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nidhi-writes · 3 months ago

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CHAPTER - I | BEAST OUT OF HIM

MASTERLIST

The camp was alive with anticipation. Fires crackled, weapons were sharpened, and the warriors of Mahishmati prepared for the impending battle. The truth of Shivudu's lineage had sent shockwaves through the camp—he was Mahendra Baahubali, the true heir to the throne. For Shiya, this revelation had filled her with pride and determination. She had always known there was something special about her brother, but the weight of his destiny had taken even her by surprise.

Shiya, Sanga's daughter, was no trained warrior, but she was determined to stand with her brother and fight for the freedom of their people. She worked in silence, sharpening her arrows with precision. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions—loyalty, fear, and the burning need for justice. When she finished, she grabbed a jug and headed to the river to collect water for the journey.

The cool night air brushed against her skin, but it did little to calm her nerves. She was almost at the riverbank when something struck her from behind. Pain exploded in her head, and she crumpled to the ground, her vision darkening as she slipped into unconsciousness.

Shiya awoke in a cold, dark cell. The stone floor was damp beneath her, and a faint light filtered through a small barred window high above. She pushed herself up, wincing at the throbbing pain in her head. Panic set in as she realized her bow and arrows were gone, leaving her defenceless.

Her heart raced as she tried to piece together what had happened. She remembered the river, the sudden blow… and then nothing. Who had attacked her? Where was she?

Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor outside her cell, each step sending a jolt of fear through her. The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside, casting a long shadow in the dim light.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, his presence commanding and intimidating. Shiya squinted, trying to make out his features. Something about the way he held himself, the way the shadows played over his face, made her breath hitch. He seemed older, much older—perhaps even older than her father—but there was a dark, unsettling magnetism about him.

“Who are you?” she demanded, forcing her voice to remain steady.

The man chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “You don’t know who I am?” he asked a hint of amusement in his voice. “How intriguing. It’s been a long time since someone didn’t recognize me.”

Shiya frowned, confusion warring with the unease she felt. Something about his voice, his presence, made her pulse quicken in a way she didn’t want to acknowledge. She pushed the feeling aside, cursing herself for such thoughts. This man was her captor, a cruel figure in the shadows.

“I don’t care who you are,” she retorted, though her voice wavered slightly. “Let me go!”

He stepped closer, and Shiya instinctively backed away until her back pressed against the cold stone wall. Now that he was closer, she could see the hard lines of his face, the dark eyes that bore into her with unsettling intensity. His presence filled the small cell, suffocating and overwhelming.

“You should care,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, almost intimate whisper. “I am Bhallaladeva, the king of Mahishmati.”

Shiya’s breath caught in her throat. He is the one she heard from Kattappa, the tyrant who had brought Mahishmati to its knees, the one who killed Amerandra Baahubali, her brother's father. But standing so close to him, she couldn’t help but notice his sheer power. His broad shoulders and the dark, almost predatory glint in his eyes made her feel small and vulnerable in a way she had never felt before.

The thought sent a flush of heat through her, and she cursed herself silently. How could she feel anything but hatred for this man? How could she let herself be affected by him in any way?

“A true King would never have to announce himself as a King. And the one who does cannot be one. You are nothing but a cruel man who has brought so much pain to my people,” she managed to say, trying to focus on her anger, on the injustice that had been done.

Bhallaladeva’s smirk deepened, but there was something else in his gaze now—something almost like curiosity. “Your people?” he echoed mockingly. “You’re just a villager. You have no claim to Mahishmati.”

Shiya’s heart pounded in her chest, but she met his gaze with all the defiance she could muster. “My brother, Shivudu, has a claim. And I will fight for him, for our people.”

Bhallaladeva’s expression darkened, the amusement vanishing from his eyes. But she noticed a flicker of something else—was it a surprise? Intrigue? “Your brother is nothing,” he hissed, leaning in closer. “He may have the blood of Baahubali, but he will fall like the rest, Like his own bloody father, by my own hands.”

Shiya’s breath quickened as he drew nearer, his presence suffocating, yet… Something in his nearness made her heart race for reasons she didn’t want to admit. She shook her head, cursing herself for feeling anything other than hatred. This was Bhallaladeva, the man who had caused so much suffering, and she couldn’t allow herself to feel anything but hatred.

“We’ll see,” she whispered, her voice filled with resolve.

Bhallaladeva studied her for a long moment, his gaze searching her face. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a darkness that sent another shiver through her. His eyes turned to her lips, her plump and round lips inviting him, and his body sure did react to the cute little bird before him. He smirked at her.

“You’re brave,” he said finally, almost as if he were admitting it begrudgingly. “But bravery won’t save you.”

With that, he turned and left, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving Shiya alone once more in the darkness. She was shaken, not just by the encounter but by her reactions. How could she have let herself be affected by him, even for a moment? She clenched her fists, forcing the unwelcome feelings aside.

