Avalukkaga Vandha Ilavarasan
for @sriwrites (apologies for the HUGE delay, had to rewrite this 5-6 times for it to sound okay)
a/n: Canon divergent. Graphic descriptions of blood and violence. Mentions of sexual assault and harassment.
word count: ~6k
Vanathi couldn’t breathe.
Her jewellery clung to her skin, the cool metal sending shockwaves through her body and making her shiver. A cloth was tied around her mouth in an intricate knot, rendering it impossible for her to even open her mouth, let alone get any coherent words out. Her throat was constricted by the position she was in and the stack of necklaces pressing against it. A rough rope bound her wrists against her bare back, and any movement of her arms hurt her shoulders, back and hands. Her vision was hazy — all the objects around her were swimming and blurred, like she had been sent to a space with nothing to ground her at all.
Ishwara, she thought, what is happening?
Low muttering drifted near her. Vanathi struggled to sharpen her senses, straining to see and hear, desperate to understand what was being said. She grasped only fragments of words before a brutal strike to her head erased everything, dragging her into darkness once more.
Moonlight streamed into the room, the silver contrasting against the golden, red and purple hues of what was supposed to be Arulmozhi’s sleeping quarters. An untouched jug of water stood tall amongst the parchments and jewellery that were haphazardly strewn on the wooden table. The sound of crickets, owls and other insects occasionally broke through the otherwise still air, and the stars had reduced their twinkling, choosing to stay hidden to let the moonshine through. Seven hours had passed since the sun dipped below the horizon, and, while the prince was usually fast asleep by this time, something kept nagging at him, refusing to let him rest.
Arulmozhi turned around for the fifth time in two minutes, lost in thought. He had been agreeable throughout the day — something his brother could’ve never managed — but when night fell and he retired to his chambers, he felt this strange weight on his chest, his body entering flight or fight mode even when there were no signs of unrest in Chola Nadu, much less inside the palace. Chinna Pazhuvettaraiyar was famed for his strategic army and guard formation, and word had it that not even a fly could enter the fort without his knowledge.
Then why did he feel that something horrible had taken place?
Restless, he sat up and gulped some water. A fear he could not name tugged at his chest, gnawing till it tore the fibers of his heart and sent them up to his throat, where they restricted his breathing. He felt like he was being pulled into quicksand, and when his hands tried to grasp onto something, they were only met by slush as he was dragged in further. Someone was screaming inside his mind, begging him for help while he was helpless himself.
Suddenly, he swung his legs off his bed and stood up. It was probably stress from the meeting earlier in the day, when his father broke the news of possible Pandya disturbances in the southern region of the kingdom. All he needed was a walk to reassure himself that no one he knew was in danger, and his mind would be quietened and he could finally rest in peace. He had no idea how Aditha always maintained some sort of composure at the sound of bad news, but he was the kind of person to revel in it, as that would present an opportunity to fight people and safeguard the kingdom. He wasn’t sensitive like Arulmozhi, whose insides would turn to goo at the mere sound of violence. He was working on it, yes, but it was the first meeting he was allowed to sit in, and Kundavai had told him that this reaction was perfectly understandable the first time.
Choosing to forgo wearing any of his day clothes, he set off in the direction of the Anthapuram. He effectively had unrestricted access to its garden since it was right next to his quarters, and the thought of spending a few moments in Thanjavur’s most beautiful gardens was almost certain to calm his nerves. His shoes made little noise as he slipped out of the gates, unnoticed, and when he was certain that there were no guards at this hour, he relaxed his pace and leisurely strolled towards his destination.
That was until a golden glint caught his eye.
Arulmozhi was startled. It was rare that anything shiny was on the ground near the Anthapuram — his sister’s companions were very careful with their jewellery, relics handed down by their parents and aunts and uncles that could not be misplaced at any cost, and so were his mothers and aunts. Gold stayed either on someone’s skin or in vaults, not stained by the dirt in a garden where there were more stolen whispers than beetles.
Crouching, he picked it up, turning the anklet over in his fingers. He told himself he didn’t recognise it immediately, that the delicate pattern around the chains didn’t remind him of the music only her footsteps could make, that the downturned clasp didn’t remind him of how only she could make a clumsy moment look graceful, and the faint scratch on the second charm definitely did not remind him of when his palms held her lotus feet for a split second as he helped her onto an elephant. It was just him being observant, he thought, but his heart quickened as he closed his fist around the anklet.
