Samhita Maity, a historian, found excitement in discovering long-lost secrets of histories- a perfectionist in her work.
However, there was one mysterious figure eluding her expertise-the exploration of the most celebrated king of ancient India, wh...
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I can hardly fathom the reality of this moment. It's as if everything around me exists in a dreamlike state. The man I've poured a decade of my life into unraveling, the one about whom I've harbored countless fantasies of meeting in person, is now seated with his front touching my back. To add to the enchantment, his gaze is locked onto mine, while I'm enclosed in the embrace of his arms on his majestic horse.
Goodness, I'm cradled in the arms of the King of Kings, Vikramaditya.
At this very moment, an ardent desire surges within me — a longing to encounter the individual who penned the description of his appearance. The portrayal falls drastically short.
This man emanates a sense of lethality, a darkness that cloaks him in an aura of danger, yet paradoxically, he is sculpted with a breathtaking beauty. From the cascade of midnight-hued hair that drapes over his shoulders, the rugged embrace of his stubble beard, to the piercing gaze of his golden eyes, every feature is a testament to a magnificence that defies the written words and even the faint scar on his neck possesses an enchanting allure.
I blink, half expecting this guy to vanish into thin air. His whole vibe is something my eyes aren't used to seeing. Is he even real, or is the pain in my knees conjuring up illusions? My gaze drops to his lips, where I catch a flicker of movement, a twitch that might be a smile—or maybe it's just my mind playing tricks on me. Yeah, it must be a delusion.
"अब आप सुरक्षित हैं, देवी।" he utters calmly, his hand gently gliding onto my stomach, causing an involuntary gasp to escape me. He ceases his movements, keenly observing my reaction.
(You're safe now, lady)
"जी" is all I manage to say.
(okay)
My neck aches from the strain of craning it to look at him, yet I can't bring myself to divert my gaze forward.
Why does he feel both familiar and foreign, like I've known him for ages yet never met him before? His warmth wraps around me like a familiar embrace, yet he's still a stranger. His amber eyes, blazing like miniature suns, should be scorching, but instead, they offer comfort, protection even. A sharp pain shoots through my head, and I hiss, squinting my eyes before meeting his gaze once more.
Abruptly, he breaks eye contact, shifting his focus to the men kneeling before the horse. A stark change sweeps over his expression, hardening in contrast to the warmth it held moments ago.
A procession of horses trails behind him, flanked by a select few of his soldiers. Has he just returned from the thick of battle. My gaze drifts down to the hand that still holds me securely, scanning for any hint of fresh wounds. Surprisingly, there are none. But then again, who in their right mind would dare to lay a finger on the greatest King?
"Ugrasena," he utters in a grave tone, "escort these men to the kingdom. I will personally delve into the investigation of the motive behind this attack on the lady."