She had to escape, warn her brother, and fight for their people. The shadow of Bhallaladeva loomed large, but Shiya vowed that she would not let it consume her. She would stand strong for Shivudu, Sanga, and Mahishmati.

And no matter what, she would never forget the kind of man Bhallaladeva was, or so that she promised herself.

***

Bhallaladeva sat on his throne, the weight of the crown heavy on his brow. Mahishmati had stood unchallenged for years, its power unrivalled, its king unbowed. He was waiting for his son Bhadra to return with that wretch Devasena, who got away with the help of some foolish boy.

One of his most loyal guards, Nandha, entered the throne room with sadness looming in his eyes. Bowing deeply, he awaited Bhallaladeva's acknowledgement before speaking.

"My King," Nandha began, his voice laced with sadness, "We have sad news: our Prince Bhadra has been beheaded" hearing this news, Bhallaldeva stood up with anger evident in his eyes.

"What are you saying? Who did it?" He is ready to have his way with the one who caused him and his son pain." Nandha explained everything that happened, bringing Bhallaldeva to his knees, and his father beside him was also angry about the news. But before Bhallaldeva ordered anything, Nandha interrupted as he revealed, "But we have captured something invaluable that will ensure our victory without a single drop of blood being shed."

Bhallaladeva's eyebrow arched in interest. The guard's confidence was intriguing. "Show me this prize you speak of," he commanded, rising from his throne. He wanted to see for himself what Nandha believed could be so valuable.

The guard led him through the palace's winding corridors and down into the cold, damp dungeons, where the crown's most dangerous enemies were kept. As they approached a particular cell, Nandha gestured towards it, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Inside, Bhallaladeva saw a young woman, no more than twenty years old, sprawled on the floor, her long hair fanned out around her like a dark halo. Despite the cell's dirt and grime, her youth and beauty were undeniable. Her face was peaceful in unconsciousness, but there was an undeniable strength in her features that caught his attention.

A smirk curled at the corner of Bhallaladeva’s lips as he turned to Nandha. "Explain."

Nandha straightened, eager to please. "My King, this girl is the sister of Shivudu—the very man who beheaded your son Bhadra. I overheard Kattappa's revelations to this boy—Shivudu is no other than Mahendra Baahubali, the son of your greatest enemy, Amarendra Baahubali."

Bhallaladeva’s eyes darkened with fury at the mention of Shivudu’s name. The wound of losing his son Bhadra was still fresh, and now, to learn that the one who killed him was Amarendra’s spawn filled him with a burning rage.

Nandha continued, sensing his master’s anger. "This girl was with the rebels, preparing to march against you. I seized the opportunity and captured her, knowing she would be the perfect leverage. With her in our grasp, Mahendra Baahubali will surrender without a fight."

Bhallaladeva’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. "You have done well, Nandha. Very well, indeed. Guard the gates, close off the kingdom. No one enters or leaves without my command. Let them come, let them try to breach Mahishmati. They will find nothing but death and despair."

Nandha bowed deeply, his chest swelling with pride at the king’s praise. "It shall be done, my King."

As Nandha left to carry out his orders, Bhallaladeva remained, his eyes fixed on the girl in the cell. The thought of using her as a pawn in his game brought him grim satisfaction. But something more about her stirred an emotion he couldn’t quite place.

Hours passed, and word reached Bhallaladeva that the girl was beginning to wake. He wasted no time returning to the dungeons, eager to see how this little bird would react when she realized who held her captive.

As he entered the cell, he saw her stirring, her eyes fluttering open. She pushed herself up slowly, disoriented, and Bhallaladeva watched with a dark, silent amusement as she took in her surroundings.

When she finally looked up and met his gaze, he saw the confusion in her eyes, the way she didn’t immediately recognize him. That made him pause, an unfamiliar feeling creeping over him—was it... shyness? He dismissed it quickly, but not before the thought had planted in his mind.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice steady despite the fear he knew she must be feeling.

Bhallaladeva chuckled, the sound reverberating through the small cell. “You don’t know who I am?” he replied, stepping closer, towering over her. “How intriguing. It’s been a long time since someone didn’t recognize me.”

She frowned, a flicker of defiance in her gaze that only intrigued him more. He had expected terror and submission, but this girl… was different. There was strength in her that drew him in despite the circumstances. He could feel his heartbeat quicken—a sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Let me go!” she demanded, though he could hear the tremor in her voice.

He leaned in, his eyes locking with hers, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “You should care who I am,” he said, a sinister edge to his tone. “I am Bhallaladeva, the king of Mahishmati.”

He watched as her eyes widened in realization, fear finally creeping into her expression. But along with that fear, there was something else—something in how she looked at him that made his chest tighten. Was it… attraction? The idea was absurd, yet he couldn’t deny how his blood heated under her gaze.