The best course of action, of course, was to return it to her. Vanathi was especially careful with her jewellery — some of her statement pieces were gifted by akka herself, and the rest were ones she had inherited from her late mother’s collection. It was perfectly reasonable, then, that he should ensure that this lone one found its way back to her. Arulmozhi knew she stored everything in a chest near her bed, and it was around the time she would be packing it.
It made sense to return it now, he told himself. She would thank him politely, maybe smile softly as she leaned over the balcony to collect it from his waiting hand. Maybe, she would ask him to climb up and hand it to her himself — she knew of his abilities to scale walls — because it was late, and it made no sense for either of them to attract attention. His feet carried him faster than he intended, his heart giving an odd leap at the thought of seeing the warm glow of her lamps spill out onto the balcony. They had exchanged glances there before — her in her nightclothes, a singular white piece of cloth wrapped around her body, and him in a loose veshti and nothing else. No words had been said, and Arulmozhi knew that this occasion was not going to be any different.
But still, a part of him hoped otherwise.
Her balcony was on the eastern side of the anthapuram; a quiet wing Kundavai had insisted on when she brought her in a year ago. It was a gentle space, with low pillars etched with delicate carvings and framed by vines that climbed like poetry across stone. Every morning, it was the first to catch the light, and around it bloomed a riot of marigolds, roses, lilies, peonies, and a dozen other flowers Arulmozhi couldn’t name. Yet he knew, with a certainty he could never admit aloud, that even the sun seemed to pause when it reached her. He had seen her once then — bathed in that tender gold, her hair lit like fire, her eyes still soft with sleep — and he could swear upon Chozha Nadu itself that no goddess in any temple could rival the quiet radiance she carried in those early hours.
That night, though, her balcony was dark. The lamps were out, the curtains still, and not a trace of light spilled through the carved pillars. Even the garden below seemed quieter than usual, apart from a few places where the mud looked like it had been dragged. Arulmozhi slowed as he reached the eastern wing, his steps echoing faintly against the ground. The air felt heavier here, the familiar scent of flowers fading into something colder. He looked up at her balcony, waiting for the soft glow of lamps or the rustle of movement, but there was nothing but cold silence.
This was rare. Usually, she would be on the balcony, gazing at the pond, light from the lamps flickering across her face, or inside, getting ready to go to sleep. She seldom slept for more than a naazhigai — he knew that — but even then, the lamps would never go out. She hated darkness, hated the way it felt like it was clawing at her throat, hated the way it felt like it would swallow the air around her, and she would never be fine with being in it for a few minutes, let alone sleeping in it for hours on end.
A chill crept down Arulmozhi’s spine as he made his way toward her quarters, every step heavier than the last. It was far too quiet; the guards who usually stood by the gate were nowhere to be seen. His hand went to the doors, pushing gently at first, then harder. They didn’t budge.
Bhagvane, he prayed, please let everything be alright.
He leaned closer, letting his fingers run along the cold metal until they brushed against something slick. He shifted, angling the surface toward the moonlight — and the breath left his body.
The lock was smeared with blood.
Heart pounding, he stepped back, his eyes refusing to believe what it saw while the cogs in his mind started turning. The anklet in his hand — it wasn’t carelessness, it was Vanathi’s way of hinting to others that something had happened to her and that she wasn’t safe. The slight dragging of the mud wasn’t due to an insect or an animal, it was made by her feet as she was — no, Arulmozhi did not want to think of that.
The logical thing to do was to raise an alarm. Guards would be sent out to all corners of the kingdom, search teams looking for her. But he knew the reality of these operations; if any of the guards were spies from rival kingdoms, this would be the perfect moment to strike — everyone would be preoccupied with finding Vanathi. The blood was dry to the touch, meaning this had happened a few hours ago, probably right after dinner, and there was no telling how far they could’ve gone. They could’ve left the city already, and Thanjai was one of the main cities of Chozha Nadu, there were many routes leading to different areas, and there was no way to find her without help. Yet, he felt like any delay through the formal chains of action would only worsen the situation.
His eyes scanned the perimeter of the garden, looking for any oddities in the moonlight. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, small blotches of blood on the leaves of plants and the barks of trees became clearer. He followed their trail, watching the ground as bloody footsteps became clearer and clearer, until it led him to a figure slumped against a tree, clutching its chest, breathing labouredly.
