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Third person pov_

A soft breeze drifted through the palace corridors, carrying the scent of flowers from the balcony. Laughter followed, bright, effortless, alive.

“Princess, slow down,” a servant pleaded, struggling to keep pace. “You’ll fall.”

“Then catch me,” the princess laughed, her voice light as she moved ahead. She was running in her own world with carefree abandon, unaware that a servant standing nearby was watching her bouncing, heavy breasts.

Prisha Chakravarti, the jewel of the Chakravarti kingdom, seventeen years old, radiant, untouched by the weight of politics and cruelty. She was beautiful undeniably so. Graceful curves wrapped in modest silks, skin glowing like warm ivory under the sun, eyes large and expressive, filled with wonder rather than caution.

A single glance from her was enough to still a room, but she remained blissfully unaware of the effect she had on others.

Her beauty drew eyes instinctively, yet her presence carried a gentleness that softened even hardened hearts.

She saw the world with trust, not suspicion. And that frightened her brother more than any enemy ever could.

“Prisha,” a voice called, firm, yet gentle. She stopped instantly and turned.

Devendra Chakravarti, her elder brother and ruler of the town, approached her with measured steps. Known for his temper in court, he was a different man where his sister was concerned.

“How many times,” he said softly, adjusting a stray lock of her hair, “have I told you not to run through the palace like this?”

She smiled up at him, unguarded, sincere. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

He sighed, helpless against that smile. “You still have your studies,” he reminded her. “Go with your sister-in-law.”

Prisha wrinkled her nose. "You know I don't like studying customs, traditions, and royal politics... They give me a headache." She pouted with her plump lips.

“But all that is necessary, they also prepare you for the future, If one day you marry the great man, he should think that his wife is very intelligent, shouldn't he?" he replied quietly.

At the mention of marriage, her cheeks warmed, and she slipped away down the corridor.

The smile vanished from Devendra’s face as his gaze hardened, settling on a soldier who had lingered too long.

“Take him away,” Devendra ordered coldly. “And remind him where his eyes should, and should not—wander.”

Later that night, his wife stood beside him. “You cannot shield her forever. Prisha is 17 years old now. Many proposals have come because of her beauty, but when everyone finds out that she is as innocent compared to others girl, they all refuse.”

Devendra exhaled slowly. “I know. There must be someone out there for my sister. Someone who will protect not only her beauty but also her innocence,"

Then his gaze fell upon Prisha, she was sitting in the garden near her flower pots, talking and laughing heartily with her maids. Her brother watched her closely from the balcony above, unease settling in his chest.

The world outside their palace was not kind to girls like Prisha, girls who trusted too easily, who saw goodness before danger.

She is so innocent and fragile; she doesn't understand the difference between right and wrong. She is untainted by deceit. Unaware of desire. Unprepared for the kind of man fate was about to place in her path.

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That same night near the riverbank, silence ruled like law. Moonlight spilled over the water, silver and cold, until it shattered under a man’s screams.

“Mercy… please… I will never oppose the king again…” The man collapsed to the ground, palms pressed together, voice breaking with terror.

“You mistake treachery for courage,” a calm voice answered. The man didn’t beg anymore. He trembled. Steel flashed once.

Blood splattered against the ground. The onlookers gasped, some turning away in horror, but the man who held the sword did not even blink. He exhaled slowly, lips curving into a faint, dangerous smirk as crimson dripped from the blade.

“People call disloyalty a necessity,” he said quietly, eyes dark and unfeeling.

“Betrayal remains betrayal, no matter how beautifully it’s justified.”

This man was Shaurya Rathore. A ruthless, unwavering royal soldier who existed for one purpose alone, to protect his king and kingdom at any cost.

“Sir,” a soldier approached, bowing. “the king has summoned you. There is a command regarding a disobedient man hiding near the palace alleys. You are to handle it before dawn.”

Shaurya straightened, sliding his sword back into its sheath. “The king’s command,” he replied evenly, “is above all.”

And without another glance at the body behind him, he walked away.

Shaurya Rathore, 27 years old—one of the highest-ranking royal soldiers.

Feared by enemies. Desired by women. Untouched by emotion. Standing at 6’2”, with a wheatish complexion, light brown eyes that held no mercy, and a physique honed by years of battle, he carried a presence that demanded submission.