Despite himself, Bhallaladeva felt a flicker of something he hadn’t felt in years—an awareness of his power, not just as a ruler, but as a man. The thought made him smirk, but it also unsettled him. This girl was his prisoner, a tool to be used against his enemies. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by anything else.

But as he turned to leave, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was different from anyone he had ever encountered. She wasn’t just a pawn but a challenge he couldn’t wait to unravel.

For now, he would let her stew in her fear and uncertainty. But soon, he would return. And when he did, he would ensure that she understood exactly who held her life—and her brother's fate—in his hands.

Bhallaladeva left the cell, his mind racing with thoughts of the battle ahead and of the girl who had, for a fleeting moment, made him feel something other than the cold, unyielding rage that had defined him for so long. But whatever that feeling was, it would not deter him from his purpose.

Mahendra Baahubali would come for his sister. And when he did, Bhallaladeva would be ready.

The sun hung low in the sky as Mahendra Baahubali, Devasena, Kattappa, Avantika, and their loyal followers marched towards Mahishmati. Devasena carried the severed head of Bhadra, her face set in grim determination. The image of vengeance incarnate, she was ready to end the tyranny of Bhallaladeva once and for all. Mahendra, walking beside her, was the very image of his father, Amarendra Baahubali, the legendary warrior who had once protected these lands.

As they approached the gates of Mahishmati, Mahendra’s likeness to his father was undeniable—his strength, resolve, and gait mirrored the great Amarendra. Bhallaladeva, watching from the high walls of his palace, felt a shiver of unease. It was as if a ghost from his past was marching towards him, ready to exact retribution.

But that moment of unease quickly faded as Bhallaladeva’s lips curled into a dark, twisted smile. He had a card to play, one that would shatter the resolve of this army of rebels. He turned to his guard, his voice a low, commanding growl. “Bring the little bird here.”

A short while later, the heavy iron doors of the palace creaked open, and Shiya was dragged out, her hands and feet bound in heavy chains. Her once vibrant eyes now reflected fear and defiance as she was forced to the front of the balcony where Bhallaladeva stood. He reached out, gripping her long, dark hair, and yanked her forward, ensuring she was visible to those below.

The rebels came to an abrupt halt. Their eyes widened as they recognized Shiya, Mahendra Baahubali's sister, bound and at the mercy of their enemy. Devasena’s heart clenched, her warrior’s facade faltering momentarily as she saw the young woman in such a vulnerable state. Mahendra’s hands curled into fists, his anger seething beneath his calm exterior.

Bhallaladeva’s smirk widened as he leaned down, his face close to Shiya’s. The scent of her hair filled his senses, and he revelled in the power he held over her—and, by extension, over the army below. He nuzzled his nose against her hair, feeling the involuntary shiver that ran through her body. Despite her defiance, he could sense her fear and something else—something she was desperately trying to suppress.

Shiya cursed herself inwardly for the way her body reacted to his touch. This man was a monster, cruel and ruthless, and yet his proximity ignited a confusing mix of emotions within her. She bit her lip to stifle a gasp as his teeth grazed the delicate skin near her ear. Bhallaladeva smiled wickedly, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"Take another step," Bhallaladeva’s voice boomed across the battlefield, "and you’ll be collecting your precious Shiya’s lifeless body." He tightened his grip on her hair, pulling her head back slightly to expose her neck, a silent threat that chilled the blood of those watching.

The rebels stood frozen, their plan in tatters. Mahendra and Kattappa exchanged glances, the need for a new strategy clear. They couldn’t risk Shiya’s life, not when she was so vulnerable. This wasn’t just a battle of swords and strength—it was a battle of wills, and Bhallaladeva was forcing their hand.

Satisfied with their hesitation, Bhallaladeva pushed Shiya back towards the palace's interior. His hand found its way to her neck, his grip firm as he forced her to follow him inside. Shiya stumbled slightly, her heart pounding with fear and confusion. Her mind raced, searching for a way to escape and warn her brother, but Bhallaladeva’s hold was relentless.

As they disappeared from view, Bhallaladeva’s mind buzzed with the thrill of his victory. The look of terror in the eyes of his enemies was intoxicating, but the woman at his side—this unexpected and intriguing little bird—added a new dimension to his triumph.

Mahendra and the others watched helplessly as the palace doors closed behind them. The sight of Shiya in chains, at the mercy of Bhallaladeva, left a bitter taste in their mouths. They couldn’t afford to lose her but couldn’t rush in blindly.

"We need a new plan," Kattappa murmured, his voice heavy with the weight of their situation.

Mahendra nodded, his mind already racing through possibilities. They had come so far, but now faced a ruthless and cunning enemy. Bhallaladeva had shown them that this battle would not be won by strength alone.

But one thing was sure—Mahendra would not rest until his sister was safe and Bhallaladeva’s reign of terror was ended. No matter the cost.

***

Inside the palace, Bhallaladeva led Shiya deeper into the labyrinth of halls, his grip never loosening. Shiya’s heart pounded as she tried to steel herself against her overwhelming situation. She couldn’t afford to show weakness—not to him or the man who held her fate.