The soldier’s face was bashed in, clearly a work of multiple assailants. Two of his bloody teeth were on the ground, drenching the soil with red blood that flowed from his face as well as armour. His weapon was nowhere in sight, but there was a deep slash across his face, deep enough to know there was no repair but also sparing major arteries so death would come slower.
Arulmozhi placed a hand on the soldier’s wrist, trying to find a pulse, a breath or just any sign that he could be saved. The pulse was slow, and the soldier cracked a bruised eye open when he felt his touch. He knew he had no time left, yet blood bubbled on the sides of his mouth as he tried to force his words out.
“They… they took the Kodumbalur princess…” he rasped, the words barely threading through the night air. “Prithvi-Prithvipathi’s pallipadai.” His voice broke into a wet cough, blood staining his chin. Arulmozhi leaned closer, his heart pounding, but the soldier’s next words came out as a whisper that seemed to hollow the world around them.
“They were laughing,” he choked, eyes rolling back. “Said they’d… put the Pandya heir in her.”
The stench of alcohol snapped Vanathi out of her slumber.
Panic settled in first. She knew she had been kidnapped — she wasn’t that stupid — but she didn’t know where she was, or whether she was alive. Was she dead? Had she died in her sleep, and this was God’s chariot taking her to the heavens? Or was she going downward to Yamaloka, the land of Yama? Was this her way to punishment for everything she had done wrong in her life? How was Ponniyin Selvan? Sleeping, undoubtedly, probably dreaming of the princess he told her he was going to marry. What about Kundavai akka? She would raise an alarm once she woke up, but would it be too late by then? Would she mourn her? Or would she just do the rites for the sake of them and enjoy the rest of her day with the other princesses? Vanathi was nothing remarkable, she knew that, but she hoped she was Kundavai’s best friend, as she was to her.
Vanathi, if you are ever in danger, the first thing you should do is take a deep breath, Kundavai’s voice floated in her brain, foggy through the rest of her thoughts, yet hard enough for her to hear. No good will come out of overthinking. Assess the situation, and then make a move. More often than not, the solution will reveal itself to you faster if you don’t let yourself get distracted by the thoughts in your head.
Akka was right. She was definitely not dead, because a dead person wouldn’t feel the breath rushing through their lungs. What she needed now was oxygen, and she calmed her breathing, letting her rational brain take over. She couldn’t afford to open her eyes — not yet, till she had gathered enough nerves and brains for her next move.
Disoriented, she tried to make sense of where she was. She was seated upright now, neck bereft of necklaces and chains. The air around her was musty — fresh from the night and stale from the lack of air where they were, meaning she was well out of the city, probably an hour or two away, considering the night was still young.
The next thing she took note of was how she was bound. She was against a pillar, mouth gagged by a cloth, legs stretched out in front of her. Surprisingly, her ankles hadn’t become numb yet, and she could still feel the way the ropes dug into her skin. Her arms were tied behind the pillar, and as much as she tried, she could not feel the tension in the ropes snapping. She shifted her posture a bit, imperceptibly, lest her kidnappers noticed, and her fingers could easily touch the ground now, information Vanathi stored for later.
The sounds of her captors became clearer as she strained to hear what they were saying between slurred laughter. Their words were somehow still coherent, and Vanathi cracked her left eye open just a little to see what was happening.
The scene turned any courage in her to ice.
Five men, all muscular and rugged, were laughing, wine sloshing around in their glasses. They had thrown their heads back, guffaws ringing in her ears like the asuras she had only read about had come alive and were sitting in front of her. They were definitely adults, older than Aditha Karikalan even, and the scars lining their bodies were a clear threat — they knew how to fight, and most times, they had won. Some of the alcohol dribbled from their chins and landed on the floor, but they paid no mind, too lost in their drunken stupor to care about table manners.
They were predators, and she was their prey.
Her heart thudded in her chest, images of what they would do to her flooding her mind. Obviously, death would be the forgiving option, just killing her and dumping her body into the mud. Or they just wanted her wealth, which was even better, but they wouldn’t have kidnapped her just for a few pieces of gold. Maybe they wanted information about the kingdom, in which case, she was fully prepared to die, because no matter what, she was never going to divulge confidential matters, or anything for that matter, to these people when she did not know who they were and what they wanted.
