Vritraketu's grip then tightened around the queen's neck. The queen winced, her lips parting slightly as pain hit her, but she refused to make a sound that would satisfy him.
Vritraketu leaned close to the queen's ear, speaking as if he were comforting her.
"You should have taught your daughter some obedience, Maharani," he murmured. "If only she were a good girl who submits to her fate and simply becomes my wife, none of this should have happened. But you dared to teach her how to fight. And that arrogance made her go against me, threatened me, and even shamelessly paraded her affection with some stranger in front of her own soon-to-be husband."
Then he looked at Mrinalini again, his eyes gleaming.
"Drop the weapon, Mrinalini, and submit yourself to me. I will leave her alive. Only her alive..." he ordered. "Or watch your mother bleed out right here."
Mrinalini stood frozen.
Her fingers tightened around the trishula.
Her nails dug into her palm.
She could end Vritraketu. She knew it. If she struck fast enough, if she aimed right, if she trusted her speed.
But the dagger at her mother's throat was too close.
Too easy.
Too final.
Vritraketu smiled again, sensing her hesitation like a man smelling fear. "That's it," he said softly. "Be a good daughter. Let go of that weapon."
Right then, the queen shifted her pose slightly.
It was small, almost invisible. But Mrinalini noticed it because she knew her mother. She knew the way her mother moved when she was about to do something foolish, brave, and stubborn.
The queen's hand slipped into the folds of her saree.
Her fingers found something hidden there.
Mrinalini's eyes widened.
"Mother, no—!"
But the queen was already moving.
In one swift motion, she pulled out a small dagger and then twisted her body sharply, driving the dagger upward toward Vritraketu's ribs.
For a heartbeat, it looked like she would succeed.
However, Vritraketu reacted faster than he thought.
His free hand snapped down and caught her wrist in a grip so brutal that the queen's bones seemed to groan. Her dagger slipped from her fingers and fell into the dirt with a dull clink.
The queen's face twisted in pain.
Vritraketu hissed into her ear, his voice low and venomous. "It won't work against me, Maharani."
He tightened his hold around her throat, and the queen's breath hitched.
Mrinalini stepped forward again, her whole body shaking.
"Leave her!" she shouted. "Fight me! Fight me like a warrior, you coward!"
Vritraketu didn't even look at her this time. He kept his eyes on the queen, as if Mrinalini was nothing more than noise.
The queen's tears flowed freely now, not because she feared death, but because she knew what her death would do to her daughter.
She turned her head slightly, enough to look at Mrinalini.
Her eyes softened, filled with a sorrow that made Mrinalini's stomach twist.
"Daughter," the queen said, her voice trembling but clear, "I am sorry… I could not protect you."
Mrinalini's lips parted, but no sound came out. Her chest felt like it was being crushed.
The queen swallowed with difficulty, the dagger still pressing against her throat.
"I hope," she continued, "I will not see you in Naraka Loka… where I will go now… after doing this."
Mrinalini's heart dropped, realizing her mother's next move. She could see it in her eyes.
"Mother, stop!" she screamed. "Don't—!"
But the queen had already decided.
With the last of her strength, she moved her head so swifly, dragging her neck across the blade of Vritraketu's dagger.
The queen's eyes stayed open for a moment, still fixed on Mrinalini.
Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something else.
But no words came.
Then her head slumped forward.
Her body went limp.
Vritraketu released her in shock, and she fell beside the king's corpse like a dropped flower.
Blood spread beneath both bodies, joining into one pool, as if even the earth was forced to witness their union in death.
Mrinalini stared.
Mrinalini's lips trembled.
And a sound rose from her chest, deep and cracked.
"Aaaaaahhhhh...."
The divine trushla in Mrinalini's hands began to glow brighter, as if answering the rage inside her. The air around it shimmered. The ground beneath her feet trembled faintly, like the earth itself was afraid of what she had become.
Vritraketu stepped back instinctively, his earlier confidence flickering for the first time.
Mrinalini didn't speak this time.
She didn't insult him.
She didn't curse him.
She didn't grieve anymore.
She simply charged forward.
"Raaaa...."
Her scream tore through the night like lightning splitting the sky. She moved faster than fire, faster than thought, and the trishula came down straight toward Vritraketu's heart.
The Prince of Mathura barely managed to summon his sword in time but the impact sent sparks flying.
Vritraketu's feet slammed into the ground, the force of her strike nearly buckling his knees. His eyes widened, his grin finally gone.
Mrinalini struck again.
And again.
Each blow came heavy, full of grief and wrath, full of a daughter's pain turned into a weapon. Her movements were clean, trained, deadly.
Vritraketu stumbled back, blocking, parrying, his sword vibrating violently in his grip. The dark tendrils around him lashed out, trying to wrap around her arms, her waist, her throat.
Mrinalini twisted away, the trishula slicing through the shadow like it was cloth. The silver prongs left streaks of light in the air, and the darkness recoiled as if burned.
Vritraketu's jaw clenched.
He swung his sword in a wide arc, aiming for her shoulder.
Mrinalini ducked under it and drove the trishula toward his ribs.
The tip scraped armor and tore through flesh.
Vritraketu hissed, blood spilling down his side.
He leaped back, panting, his face twisting with rage.
Mrinalini didn't stop.
She advanced like a storm that refused to be escaped.
Around them, the camp continued to burn. Soldiers continued to die. Rakshasas continued to feast and slaughter. But the space between Mrinalini and Vritraketu felt like its own battlefield now, separate from everything else, as if fate itself had drawn a circle around them.
Vritraketu wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at her like she was no longer a woman, but a curse sent by the gods.
"So this is what you are," he spat. "A wolf in sheep's clothing..."
Mrinalini's voice came out cold, steady, terrifyingly calm in response, "Vitraketu, you killed my father," she said. "You forced my mother to die by her own hand."
She raised the trishula again, its glow bright enough to make the shadows retreat. "And you spoke of my body like it belonged to you, as if it were a toy you could play with. Now I will show you what belongs to me."
Vritraketu snarled and raised both hands. "We will see about that, woman."
The darkness behind him thickened, swirling into a massive wave. Shadow chains rose from the earth like serpents, twisting and whipping through the air, aiming straight for Mrinalini's legs and arms.
Mrinalini slammed the base of her trishula into the ground.
The earth cracked at the impact, and a burst of silver light exploded outward like a shockwave.
The shadow chains shattered mid-air, breaking apart into smoke. The wave of darkness split, pushed back violently as if struck by a stronger force.
Vritraketu staggered.
For the first time, fear flickered in his eyes.
Mrinalini stepped forward, her feet crunching over scorched dirt, her gaze locked onto him like an arrow that could not miss.
"You said no one would save me. I'm telling you now. Even if I die today in the process… even if Mahadeva himself comes to your rescue… You will die in my hands..."
She lifted the trishula, pointing it straight at his chest.
*