The Prince Who Became Their Queen

Chapter 7: Lessons in Silk

The days settled into a rigid, exhausting rhythm.

Every morning Kiran woke her before the sun and led her to the private bathing chamber. The water was hot, the air thick with rose and sandalwood, but there was little tenderness in the routine. It was preparation, nothing more. Kiran washed her with efficient hands, oiled the increasingly smooth skin, and bound her chest and groin in fresh cotton. The padding sat heavier each day. Chandrika endured it in silence.

Breakfast was another lesson.

“Smaller bites,” Kiran said, placing the bowl in front of her. “Chew slowly. A princess does not eat like a soldier between marches.”

Chandrika forced herself to obey. The simple act of eating had become performance. She hated how quickly she was learning to perform.

Mornings belonged to Queen Leela.

The queen arrived punctually, her expression calm and unyielding. She corrected posture with firm hands on Chandrika’s shoulders, adjusted the angle of her chin, and made her walk the length of the long gallery until her feet burned.

“Again,” Leela said when Chandrika stepped on the edge of her sari for the third time. “Grace is not optional. It is armour of a different kind.”

Chandrika’s voice still betrayed her at the worst moments. During one recitation of formal greetings it rose, soft and musical, and refused to drop. The sound hung in the air. Leela said nothing. The silence was worse than criticism.

Kiran was changing too, though more quietly. The once-sharp captain now moved with careful, measured steps. Her own voice had softened. Sometimes Chandrika caught her staring at her hands as if they belonged to a stranger. Neither of them spoke about it.

On the fifth day Leela dismissed the maids early and closed the door.

She placed a carved wooden phallus in Chandrika’s hands.

The weight of it felt obscene.

“Mother—”

“Necessary,” Leela said. Her cheeks were faintly flushed, but her voice did not waver. “The marriage bed will not wait for your comfort. You will learn to please without hesitation. If you need to be angry, be angry. Then do it anyway.”

The lesson was clinical and deeply humiliating. Leela guided her hands and mouth with patient, precise instructions. Chandrika’s face burned. Every motion felt like another piece of Surya being scraped away. The worst part was not the act itself — it was the quiet, traitorous focus that settled over her as she concentrated on doing it correctly. The Rasayana was already teaching her body to accept what her mind still rejected.

When it was over, Leela touched her cheek once, briefly.

“This is the price,” she said. “Pay it cleanly.”

That night Kiran found her sitting on the edge of the bed, still shaking.

She did not offer comfort with words. She simply sat beside her and rested their shoulders together. The silence between them was heavy with shared loss.

Mahaveer came on the sixth day.

He entered without knocking while Chandrika was practising the slow, gliding walk Leela had demanded. His eyes moved over her from head to toe — the sari, the bound chest, the careful posture — and for once there was no smirk.

“You look the part,” he said finally. “I didn’t think you would.”

Before she could answer, a messenger burst in, breathing hard.

“Word from Jayanagar. King Viran’s envoy will arrive in four days, not ten. They intend to present gifts and assess the princess in person.”

The room went still.

Mahaveer exhaled through his nose. “Four days.” He looked at Chandrika, and something almost like respect flickered across his face. “Then you had better be perfect, little sister. If they suspect anything, the alliance collapses and Kalakeya will be at our gates within a week.”

He stepped closer and lowered his voice.

“What you’re doing is mad. And necessary. Don’t fail.”

After he left, Chandrika stood alone in the centre of the room. The sari felt heavier than armour ever had. Four days. The mirror on the far wall showed a graceful young woman in silk and gold. She stared at the reflection until her eyes burned.

Somewhere behind that face, Surya was still screaming.

She was no longer sure how much longer he would be heard.