One of them sharply turned towards her, and Vanathi immediately closed her eyes, pretending she was still knocked out. He was wearing heavy shoes, the sound of his footsteps vibrating the ground she was unceremoniously seated on, and she could smell the alcohol in his breath when he leaned close to her.
“What a little princess,” he drawled, fingers lightly brushing against her skin. “Shame she won’t be the same after we’re done with her.”
A shiver ran down Vanathi’s spine as she tried to make sense of that threat, somehow still registering the sound of even more footsteps. Another finger lightly glided across her cheek, and she couldn’t help but flinch slightly, even though there was no other sign of movement on her face.
“But where is the fun if she is knocked out during it?” a voice asked from far away, and the fingers on her disappeared for a second as they contemplated his question. “Wake her up first. Let’s see what she has to say. Let her remember this day for the rest of her life.”
Guffaws followed, and someone splashed alcohol onto her face while someone else dug their fingers into her cheek. She jolted awake, only to be met with five pairs of eyes leering at her. She looked at all them, trying to find some sort of mark that would give her the information she needed, but all her efforts were in vain.
Vanathi, Kundavai’s voice floated in her brain. Find the leader. Find the one making the decisions. You rattle them, you rattle the entire group.
The shortest man stood right next to her bound arms. He didn’t look like he was the one calling the shots, in fact, he was the most disinterested amongst the five, not even paying any attention to her apart from the bare minimum he was expected to do. Neither did the man crouching near her, but he was definitely interested in her, the way his eyes travelled over her entire body, shamelessly following the dip of her neck and the curve of her waist.
“You know, I hate these princesses,” the man from earlier said, pushing his minions aside to look at her uninterrupted. His voice had a slight slur to it, and his steps were slightly wobbly. He crouched down to her level and grabbed one of her necklaces. “They wear so much jewellery even inside the palace. Makes them almost impossible to kidnap, you know? Their jewels hide their beauty. Makes them look stronger than they are.”
His hand suddenly pulled her necklaces, little gems falling from the tension, and flung it away somewhere. Vanathi could see it land much further than she expected — maybe even outside the place she was kidnapped in — and her blood ran cold. If he was so strong when drunk, how was he going to treat her?
“There, see? The hollow of her collarbones is more visible now.”
He followed the same procedure for the rest of her jewellery —ripping them from her body, throwing them far away from her and making a lewd comment about her body before repeating it all over again. By the end of it, Vanathi was close to tears as she watched them take in her body with just her clothes stopping them from seeing it in its entirety. Two of them asked for permission to touch her, but the boss spat at them, telling them to wait their turn.
“Look how helpless she is, tied up like this, like a present we can unwrap,” the leader said, not looking at the others even once. “She will flinch even if we drop the glass near her.”
Then, as if to test his theory, he smashed his glass near her bound hands, and Vanathi flinched without meaning to. Her mind was clearer, though, and she realised one of the sharp pieces had fallen right near her fingers, and she could start cutting through the rope without anyone noticing. Her gag was removed, next, and she immediately sucked in a gulp of air, grateful for being able to speak.
Many people tend to underestimate women, Akka had said on her first day. Use that to your advantage.
“Who are you?” Vanathi asked, her voice weak. It wasn’t the best question to ask — but she was panicking, and that was the first thing that came to her mind.
The men around her laughed, and the leader moved closer to her. “Introductions?”
“I’d like to know whose hands I’m dying by,” she replied.
“Good answer,” the tallest man mused and looked at the boss for approval. He nodded, and the man moved closer. She could hear the alcohol in his glass. “You’re not going to see your beloved Chola kingdom after this, anyway.”
Vanathi’s heart stopped, but she forced herself to not show a single reaction as he continued.
“The Pandya kingdom is rising once again. Ravidasan and his queen — like a chit of a girl can make decisions — have shortlisted one candidate, a child they picked up at the end of a street. But a child that carries both the Chola blood,” his gaze stopped at her lips, “and the Pandya blood… will be invincible.
“And we are not going to stop at anything for that to happen.”
The implication of his words sat heavy in Vanathi’s chest, tears pricking at the bottom of her eyes. Death would be kinder, much kinder than this, but the men surrounded her again. With a sinking realization, she realised she wouldn’t be able to hold any of them off. They were probably going to move her from place to place till she delivered the child and fed it, and then she was going to be discarded like an incubator whose use had been completed.
Ishwara, she prayed. If I have been a good devotee all my life, please save me from this fate.
