Ignite
Chapter 1 - Swept away, I'm stolen
The sunlight gently caressed Sanyukta’s face as she darted out of the library and out in the scorching heat, trying to balance the files in her arms. She smiled up at the sky, feeling Apollo Suryadev the sun god pat her head with affection.
“Big day today.” She murmured to herself, checking her notebook once again. It was the day of the Festival of Kartikeye, where the brave men of Svarnagara would display their skills of archery, kusti, and swordfighting. The ones that would stand out in her eyes would be offered knighthood. Typically, the princess was not supposed to attend such brutal festivals, according to her mother, but Sanyukta insisted, considering it her duty. Maharaj Yashovarman brought his son every year because he wished the prince to learn tactics of all types of warriors.
That was another reason she would watch the fight intently, memorizing every turn, every maneuvre with her eyes.
She let the files scatter on her bed, biting the inside of her cheek as thoughts scurried in her brain. Svarnagara had always been a reserved kingdom, a hidden jewel, her internal affairs blocked from the ears of all the other kings and warrior princes from across the world. She had no particular alliances, no treaties that caused her resources to exhaust, and had not participated in any of the wars since her independence, choosing to aid her people instead. But now, as she looked at her notes, all in different files, she realised that though her beloved kingdom was economically and artistically successful, their protection was weak. The last sturdy defence system she had ordered to be organized was the alerts around Mount Agnipat, their dormant volcano. There had never been a tsunami, thankfully, even though they were surrounded by water on three sides.
“My lady?” A knock on her door startled her out of her contemplation.
“Yes, Sundari?” She turned to see her maidservant entering her room, holding out a special dress. “This is your dress for the festival tonight. May I lay out the jewellery, too?” Her gaze fell on the unorganized bed. “Oh heavens, what a mess!”
Sanyukta tipped her head back and let out a laugh, “Calm down, I’ll clean the bed. I was just looking over the files once more. This flaw in our military system has been bugging me since I discovered it two weeks ago. My brother refuses to heed my warnings, as usual, and my mother is, unsurprisingly, paying no attention to me.”
“You work too much for a princess, my lady.” Sundari helped her put the files away, gathering them neatly and placing them on the table, although they fell. “You already control the press, and help cultivate art and music throughout the kingdom, which improved the education system. The prince should have looked over all of this.”
“The prince is busy learning how to flatter the high nobles of the society.” She pretended to be nonchalant, earning a snort and a playful smack from Sundari.
“You have no filter on you, my lady.” The woman slung an arm over Sanyukta’s shoulder, who smiled, knowing her maidservant was the only person who considered her as a true friend more than a mistress. “Should you really be going to the festival, today though? Did the queen strictly say she wanted to have a conversion about your marriage today?”
“She has the worst taste, Sundari!” She groaned, “The men she chooses are so boring. I understand she cares for me, but I cannot marry a man who says he will treasure me like a prize. A prize. Excuse my language, but what the f–”
“I’ll stop you right there.” Sundari pitted her shoulder as if to say, shush shush bacha, ami bujhi.
“How about you tell her your exact type?”
“I couldn’t bother to.” She shrugged, letting her brush her hair. “She has no interest in my interests. I’d much rather spend my time in the library, or with the dancing team. Gods, how I miss my younger days, when I would learn so many things about all forms of art!”
“You have to become a wife someday.” The other woman fastened gold round the hollow of her neck, “Tell me, is it befitting of a lady to spend her time looking over the development of the kingdom?”
“My father says we should do what we are passionate about. I am good at aiding him with the development of the kingdom, and it is what brings me joy.” She replied stubbornly, unbuttoning her corset and beginning to undress. Sundari helped her tie the new dress, a deep red, the colour of rich wine. It suited her, although her mother said it made her look like some form of villainess, rather than a gentle princess.
Gentle.
Her definition of gentle being an obedient, unfeeling lapdog, of course.
She refused to be gentle if that meant men could trample over her.
Besides, she enjoyed watching their faces light up with surprise when her father proudly declared that it was his daughter who overtook the duties that his son was supposed to, or when she forcefully spoke back to the older nobles who scorned her publicly and unashamedly, degrading her a value less than her brother. She was exultant when she found that other young girls had started to refuse arrange marriages with elderly men, inspired by her attitude. The amount of complaints that had come from the different families and grooms to her father was, in her opinion, outrageous.
