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Ritupriyan's body pressed closer to the princess from behind. The lower part of his body aligned with her waist and hips in a light yet deeply intimate contact. His warmth spread from her waist downward, and every nerve in her body seemed to respond. Her heart pounded wildly in secret, her breath caught, and her vision blurred.
He whispered softly into her ear,
"Do not be afraid. I have come to serve you."
Standing witness to this scene was Commander Jyotishman. His eyes widened as if struck by an explosion. Seeing the prince and the princess in such close, intimate contact left him utterly stunned. Along with shock came a strange discomfort—was he truly seeing this, or was it an illusion?
Ritupriyan spoke again into Trishanvita's ear in a low, warm voice,
"I can tell where my touch is most desired by your body… Do you want me to serve you like a devoted servant?"
At his words, Princess Trishanvita tried to hide her face in embarrassment.
But the moment she sensed Jyotishman's gaze, her shame doubled. She struggled harder to free herself, her movements growing frantic. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest.
Seeing her distress, Ritupriyan finally removed his hand from her mouth and stepped back slightly.
The instant she was free, the princess turned around and slapped Ritupriyan hard across the face.
Commander Jyotishman was speechless. Never in his life had he witnessed such a thing—no one had ever struck the prince before.
Ritupriyan's eyes widened as he stared at Trishanvita in shock.
Only then did Trishanvita notice—the two of them were dressed as soldiers. A dark cloud of anxiety surged through her mind.
Trishanvita (anxiously):
"How did you come here? And that too—completely unharmed!"
Ritupriyan (calm, dismissive):
"What is it now? Are you thinking of punishing us again?"
Trishanvita (hesitantly):
"Did you come here willingly?"
Jyotishman (respectfully):
"Yes, Princess. We came of our own accord."
Trishanvita was left utterly stunned.
"How is that possible?"
Ritupriyan suddenly burst into laughter. The sound shattered the silence of the chamber. Jyotishman and Trishanvita both stared at him in astonishment.
Ritupriyan (laughing):
"What do you think of us, Princess? I am no ordinary prince. One day, I will seize this empire from that devil, Emperor Kayotran!"
Jyotishman (calmly):
"Prince, please restrain yourself."
Trishanvita continued to stare at them, eyes filled with disbelief.
Ritupriyan then fixed her with a deep gaze and said,
"We were brought here as servants for your bedchamber. If that is so, why were we being stopped from entering your chamber?"
Trishanvita (steadily, though her voice trembled with worry):
"Because you are healthy now. That means you are capable of movement."
At these words, both Ritupriyan and Jyotishman froze in shock.
Trishanvita's voice had turned grave—her eyes held shadows of mystery, and her lips carried an unspoken dread.
---
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The Past
The chamber where Princess Trishanvita lived appeared exquisite from the outside—blue silk curtains, intricately carved golden furniture, fragrant floral arrangements, and gem-studded hanging lamps. Yet within that bedchamber lay a silence that carried only death.
Emperor Kayotran—Trishanvita's own brother—had turned this beautiful room into hell, a polished yet blood-soaked execution ground.
At the western edge of the palace, where no light entered and even the air felt suffocating, lay the "Lower Cells"—a dark, damp prison. This was where war-ravaged men were held captive—mostly warriors from enemy kingdoms, some rebel soldiers, some princes of noble blood. None of them were criminals. They were the last remnants of stolen freedom.
Emperor Kayotran punished them with ruthless precision.
Standing beside them, he would say casually that any wounded prisoner who still retained strength enough to fight should be crippled completely—every last trace of movement destroyed—and then sent to Trishanvita's bedchamber.
First, they were kept for days without water, treatment, or food. Then the torture began—bones shattered, spikes driven into muscles, fire and smoke burned into their eyes. Some could no longer walk, some could no longer speak. They were broken so thoroughly that resistance became impossible. Their bodies existed only to breathe—nothing more.
One by one, these men were sent to Princess Trishanvita's bedchamber as her "bed servants." Some had shattered hips, some torn knees, others iron chains driven through their shoulders. They were bloodied, silent, destitute, and nearly dead.
They were stripped naked—bodies smeared with blood, sweat, and dust, bound only by chains. Rusted iron dug into their chests, necks, waists, and thighs so tightly that blood flow was nearly cut off.
Their hands were bound behind them, legs spread and chained to the floor—so that not even an inch of movement was possible.
The guards laughed.
"Another man has been placed in the princess's chamber to serve her."
Others sneered,
"Let's see if the princess likes this one!"
Night after night, Trishanvita would awaken to find a bloodied, unconscious man chained in the center of her chamber—terror in his eyes, death clinging to his body.
She would panic, try to open the doors, call for guards—but no one came.
It was the emperor's rule: once a "servant" was sent, he became the princess's sole possession. Alive or dead—the palace would not intervene.
Trishanvita tried repeatedly to help them. She gave them water, washed their wounds, applied ointments herself. But they were too broken, too numb, too far gone. One by one, before dawn, they would die.
No one had ever returned alive from Trishanvita's chamber. If any survived the night, they were executed by morning. Soldiers would drag the lifeless bodies away at dawn.
So much death. So many corpses. Within Trishanvita, hatred, agony, and a buried psychological torment took root.
She never shared a physical relationship with any man—there was never an opportunity.
No man survived in her chamber long enough for such a thing.
Princess Trishanvita was a virgin—and remained so.
Those sent to her were never servants. They were dying men, brutal symbols of the emperor's power.
This cruelty continued day after day. No matter how much she begged, she could not soften her brother's heart. Eventually, she fell silent. And each time, rebellion was reborn within her—a vow left unspoken.
That is why her compassion for the captured warriors gradually turned into inner conflict—because her inability to save them left her consumed by crushing guilt.
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To be continued…