Somehow, her voice was still level. “But how will you prove the legitimacy of this child?” she asked. Her fingers had managed to grasp a shard of glass, and she was slowly using the sharp edge to cut through the rope, taking care not to make much noise. “Surely another child that appears randomly, claiming to have Pandya blood, will not be accepted at face value, would it?”
All the men laughed around her, mocking her words. Some of the alcohol in their glasses spilled onto her face and body, but she refused to scream or cry. Her plan was clear — she would keep them as occupied as possible with words till she managed to free her fingers a little, and then she would slit her wrist, hopefully deep enough to lose enough blood that she would die in mere minutes.
The leader stepped over her bound legs, feet on either side of her hips. He dropped a knife on her lap.
The engraving of a fish was unmistakable.
“You see that dagger?” He forcibly grabbed Vanathi’s chin to look at him. “That is only given to the blood relatives of the Pandyas. I am Veerapandyan’s nephew, and you, Princess of Kodumbalur…” he leaned closer to her, face inches away from hers, “will be the mother of my child.”
Any and all sense disappeared from her mind the minute he said that, and, for a second, Vanathi became a little kid again, her thoughts too frozen for even a small word to slip out. Her throat felt like it was closing, and whatever she did, she couldn’t open her mouth, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move her limbs. Her entire body had shut down, and she couldn’t do anything but stare at the face of the leader, who was looking far too pleased with her reaction.
He stepped away from her and pointed at the men standing.
“I want her ready in half an hour. All of you leave after my bath.”
Vanathi shook her head and tried to scream, tears streaming down her face when she realised she had lost all control over her muscles and could do nothing as the men reinforced her restraints, the rough rope bruising her wrists. The stench of alcohol hit her once again as someone pushed a gag into her mouth. She tried thrashing against them, willed her arms and legs to move, but they had turned into stone, and were limp, held tightly by the others.
That’s it. There was nothing she could do.
He was going to rape her.
And any chance she could leave had turned into dust.
She was never going to see Arulmozhi again. She was never going to see the radiant glow of his face in the moonlight again. She was never going to admire the way he commanded an entire battalion of soldiers, even if he was just a teenager, again. She was never going to listen to his honey voice sing thevarams in the comfort of the garden again. She was never going to have any conversation with him again. She was never going to stare at his golden face again, listen to him again, even be near him again.
Ishwara, she pleaded in her mind, if I don’t see him again, please ensure he lives a life poets will praise till the end of time. May he find success in all his pursuits. May he become the King of Chozha Nadu and take the kingdom to unprecedented heights, conquering all of Bhartavarsha. May he find love, even if it is not with me, and may he live a happy and full life, with his wives and the children he always dreamed of having. Ishwara, grant me this last wish, and I will happily kill myself after this ordeal. Let him—
Her prayers were cut off by a loud slam.
Wild curly hair appeared first, followed by a lithe figure she recognised from the sound of its footsteps alone.
For a moment, Vanathi thought her mind had conjured him out of longing. She had just prayed for his safety, for a life she would never see — it would make sense for her heart to offer this final mercy before reality returned. But the figure stepped forward, and steel scraped against stone, the slow, deliberate sound echoing through the pallipadai.
His curls fell wildly over his forehead, untamed as though he had ridden without pause. Bare-chested, clad only in a lowercloth hastily tied at his waist, he seemed stripped of every princely ornament — and yet, nothing about him looked diminished, despite his age being half of those of the men that surrounded her. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword, dragging lightly behind him, while his eyes flashed with a fury that made the air grow still.
The other hand hung loosely at his side. Something glinted there. A gold anklet swayed from his fingers, the tiny bells chiming softly with each step — delicate and fragile against the storm he carried within him. The sound drew every eye in the pallipadai, and Vanathi’s breath faltered as recognition slowly took hold.
He stopped a few paces away. The anklet swayed once more as he lifted it slightly, his gaze fixed only on her while the others stared in stunned silence.
Arulmozhi had felt anger before.
He wasn’t someone who was level-headed from childhood. He had perfected the art of maintaining a facade while his blood was boiling inside him, but he had had his moments — screaming when someone had stolen his toy, slashing at dummies when something didn’t go the way he wished it to, watching the pieces of cloth shred to mere strips when faced with his anger.
But that day, he had felt something he could only describe as pure, unadulterated rage.
