Page 50 of The Prince Without Sorrow

Chapter Forty-Nine

Ashoka

‘I S THAT... A WINGED SERPENT?’ S ACHITH ASKED, HIS hands shielding his eyes as he stared up at the sky.

From his seat on the balcony of his father’s study, Ashoka trained his eyes towards the clouds. Sure enough, the silhouette of a giant winged beast was flying closer and closer to them. Its body twisted and swirled in the sky before the serpent changed direction and began to descend.

‘A royal messenger,’ Ashoka told Sachith. Rahil was not with them; he was still hurt by Ashoka’s words and had gruffly informed him that he would be patrolling the streets that morning. He was yet to return.

If this was what love was, to be made happy before he was broken, Ashoka wished he had never realized it. Hurting Rahil was to hurt himself, and it was akin to a shard of glass wedged into the sole of his foot that he could not remove. Being empires apart had been lonely enough but having Rahil here and actively avoiding him was even lonelier.

‘There must be some sort of urgent news, Prince Ashoka,’ Sachith remarked. ‘Do you want one of the staff to greet the messenger and relay the news to you?’

Ashoka stood from his chair. ‘No need,’ he replied. ‘I will meet with the messenger myself.’

By the time he exited the royal estate, the winged serpent and its rider were still descending. Its wings created a welcome gust of wind as it slowed to land. This was a dark brown winged serpent, its scales the colour of damp earth. Unlike Sahry, the creature was more docile. It allowed one of the soldiers to remove its saddle after its rider slid off its back and proceeded to curl into itself on the courtyard. Poor thing: it would have been tired from its long flight to Taksila. Beneath the hot sun, it could rest.

Ashoka focused his gaze on the royal messenger. A tall woman with windswept black hair and a brown satchel attached to her side came towards him, her stride long and purposeful. When she stopped in front of him at the estate steps, she bowed.

‘Prince Ashoka,’ she greeted him. She sounded breathless. Anticipatory. ‘My name is Samiha. I bring a message. From Empress Aarya.’

At first, her words did not register. Only after he reviewed the word ‘empress’ did shock finally hit him like a ton of bricks.

‘ Empress Aarya?’ he repeated. This was a dream; he was hallucinating – he had to be. Had he been transported into that terrifying dreamworld again?

‘Yes, Prince Ashoka,’ Samiha replied. Her mouth tilted downward. ‘The emperor has succumbed to a state of deep sleep. He has been rendered comatose, either from poison or mayakari magic. The physicians think it is the former. Your sister tells the latter.’

He could hear the birds, feel the warmth of his sun on his skin. This was the real world.

It couldn’t be. Arush, succumbed to a comatose state? How had it happened, and who was responsible for it? Ashoka could not imagine his impetuous older brother lying on his bed, asleep and unable to be awakened. And now Aarya had taken his place...

‘Give me the letter, Samiha,’ he instructed. Dutifully, the woman reached into her satchel and produced a rolled-up piece of parchment that was sealed with wax. It bore the insignia of his family. If Arush was unable to wake, it meant that Ashoka was now the second-in-line to the throne.

Spirits, so close.

His hands were shaking. It had felt like aeons ago when he had stated that the throne was too far away to reach. Now, it was achingly near.

But Aarya was on the throne. Knowing her, the letter could only spell trouble. He could only imagine what this could be about. The seal cracked in half as he prised the letter open. Aarya’s neat, loopy scrawl stared back at him. It felt like a threat.

Steeling himself, Ashoka pored over the contents of the letter:

Little brother,

You may have heard the news by now – our dear Arush has been rendered comatose. In his absence, I have been made acting regent. The empress, until he wakes, that is. I do not know when I will give up my tenure.

Or perhaps, I never will. Only time can tell.

As the new regent, I will be making swift changes to Arush’s previously laid plans. I am relocating our soldiers to the south as father meant to do. Additionally, I aim to clean whatever messes you have made in your governorship.

As your new monarch, my command to you is this:

Remove the Ridi soldiers from Taksila. Lift the ban on mayakari killings. I do not understand why you attempt to destroy father’s legacy, but I will not let you. You are not the emperor, little brother, and you never will be. Heed my warning. Obey my command. You may be my family, but when it comes to the empire, I shall choose its glory over you. This is your final warning.

If you fail to comply, rest assured, Ashoka – I will bring war to you.

When he finished reading it, Ashoka scrunched up the parchment and threw it onto the ground, much to the messenger’s surprise.

Aarya still thought he was malleable, that he would try to resolve their disagreement with peace. She thought that his idealism was some errant-born rebelliousness that needed tempering. And, in true Aarya fashion, she was trying to repress it with a threat with the idea that Ashoka would fold and walk away and nurse his injuries alone.

Father’s replica indeed.

Samiha’s face was expressionless. Ashoka waited till her gaze travelled back to him, made sure that she could see his hard-set appearance. ‘What message should I give the empress, Prince Ashoka?’ she asked.

Empress . Hah.

‘Tell my sister that I refuse her commands,’ he told Samiha. From his periphery, he saw Sachith’s eyes widen. Ashoka could only imagine what Rahil would say – or not say. But this was not his decision to make. To reverse his father’s bloody legacy would be to spill his own. He wasn’t afraid of his siblings the way he had been afraid of Adil. He was not the same Ashoka Maurya who had left the Golden City. This Ashoka Maurya had learned to be different.

If his sister wanted a war, he would give her one. And then he would claim the Obsidian Throne.