But as she walked, she could feel the weight of his gaze on her, how his presence filled the space around her, and it took everything to keep her composure.

Bhallaladeva’s mind was already working on how to use this situation to his advantage. The little bird at his side was more than just a captive—she was a weapon he intended to wield with precision. And perhaps, along the way, he would find out just how much power he held over her.

For now, though, he would savour the victory he had already claimed. The rebels were at his mercy, and with Shiya as his leverage, Mahishmati would remain unchallenged, its throne unshaken.

But in the back of his mind, the image of Mahendra Baahubali haunted him—a reminder that the ghost of Amarendra was still alive, and this war was far from over.

And as for Shiya, he couldn’t help but wonder—how long before she would break under the weight of his will? Or perhaps, just perhaps, would she be the one to challenge him in ways he had never anticipated?

Only time will tell.

***

After being pulled away from the balcony where Bhallaladeva had held her in his grip, Shiya was led back into the palace. But instead of returning to the cold, dark cell she had been thrown into earlier, she was taken to a lavish chamber. The sudden change in her surroundings caught her off guard—how could her circumstances shift so drastically in such a short period?

The chamber was adorned with luxurious silks and rich items, starkly contrasting to the grim cell she had been kept before. Before she could process the situation, an elderly woman with a kind smile entered the room.

"I am Bangara Amma," the woman introduced herself, her voice soft and soothing. "I’ve been instructed to take care of you."

Shiya narrowed her eyes, suspicion immediately rising. How could one man, Bhallaladeva, be so mercurial? One moment, he was a predator, lurking too close, making her feel things she loathed herself for, and the next, he seemed to want to treat her like some cherished possession.

Bangara Amma guided her to the bathhouse connected to the chamber. Shiya reluctantly followed, her mind racing with thoughts of escape. As she was bathed and dressed in luxurious silks that clung to her skin, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being a prisoner in golden chains. The richness of the attire did nothing to ease her discomfort; it only heightened her awareness of the strange, twisted game Bhallaladeva was playing.

Left alone in the chamber again, Shiya immediately began searching for a way out. The walls were thick, the windows high and unyielding, but as she scanned the floor, something caught her eye—a sharp nail, probably left behind by accident. She quickly grabbed it and hid it in her hair, a reassuring weapon in the face of her helplessness.

She moved to the balcony, briefly considering the idea of escaping by climbing down. But the height was dizzying, and she realized with a sinking feeling that it was impossible—there was no way to scale down with just a saree. Before she could think of another plan, footsteps echoed through the chamber. She stiffened, knowing exactly who it was.

She faced the outside, trying to ignore the growing tension in her body as Bhallaladeva’s presence loomed behind her. She could feel the heat of his body even before he spoke.

"Not planning to jump, are we?" Bhallaladeva’s voice was laced with amusement as he chuckled softly.

Shiya kept her eyes fixed on the view, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. "What if I did?" she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

Bhallaladeva laughed, a deep, resonant sound that sent a shiver down her spine. He stepped closer until she could feel his breath on her neck, the proximity suffocating and intoxicating all at once. He was so close that the warmth of his body seemed to seep into hers, a sensation that made her knees weak. To her shame, a faint moan escaped her lips, but thankfully, it was too soft for him to hear.

"Well, we wouldn’t want anything to happen to my little bird, now would we?" he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his voice sending a jolt through her entire being. Her cheeks flushed a deep red as she swallowed hard to maintain her composure.

"Why do you care?" Shiya managed to ask, turning her head slightly to look at him, though she regretted it immediately. His gaze was intense, almost predatory, and yet there was something else—something that made her pulse race even faster.

Bhallaladeva smirked, clearly enjoying her defiance. Despite the tremor in her voice, he could see that she was trying to stand her ground. His little bird was brave, even in her fear.

Without warning, he reached out, his hand wrapping lightly around her throat. He pulled her back against him, her body now fully pressed against his. Shiya gasped at the contact, the heat of his body radiating through the thin fabric of her saree, making her breath hitch.

His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path from her throat to her lips, the touch sending a shockwave of unwanted desire through her. Shiya’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the railing, her body betraying her mind’s refusal to acknowledge his effect on her.

"I care for what is mine," Bhallaladeva whispered, his voice dark and possessive. "And my little bird, everything that ventures into my kingdom belongs to me. That includes you."

Just as he loomed above her, merely away from her lips as his breath covered her face, causing her to tremble inside, a part of her wanted his lips on her and wanted to taste him and have his way with her.

With that, he released her, stepping back as if nothing had happened. But Shiya was left trembling, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Her mind was a whirl of confusion and fear, her innocence tarnished by the dangerous man who now claimed her as his own.

As Bhallaladeva left the chamber, Shiya collapsed against the balcony railing, her heart pounding. What had she become in this short span of time? A prisoner? A pawn? Or something more twisted—something she didn’t even want to think about?