He had just tossed the anklet to Vanathi when one of the scums came to their senses and lunged at him, but he deflected him easily, sending him reeling backwards, clutching his abdomen where Arulmozhi’s sword had slashed.
The others snapped out of their trances then, and charged.
Arulmozhi moved before the first man had even steadied himself. The spear thrust meant for his shoulder glanced off as he twisted aside, his sword flashing in a sharp arc that struck the shaft and sent it clattering away. A club came swinging from the left — he ducked, drove his elbow into the man’s ribs, and pivoted, the flat of his blade slashing across another’s forearm. The scythe wielder rushed him recklessly, drunk fury clouding his senses, but Arulmozhi stepped in close, catching the wooden handle and wrenching it downward with brutal force. The man stumbled forward, and Arulmozhi shoved him aside, sending him crashing into the one with the club. The pallipadai filled with the sounds of slow breaths, metal scraping stone, and the dull thud of bodies colliding.
The man with the club recovered quickly, and came at him, along with a companion. A spear grazed his arm as he turned, and he hissed. A club caught his sword with a jarring crack, and, before he could react, one of the men lunged at him from behind, striking his wrist hard. The sword slipped from his grasp and skidded across the floor. In front of him, the man grinned, surging forward to tackle him — but Arulmozhi met him head-on. His fist drove into the man’s jaw, snapping his head back; his knee followed into the abdomen, knocking the breath from him. When the man still staggered forward, Arulmozhi seized his arm, twisted sharply, and sent him crashing onto the ground with a force that left him groaning and clutching his shoulder. Another tried trapping him in a headlock, but Arulmozhi threw his back and was pretty sure he had broken his nose. Within moments, four of the five men were reeling — clutching bruised ribs, bleeding arms, or gasping for breath.
Arulmozhi bent, retrieved his sword, and straightened.
That was when the last man moved.
In the chaos, he had stumbled toward Vanathi, shaking but desperate. Before anyone realised what was happening, he yanked at the ropes binding her hands and dragged her upright. His arm locked around her, pulling her against him, and a small knife appeared at her throat, its edge pressing against her skin.
“One more step,” he started, blood dripping from his temple where Arulmozhi had struck him, “and you will never see your beloved princess again.”
Arulmozhi’s eyes finally landed on Vanathi, and he felt like something had stabbed him in his chest.
In the commotion, he hadn’t noticed how Vanathi’s jewellery was lying on the floor, discarded and pushed around. Her hair was loose, falling like a sheet behind her back, and her radiant face was stained with dirt, grime and what looked suspiciously like alcohol. A small piece of her upper cloth was torn, and her mouth was stuffed with a cloth, rendering her incapable of speaking. Her hands were also bound behind her back, and the knife was placed right at her throat, and even a small movement could slit it.
But it was her eyes that undid him.
They were glistening with tears — not of helplessness, but with something far more unbearable. Relief. Disbelief. A fragile joy that seemed to break through despite everything. As though she had already accepted her fate, and his presence had shattered it in an instant. As though she could not quite believe he was truly there. But there was something steely in it, too, like she was willing to fight till the very end.
The cloth stuffed in her mouth muffled whatever sound she tried to make, but her eyes spoke enough. They flickered over him — the bare chest, the wild curls, the sword in his hand — and something softened, even as the blade pressed closer to her throat.
Arulmozhi felt his grip on his sword tighten.
For a fleeting, dangerous moment, the rage that had carried him thus far surged again, urging him to step forward, to end it in one swift motion. But the knife at her throat gleamed faintly in the lamplight, and he forced himself to still.
He had faced enemies before.
Because this time, one careless move would cost him something no amount of treasures would replace.
“Drop your sword,” the man said, forcing the knife a little more sharply against her throat. A small drop of blood fell to her chest, and Arulmozhi dropped his sword on instinct, letting it clatter against the stone floor.
“Let her go,” he finally found his voice. “She has nothing to give you. Let her go.”
The man cackled and spat on Vanathi’s face. “Nothing? She will birth my children, feed the heirs of the Pandyas, and you think she has nothing to give? Her body,” he grabbed Vanathi’s chin with his other hand, his grip strong enough to leave bruises, “is what I want, and I will take it, no matter what.”
For a moment, Arulmozhi forgot how to breathe.
