From the beginning
I knew meeting could only
End in parting, yet...

Aithne pulsed. Excitement soared through him like a static wave - searing, rippling, wanting. He had so little to do, the thought crawled itself and settled in the shadowy pit of his mind, those men would do it for him. His throat ran dry as he watched one of their blades nicking his brother’s arm, the broken skin glistening in a hairline of blood. Sanskar was a good swordsman, he had to be - having been trained by the lord of shadows himself - but the emulations had worn his spirits - the burden of a nation was heavier on his shoulders than ever - those men several in numbers might not still manage to take him down. But - Lakshya could hear Aithne murmur, its tone a whisper of thought - a suggestion wicked enough to blacken his conscious - he could do it. Lakshya just had to wait until the battle wears him off and take him down with a swing of his blade - it would never be easier. 
He could almost feel the ripple of excitement that rolls of Aithne had that. The next step that he takes towards the fighting men is not entirely of his own volition. Aithne sings at the prospect of tasting the Vajra blood - blood of a royal - taste of betrayal, of a brother cutting down a brother…
Sanskar feels the static ripple it gives off as he takes down one of his opponents. He had expected this, perhaps not so quickly, but Pratula had gone and cleared a few things for him. He takes the battle at its face value. Those men were not sent to kill him, he realizes the instant their blades collide. They were sent to kill a nomad fighting in the emulations - not the crown prince of Vajras. No, they were quite lacking for the task. He takes one as he swings around with his blade, a clean cut and an elbow jabbing to the throat - the man goes down on his knees before he had collapsed. There are four others - two of whom had seen the move clearly, had seen the haze of green that flickers in his eyes. They step back, shuddering. He takes one of the others with equal ease, slashing at his knees just as the remaining one braver and closer to his target gets ample opportunity to cut him open. He freezes then, sword pointed at the kneeling man’s throat - not assessing the cut, but the ripple he feels from the approaching Aithne. The man takes it wrong and swings his blade once more and finds himself clashing instead with sword of legends. 
Lakshya had found his conscience in time. 
He gives only a fleeting glance at his brother as he swings around the man taking him with a jab at his throat instead of giving in to Aithne’s blood lust. And Sankskar with a briefest nod to him turns to the two remaining men. 
“Don’t feel betrayed by your master,” he tells them. “He is unaware himself.”
“Who -” the man stammers. “Who are you?”
He clicks his tongue, quite disappointed with the display of his potential killers and the hazel of his eyes flashes in distinct hue. The man pales significantly. 
“Vajra - the prince of Vajras!”
There is a patter of feet and the two brothers exchange a look. More men in dark grabs with their faces covered come as the dusk gives way to the falling night. Pratula had planned things through. 
“Bhai!” Lakshya says sharply, calling to his attention as more attackers start to climb down from the tower roofs. “What the hell is happening?”
“Pick some other weapon,” Sanskar calls in reply, already engaged in battle. “Don’t feed Aithne. This is a feast arranged by his majesty.”
Lakshya swallows the why that is at the tip of his tongue and turns to the man fast approaching him. A knee to the ribs and a jab to the throat, he towers over the man. “You heard him - need to sword.”
**
“Swara!” 
She finds Megha standing in the center of a mess. Her chambers has certainly been subjected to a search - a very thorough one at that. Swara frowns as Megha crosses the mess of curtains and gowns and reaches for her. 
“What -” she swallows and then remembers her new status and throws up her arms. “What the hell?”
Megha bites back a smile at the obvious show of temper and places a hand on her shoulder. 
“We are at war - my lady.” He says blankly pressing a broken letter to her hands. “Kaladwara has been breached by Vajra forces and the Anjnis grow impatient.”
“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow keeping up the appearance for the sake of anyone watching as inwardly she tries to placate her thundering heart. Suddenly, she recalls the message Sanskar had received shortly before their parting. No - she wouldn’t think that of him. Not until she had given him a chance to explain things. She had learned her lesson. Swara clutches the letter at her hand and looks at Megha. “Do the Anjanis think that we are here to gather forces? That’s quite impressive of them - if they think we have time in our hands to.”
Megha shakes his head, walking towards the door to latch it shut. He replies as he goes. “It’s the commander of arms - he is suspicious of your intent my lady.” 
“I’m sure my lord uncle would be keen to hear about this,” Swara tells him loudly and the door slams shut. It is the longest she could manage and her knees buckle. She wobbles her way to the edge of her large feather bed before she collapses on the hard marble and Megha is beside her in an instant. 
“Dear lord,” she whispers. “Dear lord.” she looks up then, blinking back tears of fear and frustration. “Are they gone? Those who were watching?” Megha nods silently. “What are we to do? What do you think will happen now - it’s been decades - they could never breach the walls -” 
“I’m not sure if those were Anjani men or not though…” He says slowly, distractedly. “Swara - are you sure, that is to say are you very, very certain about Yuvraj sa?”
She blinks at the abruptness of the question and at how serious Megha sounds. “Why?”
“I think - there are Vajra men inside Padmapeeta. The word of you being here could very well have reached them. Are you certain - he will not play a -”
“I’m not a pawn of his,” she says firmly and clutching the bed post, she rises to her unsteady feet. “He - we are past that.”
It is uncomfortable to be subjected to Megha’s all seeing eye. He reads her too well, and she could feel her cheeks heating up. Megha sighs and folds his hands. “I see,” he says in the end. “Well then, if it is not his doing, we have to be more careful. His mother,” he says the word with a sort of vehemence, “is not to be taken at face value.”