But Maharaj Yashovarman always trusted his daughter and her intentions, no matter how brash she was. So he supported the young brides.
(or not-brides-anymore. Whatever. Cheers to their single life lol).
Sanyukta had to admit, however, that men were physically stronger. Biologically. And so she never dared to challenge a fight outright with any men, choosing a battle of wits instead. Looking down at the arena once she was seated, she was met with a familiar thrill buzzing inside her. Watching a good fight between two strong warriors was something she adored – it reminded her of a dance, where instead of billowing skirts and silver anklets, you had the clash of swords. It was like if poetry was penned by blood and not ink, if a musical duet was less subtle. Combat was an art.
And Sanyukta loved art above all.
She could spot the weak spots, the distractions, and in this way, she could learn how to fight.
Someday, she hoped, she would.
Arrows were shot. Bodies were thrown in the dust. Cheers and hoots rose from the audience. She didn’t know how long had passed since she’d sat down in her spot, with her guard, beside her brother and father. Because one moment changed her memory of that day forever. It changed her life, if you want me to be a teeny bit dramatic, folks.
(Please let me be dramatic. Insert a song with drums).
The man seated upon the chair of the Chief Guest had gotten down from the dais after the winner was declared. She hadn’t noticed him at first – chief guests of the festivals were different every year, and they never left much of an impression on her.
This one was younger than others, she noted. And, well, quite handsome.
Instead of honouring the winner, like the usual chief guests had done, the man challenged him to a last fight. A playful endgame, his seneschal called it.
He seemed at ease, taking off his clothes casually, as if he didn’t look like he was sculpted by the gods’ themselves. She was aware of her parted lips, any distractions leaving her mind, and the slight gasp that escaped her tongue, instead of the words she was about to say.
Curse good looking men who had the martial prowess not unlike the devil.
“Who is…that man?” Her voice was like a butterfly, breathless and light, her eyes locked on that majestic piece of art. Sweat rolled down the muscular arches of his back as he fought with the intensity of a beast, and she felt her heart jump.
“I beg your pardon, my lady?” Her guard followed her gaze, and frowned, “Oh, I believe we have come to the end of the festival, my lady. That is Prince Perseus of Naxos. You must have heard of him – he was the warrior prince who bested all, proclaiming victory in the last two wars. He is the chief guest of this festival this year, my lady.”
“You don’t mean to say that he is the same warrior whose praises my brother has had to endure throughout his life?” She had read about him, heard his inhumane stories from her father. For the first time in her life, she realised that those stories might actually be true. Her gaze flickered to him, the scratches and wounds adorning his tan skin. His opponent was down in an instant, and he pointed the edge of his sword at the defeated man’s chin, and his lips parted, “Do you yield?”
By the gods, his voice was the most attractive thing she had ever heard.
“Prince Perseus.” She tasted his name, letting it melt into her tongue and settle in her lungs, replacing oxygen. “The legend. I must meet him.”
“I do not think that is possible, my lady–”
She paid him no mind, watching the prince, her eyes raking over his face, painted with blood, over that sculpted jaw and sweat-drenched dark hair, as he grinned at the crowd, teeth sharp as a shark.
Was she dreaming, or did their eyes meet?
And did she become speechless, losing her breath, her lips dry as they parted?
And did he raise a perfect eyebrow, his green eyes glinting like a siren’s?
“Sanyukta!” Her brother’s voice woke her from her daze, and she threw him an annoyed look for interrupting her daydream.
“Don’t look at me like that. Mother is calling you, and you are wasting your time here, at a festival that has nothing to do with you.”
Her shoulders drooped, and she cast one last glance of longing at Perseus below, before he was gone from her sight. Then she followed her brother, the prince of Svarnagara, the one who would soon be crowned king even though he’s her twin and does not differ in his abilities as herself, Suryakant, to the office of the queen, her mother, Vasundhara.
Her mind started racing again. She had just found the solution to her problems – both the one that had been bothering her for the betterment of her kingdom, and the one her mother would bring up again.
She had just seen the love of her life, after all.
A/N: I'm not good at writing in that formal, old language, I always need to add humour *insert dramatically crying emoji*. Hope you liked it! Comments always encourage me to keep writing!