But what scares her is that her body and mind are trying to betray herself and others to be with him and have what she craves. HIM

_______________________________________

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hum-suffer · 8 months ago

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We'll say hello again (nevermind the chasm between us) 15

Bhairav's birthday starts in a way that any normal day does.

He wakes up at dawn, gets ready, takes a trip to the Mahadev temple in the palace and goes to Princess Gauri's room. Yamuna nods at him in greeting with a tired smirk from her station at his Princess' door.

"A punctual guard, Bhairav. I like your consistency. I was just about getting tired." Yamuna smiles at him and pats his shoulder in what he assumes is a compliment. He's never understood the need to touch others without an objective.

(A voice in his head hisses,"Objective like harm."

He's forgotten what a tender touch means. He only touches to harm. He's a weapon.)

Still, he smiles back at Yamuna,"I don't want Harihar to complain to me about his wife being grumpy because she had to stand too long."

Yamuna shakes her head,"In that case, I'd have killed you for being late before he complained to you."

Bhairav raises a non-believing eyebrow at that. Yamuna rolls her eyes,"Fine. The only reason I wouldn't kill you is because I know that the princess would kill me too."

And Bhairav can kill Yamuna without a delay, is what they both don't say. She's been standing guard at the door for long hours, her mind bored and sight dulled with sudden brightness. He's well rested and ready. He's taller than Yamuna and is habituated to fighting in all circumstances. He has three daggers on him, and a sword that he sharpens every night, before going to sleep.

He can kill. He chooses not to.

(Does that mean he's not even a good weapon?)

Yamuna shakes her head and leaves, cheery and unaware of the dark turn that Bhairav's thoughts had taken. He takes his position by the door and relaxes his stiff posture. The princess would be leaving the room in some time, she wakes up early as well. And she will have to be earlier today, still. To show that governor around the palace.

Bhairav tries but he can't keep his distaste of the man away from his job, his princess. Something in the way the man looks at his princess makes him want to unsheathe his sword. He knows that he thinks out of line for a mere slave, yet, his princess has not only let him be impertinent but also encourages his absymal behaviour.

(He sometimes forgets the chasm that lies between them. He sometimes genuinely thinks that she is his friend. She is his devotion and duty. He is reminded of that everyday as walks with her spine straight and head high.)

Bhairav hears footsteps before he sees him.

Vijay. He's up and about, cheery and ready as he nears the princess' chambers with a spring in his step. Bhairav is nineteen. The same age that Vijay was when he married. And now, Vijay flutters around his princess, a young woman of eighteen, whilst he himself is thirty.

Bhairav wraps his distaste in forceful ignorance and puts it away in a box in his mind. He knows his face is neutral as the man nears and he struggles to keep it so when he presumptuously turns towards the princess' doors and bloody fucking knocks.

His sword is a serpent's tongue on his thigh as he steps between the door and the man and glares at Vijay. From the other side of the door, his Princess answers sharply,"Who dares?"

Vijay flinches at her tone and Bhairav can imagine the sharp way her kohl lined eyes would glance across the room in righteous anger as she notes that it is not Bhairav who has knocked. Bhairav has never received that particular tone, he thinks smugly. His princess somehow always knows when Bhairav is knocking.

(Bahubali doesn't knock. Bhallaldeva knocks once and enters before she can allow him. Bhairav knows.)

(Bhairav knows not that he knocks in a pattern. A two sharp knocks that make four soft thuds as his knuckles as well as his wrist hits the door when he knocks. He has copied his sister's way of knocking since he was but a child. He is unaware that no one else knocks in the same pattern. The perpetual bruise on the side of his wrist is but a footnote in his day.)

"Bhairav?" She calls from the chambers, tone commanding and of the woman who should have been Queen, if Mahishmati was women oriented.

His glare doesn't leave Vijay as he turns sideways and knocks. Instantly, his princess calls him in,"Enter, Bhairav."

He closes the door behind himself because he knows his princess will hate it if some stranger would dare to see her chambers— the rooms which could be called the heart of the palace, in Bhairav's humble opinion.

She's dressed in a light turquoise saree and her hair is open still, slightly damp from her bath, he assumes. She is standing near the hinges of the door, one hand holding the dagger that used to be Bhairav's and the other holding a scroll. She is tense but she relaxes halfway through when he closes the door behind himself.

In this moment, she is the perfect definition of Gauraangi Devi, the Princess of Mahishmati. Fierce, beautiful and clever.

Bhairav bows his head in greeting. "The Western governor is outside, my princess."

"Was he the one who knocked?" Bhairav can hear the dangerous undertone at his audacity and he knows that they're standing right at the door and if Vijay hasn't moved away, he can at least hear the whispers of her words.

Bhairav nods. "I apologise, my princess. He broke protocol and I was not alert enough for that."

