saw was the sublime face of the Rajan, sans cruelty and wrath. He had a glow up akin to a new bride. Maybe he was happy that the curse was lifted.

Indumala liked how he preferred to unwind in her presence. Often she found herself smiling all alone at the thought of them embracing. It was weird; not much ago she despised him with an earnest passion, and now it was replaced with a bubbling sensation of warmth. Her chest grew warmer when she closed her eyes, recalling the look he gave her while presenting the Dhananjaya Sword.

"Where have I kept it?"

She searched through her belongings and brought out the sword, kept carefully covered in a red cloth. Pulling it out of the sheath, she admired the silvery gleam of the weapon under the moonlight, turning it to the sides and watching it twinkle like the star.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Indumala looked at the door. There, the Rajan stood, inspecting her sword from a distance. "I never came to your room before, so thought of giving you a visit."

"Welcome," she said with a smile, feeling the smooth blade of the sword. "It's indeed very regal, Rajan."

"It's a very special sword. So make me proud, alright?" He looked dreamily at the full moon. Strangely enough, tonight he didn't feel the need to hunt or claw at flesh. Eradicating the darker temptations, a flickering hope of love had been lit up his heart. For long he inhabited the shadows of unhealed pain. He was still in their shackles, but when there was something to look forward to everyday, giving him the urge to not just survive but live, life got a whole new meaning.

"Whom did it belong to earlier, Rajan? You said it was one of your ancestors." Indumala's eyes sparkled. "Is this the sword of some famous Rajan?"

Rudra could only smile. "It belonged to a very motherly woman I knew. She was a princess, like your mother. Remember, I said this sword is a testament of the friendship between Gandhar and Aryavarta?"

"Yes?"

"This sword was actually gifted to a princess of Gandhar."

"So like Maa! Maybe she does know about this sword. But wait, you had asked me to not bombard her with questions."

"You remember it. Good."

Indumala kept the sword back in its sheath. "But why can't I ask Maa? Is this because she was, perhaps, not treated well back in her maiden home? Or something more serious?"

Rudra heaved a sigh. "I will tell you everything when it's time, Indu. It's something more serious. I can't enlighten you before I get a sign."

"Oh...I will wait." Indumala pouted and looked down at her shuffling feet. "Is Maa fine? No, she isn't... Can't you and Baba fix the problem?"

He placed a hand on her head, letting her curls coil around his fingers. Why did he wish to touch and tingle her? "Your Baba is trying to. When we think it's time for you to be aware of the truth, we will tell you."

"I don't have an issue with waiting." His caress tranquilised Indumala. "If I know I will know it one day, I am ready to wait. I just need the assurance."

"So many of us breathe because of it. We live in the wait of someone. We live because somewhere, it has been assured, that everything will become happy again."

Moonbeams reflected off his teary eyes. There was a faint touch of regret in his gaze, almost unrecognisable. The corners of his mouth were burdened, gently downturned in a subtle display of sorrow. Lines etched on his forehead narrated silent stories of moments lingering in the room of his thoughts.

"Why did you think I deserve the sword? The woman you spoke about, I feel you regard her in high honour. Why do you think I am capable of taking forward her legacy?"

Rudra's pupils enlarged. With a blush he averted his gaze from the bodyguard, eyes drooping shut. "I feel intuitively that you are the one."

Indumala didn't press him further, though she understood that he was not telling it all. His reddened cheeks tickled her curiosity. "I will pass this sword to my child. And it will go down the line."

Rudra arched a brow, desperately trying to hide the smirk that wanted to emerge as a victor of this successful proclivity for his bond with Indumala. The tinge of rose colouring his face deepened. He smiled the best he could, though it threatened to falter and turn into a joyous grin. His cheerful heart went round and round, dizzying his abilities of judging the passing moments. He wanted to lean on her and see how she would react, but fear stopped him.

"Had I kept the sword, I would have also given it to my son," he said.

"Will you even marry or not?"

Rudra chuckled. "I don't know. I have so much work to do..." He exhaled. "It's not like I don't want to. But I am waiting for the right time and the, uh, the right woman."

Indumala wiggled her brows. "Do you have someone in mind? There are plenty of girls living in the palace."

Rudra gulped. Recently he began considering the wants of his wolf– its likes and dislikes. For example, spending more time with Indumala. Not being rude to her. Not being a rascal. Instead, be cosy and caring, like a feather gliding down her thick locks. Oh, maybe it got stuck in the forest of her tresses, just like how my fingers get lost in their way. It would take time to untangle the mess created. Maybe she would be upset but–

"Rajan, wake up?" Indumala ran her hand in front of his eyes. Rudra yelped and looked around. "You really got deep into thinking."

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to."

The telltale sign of embarrassment manifested as a subtle yet charming flush on his face. Indumala was fascinated by this side of him. He didn't look a Rajan, but a secret lover from the pages of a fairytale. He stole a glance at her before staring back at the window.

Indumala realised that had a man behaved like this around her female friends of the guild, for example Radha, she would have confidently proclaimed it to be a flowering love. Although, now that she saw it for herself, she didn't want to confront.

They basked in the silence of their company. There was not a need to speak.

"I wanted to tell you something, Indu." Rudra broke the enchanting spell.

Indumala's heartbeats reached a feverish pitch. She could hear the lub-dub loud enough. Could the Rajan hear it too?

He held her hand and looked at her with fierce determination. Indumala stiffened out of nervousness.

"I am grateful to you, Indu. Thank you so much. You are magically helping me become a better person. I am evolving, slowly and steadily. I promise, Indu, I won't be a disappointment."

Indumala struggled to take a breath. Blood pumped to her face, making her look so red and pink. "Eh, I guess I am a good influence." His hands are so warm and nice. "Good friends. We are good friends."

"Yes."

"Yes."

He refused to let go of her hand. Indumala had to gently take it back. The flare of his hot touch remained on her skin. She massaged it.

"Good night, Indu. I will often come to you, if you don't mind?"

"That is if you don't get bored even after me running along with you all day."

He chuckled. "Definitely not. Never." He extended another sunny smile and closed the door. Indumala flopped on the bed and hid her face in the pillows.

"This is something new, isn't it?" she whispered to the winds carrying her doubts back to Shiva.