He knew about the plan. The soldier back at the palace had told him that this was why they had taken Vanathi, but, hearing it from her captor himself dispelled any hopes that the soldier had heard it incorrectly. The words settled slowly, like embers sinking into dry grass, and then the fire caught. His jaw tightened, the muscles along his neck going rigid, his fingers curling at his sides. The rage that had driven him until now did not flare wildly; instead, it sank deeper, colder, turning into something far more dangerous than open fury.
“You will not touch her,” he said quietly.
“I’d like to see what a spoiled prince can do to prevent it,” the man laughed and nicked her throat once more, as if to prove his point.
Arulmozhi’s gaze locked onto Vanathi again, taking her features in for what was perhaps the last time.
Her eyes, wide and hazel, brimmed with tears that refused to fall, fearing that the smallest movement could end her lie. Strands of her loosened hair clung to her face, streaked with dirt and sweat, the smear on her cheek where the man had spat still glistening faintly in the lamplight. Her torn upper cloth fluttered slightly with her unsteady breaths, and the faint red line at her throat made his chest tighten painfully.
His fingers curled slowly at his sides, the urge to move warring against the terror of what that knife could do. If this was the last moment he would see her, he realised, he wanted to carry this image with him: her golden eyes, her untamed hair, her composure, the quiet strength she still held despite everything.
What he did not expect, however, was Vanathi’s hands to move slightly behind her back.
Her captor then let out a howl that could wake even the heaviest of sleepers.
She moved away quickly, watching her captor stumble backwards, clutching between his legs, his knife falling uselessly to the floor. Her legs were still bound, albeit loosely, her mouth was still gagged, but the rope that had tied her arms was only wrapped around one of her wrists, and the other held a shard of glass.
Not missing a beat, she grabbed the rope in her fingers and swung it low, striking her captor sharply behind his knees. Already off-balance from the pain, he collapsed with a choked cry, dropping heavily onto his knees, his hands still clutching himself in agony.
Vanathi’s chest was heaving, and she finally looked at the rope and the shard of glass in her hand, like she was startled by what she had done — the quiet, weak princess who had flinched at the sound of steel falling now standing over a man she had brought down himself.
Arulmozhi had often compared her to goddesses in his mind — but that had always been for the radiance of her face, the softness of her smile, the melody with which she spoke, the sharp intellect that left him tongue-tied.
Now, for the first time, he felt something far more unsettling.
Her hair had come loose entirely, falling wild and untamed down her back, strands clinging to her flushed cheeks. Her eyes flashed with a fierce determination and fury he had never imagined. One hand clutched the rope tightly, the other still held the shard of glass, its edge glinting faintly in the lamplight. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her mouth was still stuffed with a piece of cloth, but she didn’t gasp, she didn’t move, she just stood.
She looked less like the gentle princess of Kodumbalur and more like a goddess of wrath, stepped down from temple carvings — fierce, unyielding, and radiant in her fury.
For a heartbeat, Arulmozhi forgot the men around them.
Forgot even the sword on the floor.
And he was never going to forget just how ethereal she looked that night.
Vanathi turned towards him again, dropping the glass, and Arulmozhi snapped out of his trance. He crossed the distance between them in two quick strides, making quick work of removing her gag. She gasped once it was finally off her mouth, her voice hoarser than he ever remembered, and he dropped onto his knees, removing the intricate knots that bound her feet. Her trembling hand rested on top of his head, like she was still in disbelief of what she had done, his presence, and the fact that she was safe again.
He stood up after helping her out of the ropes, and she collapsed onto him, tears streaming down her face. Holding her in his arms, he walked them back towards a pillar and slid against it, finally allowing himself to breathe.
Vanathi clutched at him as though afraid he might disappear if she let go. Her fingers tightened around his shoulders, her face pressed against his chest, her tears soaking into his skin. The tremor running through her frame did not stop, even as she buried herself closer, seeking reassurance in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Arulmozhi’s arms came around her instinctively, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped firmly around her shoulders. The fury that had consumed him moments ago ebbed slowly, replaced by an overwhelming relief that left him almost lightheaded. He rested his chin lightly against her hair, closing his eyes for a fleeting second, as though grounding himself in the fact that she was safe — that she was truly with him, even if her hands and feet were bruised and the blood on her shoulders and ankles had caked.
He didn’t know how long they stayed like that — the realisation that he was holding her and it was against royal norms came much later — but he sat rooted to his spot, even when Vanathi’s tears slowly dried and her eyes shut against his chest.
And the world finally felt whole again.
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