He was. He was extremely alert enough. He could have drugged the man and dragged him into the dungeons if he so wished. But there is a part of him, a part that could very well get him killed one day, that wanted his princess to be angrier at the man. Bhairav knows he has added fuel to the fire of her irritation and made it anger.

He thinks it will not take even the whole day for anger to become wrath.

And he wants to rush the process along. He doesn't trust the way Vijay looks at her. She is not a price, but a treasure. Vijay looks at her like a lottery and Bhairav gets the distinct impression that he would treat her no better.

His princess finally relaxes completely and nods with a deep breath. "Tell him to wait," she orders firmly, slipping the dagger into her waistline. Visible and full of warning. She turns on her heel and walks towards the mirror in her room, running a hand through her hair to help dry it as she goes. Bhairav nods and bows, takes a step back before turning his back to her.

(Like he never instantly turns his back towards Durga in her temple.)

"Stop," she calls in a heavy voice. He can feel her frustration as he turns. She purses her lips and sighs, recomposing herself in front of his eyes. When she speaks next, she is the epitome of etiquette. "Tell his Excellency that I will see him in some moments and I regret the tardiness on my part."

Bhairav dislikes that she has to sweeten her words but he nods and takes his leave, eyes never leaving her as he leaves.

Vijay is still at the spot that Bhairav left him at and Bhairav resumes his glare as he relays his Princess' message to the unwanted man. Vijay seems positively smug when Bhairav mentions his Princess' apologies and waves his hand dismissively. "I'm sure she won't do it again," he murmurs to himself as he turns away from Bhairav.

For a delicious moment, Bhairav wants to unwrap his rage and let it kill the presumptuous man like a noose. But he maintains the control that he has always maintained, stoic and proud of his self control. He chooses instead to focus on the governor. Bhairav isn't impressed.

The man may be well built, but he clearly lacks patience as he shifts from one foot to another impatiently. There are no visible weapons on him but the multiple necklaces he wears are extremely easy to use to choke him. Such neglect towards oneself, and Vijay wants to court the princess of Mahishmati. If he can't take care of himself, how will he take care of his princess?

»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»

His princess barely takes five more minutes before she is opening the door, hair braided in a simple side braid that is devoid of any accessories or flowers— because she did not have the time for them.

She nods at Bhairav and passes a more stoic nod to Vijay. "I again apologize for the delay, Mahoday."

"Please, call me Vijay. You are the princess, extremely above my station." He says, a bashful smile on his lips. "And do not fret, your highness. I know that women always take long to get ready."

Bhairav wants to bare his teeth and snarl at the man like an attack dog that many already call him. The man's negative bias over women is already clear and he doesn't deserve to be in the company of his princess. Bhairav keeps an iron grip on his self control and remains stoic.

His princess raises her eyebrows at Vijay almost casually. "Oh?" She says, and Bhairav has known her enough to know much of a mockery that is. Vijay doesn't. "You are experienced with many women, mahoday?"

Vijay shrugs and lowers his head in what seems to be shyness or shame. "I know a few. Your highness, I was wondering where exactly shall we start our tour with?"

"Certainly not the royal wing, mahodaya," she says with an incredulous tone that might seem friendly, when Bhairav knows she is still seething over his audacity to walk into the wing. He makes a mental note to find Katappa and use his help to find who let this man in the royal wing and later relocate that soldier. Preferably to the stables.

Bhairav trails four steps behind them, closer than normal, as his princess leads the man out of the royal wing and makes the first step to the Mahadev temple.

He stays quiet as she speaks of the architecture and the history of the palace, notes the way she runs her fingers in the carvings and knows every anecdote of the palace by heart. Vijay keeps speaking in between her lessons. It is extremely unbecoming and he knows she hates Vijay's behaviour. Bhairav is counting minutes to his Princess' ire increasing.

He isn't disappointed. Mere moments after his princess tells them of a story of a handloom and how the business is now a part of the royal palace, Vijay commits the grave mistake.

"A single saree takes almost six months to be—" his princess is speaking, spouting off facts that she's learnt since she was a child. She sounds professional rather than the animated tone she uses when she's talking to her family or Yamuna or Katappa or Bhairav himself.

Vijay interrupts her. "Is your follower always going to be following us?"

Bhairav can find five things wrong with that singular question and he's a base born soldier. His princess, who excels in etiquette, would find this grievous. She casually looks at Vijay, craning her neck gracefully, hiding her ire that Bhairav can see forming in the tightness of her shoulders.

"Yes, Mahoday. He is my sworn sword. Where I go, he goes." She's making him sound nothing more than a soldier and when she sneaks a glance at him while Vijay shakes his head, Bhairav pouts mockingly at her. It gets her to smile and her shoulders ease down, so he considers it a success.

A momentary success, however.

Vijay turns back to the princess and smiles condescendingly. "Then I must habituate myself with seeing Bhairav, shall I?"

