Chapter 2: Eyes Like Moonlit Water

The palace gates rose like a mouth carved from stone.

Arjunan’s sandals barely made a sound as he stepped from the temple chariot, head bowed beneath a hood of ivory linen. Gold anklets glinted softly around his bare feet, and the scent of jasmine oil clung to his skin like breath.

He was not used to stone halls. The temple was made of air and light. The palace... was a cage dressed in gold.

Thamizhi stepped down beside him, her brown eyes sweeping across every pillar, every guard.

“You don’t have to look so calm,” she whispered, tightening the silver sash at her waist. “No one here is your friend.”

“I know,” Arjunan murmured. “But I’ve danced for gods who never smiled at me either.”

That earned a small snort from her. “Careful. These gods here bleed.”

He didn't reply.

They were escorted through a wide corridor draped with silks the color of fresh blood. Arjunan kept his hands folded at his waist, palms pressed together, his every step measured.

You are not a person here. You are a symbol. A prayer dressed in skin.

And symbols, he knew, must not tremble.

The evening sun dipped below the hills, and the Grand Courtyard was lit by a hundred oil lamps. The royal family sat on a raised dais. Priests, generals, court scholars, and merchants stood along the edges, their faces unreadable behind jewels and kohl.

Arjunan stood alone in the center.

He inhaled once. Deeply.

And began to dance.

Not for the king. Not for the court.

Not even for the gods.

But for the ache he could not name.

His movements flowed like river water—arms arching, feet sliding against stone, eyes low, breath in rhythm with the drums. His bells chimed softly with each turn.

He didn’t look at them.

But he felt it—a presence.

Heavy. Watching. Burning.

Somewhere beyond the flame-lit ring of courtiers.

A prince.

He looked up.

And locked eyes with him.

He’d heard stories of Veeran—the warrior prince, the butcher of the border wars, the general who refused a crown and bathed in enemy blood.

He expected steel. Cold. Distance.

But what he saw was… tired. Controlled. Caged.

The prince’s eyes were dark and sharp, watching like a beast leashed too tightly. Not moving. Not blinking. Just burning.

Their eyes held.

And the air thickened.

Arjunan’s body moved on its own, but his soul was elsewhere. That gaze was not one of worship or reverence. It was... searching.

No man had ever looked at him like that.

No one had dared.

And Arjunan—scholar, sacred, sworn—didn’t look away.

Later, he sat in a side chamber, cooling his feet in a shallow bowl of rosewater. Thamizhi stood by the window, arms crossed.

“You saw him.”

“I did.”

“You held his eyes for too long.”

“I know.”

Thamizhi turned slowly. “What did you feel?”

Arjunan traced the edge of the water with one finger. “Like I was made of wax. And someone lit a match.”

She didn’t scold him. She didn’t have to.

They both knew what this meant.

He was sacred.

Untouched.

Unreachable.

And yet...

That night, Arjunan slipped from his chamber.

He didn’t know why.

He wandered into the outer garden, past torch-lit halls and silent columns, until he reached a small lotus pond.

The water shimmered. Wind rustled the vines.

He felt… watched. Again.

“Don’t sneak into the gardens alone,” a voice said, low and firm.

He turned.

And there he was.

Veeran. Half-shadowed beneath a neem tree, Sura resting beside him like a ghost in white fur.

Arjunan froze.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” he whispered.

Veeran stepped forward. “I did.”

Silence stretched between them.

A war and a prayer.

A crown and a vow.

And something neither could name, already taking root in the spaces between their words.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***