As night fell and the hour to throw the dart drew near, the air around Diya and Sumendu grew heavier with dread. With every passing minute, their anxiety deepened. When the clock finally struck eleven, its chime echoing through the silence, they exchanged a single determined glance. There was no turning back now. Come what may, they would uncover the truth.
In Diya's room, Sumendu drew out the next dart. His eyes met hers—steady, resolute—before he hurled it at the board. The moment it struck its mark, the world shifted.
In an instant, they were no longer in the room.
They stood once more within the ancient fort where Sumendu had first been taken.
Sumendu spoke quickly. "We must reach your father before sunrise—before the battle begins. We have to warn him of my father's betrayal. I'm certain the answers we seek lie with him. Come—we ride."
Grabbing Diya's hand, he led her toward the stables. Within moments, they were mounted and racing through the night at breakneck speed. The wind lashed against their faces as they pushed the horses harder, knowing that once dawn broke and the armies clashed, there would be no undoing what followed.
They rode across rugged terrain toward the exposed northern frontier fort—what, in modern times, would stand near the borders of Jaisalmer, beyond which stretched nothing but endless sand. As they approached, the ramparts buzzed with preparations for war. Torches flickered. Shadows of armed soldiers moved against the stone walls.
They dared not use the main entrance.
Instead, they made for the hidden path known only to the royal family—a narrow cave concealed among jagged rocks. The tunnel sloped steeply upward, its walls pressing in around them. The air grew thin. Breath came short and sharp. Claustrophobia tightened its grip, but they did not slow.
At last, they reached the King's chambers.
The room lay in darkness.
They expected to find him awake, armored perhaps, preparing for battle.
What they saw instead froze them where they stood.
The King lay motionless upon his bed, his back arched unnaturally, a dagger driven clean through it. The steel glinted faintly in the dim light.
Diya's breath caught in her throat. As a scream began to rise from her lips, Sumendu clamped his hand firmly over her mouth.
Her eyes filled with tears. His own hands trembled.
They were too late. Far too late.
And then realization struck him like a second blow. At any moment, the ministers would enter to consult the King before the battle. If they were found here now, standing over the body, there would be only one conclusion.
They would be named the murderers.
No explanation would save them.
Sumendu's mind raced with a thousand questions—but this was no time for answers. It was a time for survival.
Diya's grief overwhelmed her; she swayed, on the verge of collapse. There was no time to console her, no time even to mourn. With grim resolve, Sumendu seized the heavy flower vase beside the bed and struck her lightly but decisively on the side of the head, catching her as she fell unconscious into his arms.
It was the only choice he had.
Lifting her, he hurried back into the tunnel, dragging her through the narrow passage toward their waiting horses.
They had to escape before the fortress erupted into chaos.
Before hell broke loose.
And before the world decided they were guilty.