"His name is Bhairavrath." His princess says, her tone chilling. Vijay looks back at Bhairav for a beat before he turns towards the princess, who continues to speak about the handlooms, as if she had not been interrupted at all.

Bhairav applauds her patience.

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Bhairav takes his midday meal with Katappa, who keeps on yapping about the stress he has because of security management on Mahashivratri. Bhairav, who is already eager to get back to his princess, sneaks off a glance at the formal dining area that they can see from the practice yards.

His princess sits stiffly but is flanked by her two brothers. The governor sits across from her, accompanied by her uncle and the Queen Mother takes the seat at the head of the table. Bhairav turns his attention back to Katappa the moment he spies Bahubali beginning to turn his head.

"I don't like the governor's household soldiers either," Katappa complains, sighing heavily,"They seem like the trouble making sort, honestly."

Bhairav remembers another celebration where his princess was attacked. He remembers dark bruises and reactionary tears. "Keep them as far away from the temple as possible." He says sharply.

Katappa nods, understanding him already. The soldier beside him, Bhallaldeva's sworn shield, Veeraraj, raises his eyebrows. "And just what should we tell them for the placement? It's a complete coincidence and not personal resentment?"

"We'll tell them the half truth," Bhairav says, it's obvious and he's irked that neither of those two highly appreciated soldiers know how to lie properly. "These people haven't experienced the Mahashivratri of the capital and don't know how to deal with the mass. It's better their interaction is minimal."

Katappa gives him a look. "Should I be concerned that you're lying so well, Bhairavrath?"

Before Bhairav can say anything, Veeraraj snorts. "He's been serving the princess for years now, Katappa. He ought to have learnt some semblance of diplomacy from her too."

A retort sits hot on his tongue. (Did you learn belittling people from your master, then?) But he keeps it down and closed. "Learning from esteemed people is a privilege." He says, daring the man to say a word about his princess.

Veeraraj takes the hint, as pigheaded as he can be, he knows the reputation Bhairav has cultivated over the years in protecting his Princess, even from words.

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The anger his princess holds calms down over the day.

Vijay doesn't leave her side and that irks Bhairav like a fibre of orange stuck between the gap in his back teeth. He's helpless against the situation but he desperately wishes, for once, that he held more power— if only so he could tear away Vijay from his princess' side and walk beside her.

She speaks confidently as she orders and coordinates with the palace staff. Which flowers to be ordered and their quantity, which temples to decorate and how, which libraries to donate to, which orphanages to develop. She thinks of all that and speaks, head high and shoulders back.

It's evening by the time that the princess walks into the room she uses as her study and sits down, Vijay sits across from her. Bhairav stands behind her, relaxing his stance. His princess begins to find some scrolls but it takes her only three heart beats to freeze and look over at Bhairav in clear confusion.

"Sit down, Bhairav," she says, patting a hand beside her casually, frustration bleeding into her tone as she fights to keep the scrolls on the desk from falling down. Vijay scowls and Bhairav hesitates for a second too long. "Do sit down before I have to use force, Bhairav. And help me arrange these, please."

Bhairav sits down beside her without another word and she starts to organise the rolls into piles. The scrap ones go nearer to Vijay, the completed ones remain in front of her and the incomplete ones land in Bhairav's lap. He knows why they're off the desk, of course. They're various plans of security.

His princess keeps up a steady conversation with Vijay about the West province as she arranges the scrolls, not once speaking about any security details of the Mahashivratri pooja. Vijay is dimwitted enough to seem prideful at the conversation, not knowing that it is a distraction. His princess doesn't need to ask Vijay about the farming state of the West. She already knows. Bhairav himself fetched her the reports only last week.

When Vijay finally leaves the room, dismissed by his princess under the ruse of her needing to find a particular and private tome, her shoulders relax marginally and she leans back on the wall. Bhairav relaxes as well, remaining silent as he sees her ears twitch.

In the years, he's learnt that she has a better sense of hearing than normal people. The sense of smell is not as good, but her hearing is outstanding. He doesn't speak until she looks at him, knowing she's hearing the footsteps of Vijay fade away.

His princess looks at him, suddenly tired, and blinks rapidly before closing her eyes for a long moment. Her lashes touch her skin, and under the setting sun's light that streams through the window, Bhairav can see the wave shaped birthmark on the outer corner of her left eye. She looks like a painting come alive. Bhairav doesn't want to break the silence, lest he disturb her much deserved peace.

"A trying day, is it not?" She finally says, sounding annoyed beyond her years. Bhairav suppresses a smile and nods. She continues,"Well, at least we had some work done. Remind me to talk with Katappa tomorrow, for security, please."

Bhairav notes the thought in the background of his mind and nods. "You have not had the time for your evening fruits, my princess. May I ask for them to be brought here?"

She shakes her head and cracks her knuckles as she sits up, shifting and grabbing something by her foot, on the other end of the table. Bhairav furrows his eyebrows in confusion. It's not like her to be pensive. The day must have really exhausted her.