“Do you think -” the rest of her words were drown by loud thumping. Megha exchanges a dark look with her before he goes back to open the door. He curses loudly before dipping his head in a half bow, Swara claps a hand to her mouth. 
Lakshya is covered in blood, dark and fresh enough that the chamber fills of its stench in a moment. But leaning against him - heavily bleeding is a man much more injured. 
“Sanskar!”
**
Lakshya’s grip falters the moment he sees her eyes. Her hands tremble when she approaches and there’s fear, acute, sharp and searing - and bitter when he realizes the depth her emotions run and that they are not for him. 
“Sanskar,” she repeats, slowly this time - as her arms waving around him for support. Jealousy, he knows the feeling that burns him as he watches his brother leaning into her embrace. It is highly unlike him, he’d seen worse injuries - but he had never -
Lakshya is startled by the sound of the door slamming shut and he realizes he’d been frozen on the same spot for a long time. He looks away guiltily, watching anywhere but at them and trying to gulp the knot in his throat. But then his brother calls after him. 
“You should go,” he says. “This should not reach the Anjani princess.” His voice is faint, tinted with pain, but the authority remains and it comes as a whipping blow now that he is raw with bitterness. Lakshya barely manages to nod. And swallowing the bitterness along with the desire to speak with Swara - she has no eyes for him now - her concern stark on her face - he turns to leave. 
“I need more light -” her hands tremble just like her voice. Swara blinks back hot tears that threatens to spill. “I can’t see where -” his fingers swathe around her wrist and holds. 
“Here,” he says, his voice warm. “Look at me. Look here -”
Their eyes meet and hold, mountain - lake green on the gold and she allows the tears to spill. 
“You are bleeding,” she mumbles, biting her lip. “It’s deep - Sanskar - It’s -”
“It won’t kill.” He says dismissively. “And I wanted it to happen more or less,” he shrugs and then winces when the pain shoots through his spine. She glares at him hotly, of all the worry he put her through - she’d skin him given the right tools. “Wouldn’t have you worried if I did not have the most urgent need to come here.”
“Ha!” She snorts, anger bubbling forth now. “Then what - ha - you’d simply have gone back to the compound? Slept it off? You fool -”
“Watch your mouth lady -” he pressed his lips into a line of disapproval though amusement twinkled in his eyes. 
“Megha!” Swara stands up, wiping her hands together ignoring him. “bring my needles. Yuvraj sa here is in need of treatment.”
Sanskar raises a brow, entertained, if pale. Failing to manage her act of fury Swara offers him a faltering smile. He reaches for her hand, squeezing it, pressing her knuckles to his mouth. 
For a moment, or a fleeting shadow of a moment - the war pressing upon them does not exist. Nor the imminent threat of Anjanis or the ever present danger of Suvanna matters. His eyes are pleasant green, sparkling like sunlight peeking through evergreen leaves. When they caress her face it tingles with a pleasant warmth. 
“Do you trust me?” He asks her after a pause. She nods wordlessly, drawing closer so that she could rest a palm against his cheek. His eyes holding hers does not waver. “I intend to take you back to Vajrateerta.”
She blinks, her heart sinks. After everything - after … His arms circle her waist and draws her closer, intent fingers digging into supple flesh, tightening his grip. 
“I made a promise - Swara,” he continues in a somber tone. “My people will require me to keep it, so will my honour. You will go back to Vajrateerta. You will bow before the queen - mother.” 
Ice creeps through her veins in tendrils of fear. In her minds eye she could see the wispy edges of a nightmare, feel the heat of the fires and hear her own cries. No. No. No. She shakes her head unconsciously, unaware of the tears that run down her cheeks or the shudder that passes down her spine. The voices of those horrible visions are louder than the pulse pounding in her ears. 
“You will bow to her,” he repeats slowly, as if one blasted time was not enough. “as my bride.” 
You will bow to her as my bride.
She stares at him for longer than necessary - longer than she had intended to. Finally, the silence returns as the pounding of her heart in her ears dies out. 
“You are cruel.” She says slowly tasting the salt of her tears on her tongue. “So - so - very cruel.”
He clasps her in his arms when she burrows against him, finally allowing the tears to flow, allowing herself to crumble. He holds her together, cheek pressed against her hair and muttering words that no longer means anything to her. 
“Shh,” he says. “Hush - love, whatever made you think I’d let them take you? That I’d let her get her way again?”
The way he speaks of the queen makes her look at him in surprise. There is a bitter twist to his mouth and he presses a lock of her hair behind her ear with an absentminded hand. 
“You’ve heard,” he says flatly. “About Kaldwaara.”
She nods once and he sighs. “Swara - I swear upon my honour, they aren’t acting upon my orders -”
“I know,” she replies with conviction now, tracing his face with greedy fingers. “You don’t have to swear -” he halts her hand. 
“You haven’t answered me yet.”
“We are at war,” she says with a watery smile. “It is a fool’s dream.”
“This is a fool’s war. It will not run long,” he offers back. His eyes flickers back to the cool hazel of sharpness. “But you must help me.”
She needs no words to offer her agreement.
“I need you to meet Pratula’s wife. Tonight - with all the haste possible.”
“But -”
“You must.” His voice leaves no opportunity for arguments. “Take Megha with you. It is time the Queen meets her firstborn.”

**