His smirk could make hearts race, and souls tremble. For four years, he had lived by one truth alone: Duty above everything.

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In a notorious alley of the kingdom, known for its brothels, a 30-year-old man was sitting and gambling. "Look at my technique... I'll be very rich one day."

He was just about to collect his winnings when a pouch of gold coins was placed in front of him. "What's the hurry? Let's play a few rounds together."

A firm, controlled voice stopped him. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Without looking at the person, he said, "No, it's late now, I have to go."

The man stepped forward, holding the pouch out to him. "Think about it, you won't get this chance again..." The 30-year-old man looked at the person in front of him with wavering, frightened eyes and was stunned.

"What happened? Why did your breath catch when you saw me?" The man, who was none other than Shaurya, tilted his head slightly and met the man's frightened gaze with his own intense eyes.

"Forgive me... Please forgive me..." Saying this, the 30-year-old, defiant man ran away, his steps faltering, his breath coming in gasps.

Shaurya stood nonchalantly and said to a nearby soldier, "These dogs run away for no reason... Bastards."

He added, "Go catch him and give him a good beating. He's already drunk anyway, he won't be able to run far, nor will he be able to use his hands or feet. Until I'm done having my fun with the women in this alley." A knowing and dangerous, breathtaking smirk plastered itself across his lips.

Without delay, he entered a brothel where the women were instantly captivated by him. They all tried to get his attention and beckon him over, but he went straight to a single room.

"Is Malti alive...?" he asked.

"Of course, master... Only for you," a girl in the room, who was Malti, said in a sultry voice, smiling as she looked at Shaurya through the mirror.

"You bitch, you'll never change..." He stormed into the room, grabbed her hair, and pulled her up. "How many times have I told you to kneel down the moment you see me and beg me to f*ck you, showing me your breasts, Don't you want my d|ck anymore?" Shaurya gritted his teeth.

Malti gasped, but knowing Shaurya's behavior, she simply nodded and said, "I can always kneel down and beg for you..."

"Then what are you waiting for? Get started..." Shaurya released her abruptly without any expression and sat down on the bed.

She composed herself and, taking a deep breath, unhooked her blouse, all the while feeling Shaurya's gaze upon her. "You sl*t, look up... You're not so innocent that you should be shy around me."

Now, who would tell Shaurya that his every glance and gesture drove every girl crazy or sent shivers down their spines..

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Morning light streamed through the tall arched windows of the royal court as ministers and officials sat in their designated places, murmuring quietly among themselves. The atmosphere shifted the moment the massive doors opened.

King Sheikh entered.

Instantly, the court fell silent. Everyone rose to their feet in respect, heads bowed.

A step behind the king, like a living shadow of authority, walked Shaurya Rathore. His presence alone commanded attention; his sharp gaze scanned the court with habitual vigilance, missing nothing.

The king settled onto his throne, signaling the others to sit. The meeting commenced, matters of trade, borders, and governance discussed with formality. Then, as if recalling something important, King Sheikh raised his hand.

“In two days,” he announced calmly, “a dear friend of mine from a neighboring kingdom will arrive at our palace with his family.”

A murmur rippled through the court.

“It is my command,” the king continued, his voice firm, “that neither he nor his family face even the slightest inconvenience. Their comfort and safety are the responsibility of every soul in this palace.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the court responded in unison.

The meeting soon concluded. As the officials began to leave, King Sheikh’s voice stopped two men.

“Shaurya. Jayant. Stay.”

The chamber emptied until only the king and his two most trusted soldiers remained.

Adjusting the shawl over his shoulders, King Sheikh leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp and deliberate.

“As you heard,” he began, “my friend will be arriving with his family. Naturally, his sister will accompany him.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “He wishes for her to be married into a family of high standing within our kingdom.”

Shaurya remained expressionless, standing tall, hands clasped behind his back. Jayant shifted subtly, sensing the gravity in the king’s tone.

“There is a matter concerning this alliance,” the king continued slowly, eyes moving between the two soldiers. “A command regarding this… that you must accept.”

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So this is the first chapter: I know it's a little awkward, but the story is great, so stay tuned.