His princess pulls out an adequately sized wooden box onto her lap and turns towards him. Her eyes sparkle in giddiness as she hands the box to him with the brightest smile he's seen on her face as she wishes,"A very happy birthday to you, Bhairav."

He's shocked. He's never told her or anyone else about his birthday before. He doesn't feel the need to create a fuss over it. "My princess—I— I cannot—"

He fumbles as he tries to speak but she raises her eyebrows in question, that includes a mild threat, and he shuts up. His eyes dart downward out of habit and he again sees the intricately carved wooden box, one that has his name carved in it.

"One should not deny gifts, my dear friend." She says, a tender smile on her face.

(It shocks him to this day, whenever she refers to him as her friend. She's the goddamn princess. And he's just— He's just Bhairav. He's a soldier. He's so far below her station, it's almost funny to call them friends.

A corner of his mind that he always tries to keep silent piques up that he accepted Katappa's offer to apprentice under him so he could be raised in status, even as a soldier. So he could be worthy of her easy friendship.)

The box in his hands is heavy and she gestures impatiently with her eyes for him to open it. He knows he can't deny her anything. With a defeated smile on his face, he opens the box.

Nestled between some jasmine flowers is a tunic of his. It had been lost ages ago, when he had pulled it off in the armoury after a new soldier had swiped his sword particularly harshly and tore the tunic at the shoulder and grazed Bhairav's shoulder enough to draw blood as well. He doesn't have a scar, it wasn't deep enough for one, but he remembers that particular soldier being assigned to someone else from the very next day.

This tunic, beige with rust orange stains at the hem, had been one he wore way too much. One of his most comfortable ones. Finding it again brings a grin to his face.

"Thank you so much for finding this, my princess," he says, grazing his fingers over the neckline. It's then that he notices his name embroidered to the nape of the tunic. He thumbs the red thread almost reverently.

He doesn't know why it affects him so, the simple act of an embroidered name. Perhaps it is because he feels as if none of his belongings are his truly. Perhaps it is because there is nothing truly in his name. But his name in red makes his heart grow twice.

He looks up gratefully at his princess again, only to see her smilingly indulgently. "Oh, you silly man," she chuckles and shakes her head,"Look what's underneath that."

He carefully brings the tunic out of the box and lays it on his unoccupied thigh, careful not to crease it. It looks cleaner than it has ever in Bhairav's possession. He notices the space where it had ripped is as good as new. She fixed it.

(Just like she keeps fixing him.)

Under the bed of Jasmine flowers, shimmers something distinctly blue. He looks at her hesitantly before scooping out the flowers and laying them on the lid of the box.

His breath catches.

It's another tunic. A distinct shade of blue that looks like a sky painted of sapphires. The neckline is softly embroidered with orange and golden thread, looking like vines of a buried treasure curling in the sea of blue. His name is again embroidered at the nape.

Reverently, he brushes his thumb over the material and it instantly feels cool and soft— water made into fabric. It's— Its muslin. It's not even silk. Muslin.

She got him a Muslin tunic.

He looks up at her, startled at so much wealth being spent on him. She smiles and for a moment, it's nervous. "Well," she says,"I know your favourite colour is blue and I intend to never wear a saree gifted by any of my presumptuous suitors. And, forgive me if the missing of your other tunic caused you any grief." Her smile turns shy and she winces slightly,"I had to get your measurements."

She made it.

A gasp buries itself in Bhairav's throat and lungs and he loses all the self control he's been so proud of. He's astonished at her generosity and kindness. The time it must have taken her to sew a whole new tunic would be momental. And Bhairav is always with her in the day, so she must have done this at night. Lost precious sleep and time over making him a birthday gift.

Him, of all people.

His breath hitches and the realisation seems to run into his blood. She cares. And oh, how beautifully. She cares.

Someone cares that he's alive and he's lived one more year.

Mouth open in shock, he stares at the tunic in his hand for five heart beats more. (He can't be too sure of the time, though. His heart is beating too fast.) He looks up, gulps down the shock and awe and lowers his gaze again. "Th—" he notices how hoarse his voice sounds and clears his throat. "Thank you so much, my princess. You did not have to do so much. I'm a servant, I don't—I am not worth the effort."

"Not unworthy. Not to me. You are worth every effort, Bhairav."

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Worked on this for like two weeks aur abhi abhi almost heart attack aa Gaya Because Tumblr showed my drafts empty 💀💀💀💀 tagging: @alhad-maharani @vijayasena @nerdreader @serenaaaas-world @voidsteffy @allizzprobablynotwell

#desiblr #suffer ye suhana nahi #desi tumblr #bahubali #baahubali #bhaisahab dar gayi thi main ki ye Tumblr ne delete tlh nhi kar diya #so before Tumblr becomes a bit #everyone say happy birthday to our resident guard dog

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