The Prince Who Became Their Queen

Chapter 10: Engagement Day
Morning light cut across the bed. Chandrika’s night dress had slipped off one shoulder. She didn’t fix it.
Kiran came in without knocking. The tray rattled when she saw Chandrika’s face.
“It’s time.”

The bathing chamber was ready. The two eunuchs waited by the wall, eyes lowered. Kiran undressed Chandrika herself.

Chandrika stepped into the water. Kiran followed. Warm oil spilled over her collarbones and ran between her breasts. Kiran’s hands moved after it—slow, careful, almost gentle.
“It’s settling,” Kiran said near her ear. “The name. The longer you wear it, the harder it is to take off. Fight and it just hurts more.”
Chandrika stayed quiet. She thought of the priestess’s eyes and how calm her sister had looked when everything fell. The rest was just the body finishing the job.
Kiran’s thumb touched a nipple. Chandrika’s hips moved once before she forced them still.

They finished the bath in silence. The eunuchs dried her with careful reverence.

The crimson lehenga that was selected was heavier than anything she had worn before. Gold thread that could catch every shift of lamplight. The choli sat low and tight; her breasts rose into a sweet neckline. Bangles slid onto her wrists one after another until her arms were full. Anklets. Waistband . Kohl. Rose on the mouth. A single red bindi.Everything was perfectly planned and executed.

Kiran stepped back. The mirror showed a bride.
Chandrika stared until her eyes watered. Somewhere behind that face the man who used to count exits was still there, just quieter.
“Small steps,” Kiran said. “Soft voice. Look down if it gets too much. I’ll be right behind you.”

The grand hall was already full. Nobles, soldiers, the Jaynagar delegation. Chandrika walked the long aisle with the measured glide Leela had drilled into her. Anklets sang. The crowd called her name as if only she mattered that day. Mahaveer stood near the front, face unreadable. King Dev and Queen Leela watched from the dais with the careful pride of people who had already lost one child and could not afford to lose another.

Viran stepped forward.
Tall, broad, scar on the left forearm. He looked like someone who took what he wanted and somehow still managed to smile kindly. His eyes met hers and the hardness in them eased.
She smiled because she had to. He relaxed a little. She noted it the same way she used to note where the archers stood.

The rituals blurred—mantras, fire, the exchange of threads. King Dev’s voice promised strength and prosperity. Queen Leela’s blessing followed, quieter, heavier. Courtiers whispered approval. Underneath it Chandrika heard the sharper note: desperation dressed as hope.
After the final blessing, King Dev raised his hand for silence. Mahaveer stepped forward carrying a long wooden box sealed with the mark of the northern fort.
“A gift,” the king announced, “from my son, Prince Surya.”
A ripple moved through the hall. Chandrika felt Kiran stiffen beside her.
Mahaveer opened the box. Inside lay a simple, well-balanced sword—the kind Surya had once preferred—and a sealed letter.
King Dev broke the seal and read aloud:
To my sister on the day of her engagement,
I remain in the north as Father commanded. The fort is quiet. The work is endless. I will not stand in the way of the alliance. Accept this blade as my blessing. I will come to the wedding. You have my word.
— Surya
The hall exhaled. The earlier undercurrent of doubt—the whispers about the prince’s death, the restless border captains—eased at once. A living promise was enough to push the threat of revolt back into the shadows, at least for now.
Chandrika kept her face composed, but something tight in her chest loosened. The story still held. The kingdom would not fracture today.
When she looked up, Mahaveer’s eyes met hers for a fraction of a second. The message was clear: they had bought time. Nothing more.
She inclined her head in graceful thanks, the perfect picture of a relieved sister.
After the public rites, Viran asked for a private word. Kiran gave the smallest nod and stepped back into the shadow of a pillar.
The balcony overlooked the river. Viran turned to her. His hand, large and callused, tilted her chin up with surprising care.
“I looked at the portraits once,” he said. “Asked to see them again. My ministers are worried.”
He waited. Chandrika understood the invitation.

“Then, how much do you like me?” she answered.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
He pulled her in and kissed her.
Gentle at first, then careful, testing. Beard against her cheek. Hands steady on her waist. Spiced wine on his tongue. Her body answered before she could stop it—a small sound that no prince would have made.
When he pulled back he was breathing harder than she expected.
“Don’t make me into some hero,” he said. “I snore. I get angry. Tell me what you actually feel. Keep me honest.”
His thumb touched her lower lip once, almost without thinking, then he stepped away.

Chandrika lowered her gaze the way she had been taught. The cheers from the hall still rolled against the stone.
Kiran waited in the corridor when they returned. She bowed perfectly, eyes down, hands folded.
No one else noticed the way her breath hitched once and then went carefully even again.
Chandrika walked past her without a word. The relief from the letter was still there, warm but thin. She knew it wouldn’t hold. The wedding would need the real Surya standing somewhere, and this body had already gone too far to go back.
Tonight the kingdom was quiet.
That was enough for now.