Crown of the Cursed King

The morning sun broke softly over the dense forest canopy, casting golden beams across the military camp nestled near the riverbend. Birds chirped faintly, the forest slowly waking from its slumber, but Madhvi's eyes snapped open in horror—heart racing, breath uneven, sweat trickling down her forehead.

Her mind was still caught in the flames.

The clash of steel. Her father's voice echoing "Run, Madhvi!"

The fire devouring their home.

The masked attackers.

The last glimpse of Vaishnav surrounded by shadows.

She gasped and sat up, but pain shot up her legs like a whip of fire. She winced sharply and dropped back onto the soft bedroll beneath her. The tent flaps swayed gently in the breeze. Outside, the muffled sounds of soldiers training filled the air—shields clanking, swords striking practice dummies, horses neighing.

She wasn't in the jungle anymore.

She was in a military camp.

Her hands instinctively reached down to her leg—wrapped tightly with herbal cloth, supported with wooden splints. The fracture throbbed, but it was cleanly treated.

A moment later, the tent flap lifted, and a middle-aged woman entered, holding a bowl of crushed herbs and roots, their scent earthy and soothing. Her arms bore the marks of an experienced battlefield healer.

"You're lucky, girl," the woman said with a half-smile, kneeling beside her. "Another hour in the cold and your bones would've stiffened beyond repair."

Madhvi tried to sit up again, groaning. "Where… where am I?"

"Rest," the woman scolded gently, applying fresh paste on her leg. "You're in the Vaithara war camp. Soldiers found you by the riverbank—barely breathing, unconscious, bones battered like you wrestled with a mountain lion."

Before Madhvi could ask further, another figure entered the tent.

Tall, sharp-eyed, clad in training armor and a faint mark of royalty across his chestplate—it was Jay.

But this wasn't the bloodied, wounded man she had found near her hut. This was Prince Jay of Vaithara, back in strength and presence.

Their eyes met—and for a strange moment, silence filled the space.

"You're awake," Jay said softly, walking to her side. "I was worried."

"You… you're okay," she breathed, relieved. "I thought you…"

"You saved my life, remember?" he interrupted with a gentle grin. "I owe you more than a few thank-yous."

He pulled a small stool and sat beside her. "My men found you near the river—covered in cuts, unconscious… What happened that night, Madhvi?"

Her throat tightened.

"My father," she whispered. "Vaishnav… He stayed behind. He fought them."

Jay's brow furrowed. "Fought who?"

"Bandits. Maybe more. I don't know who they were… They came for us, surrounded our house. My father… he was… he was like someone else. A warrior. Not a healer."

Jay leaned in, listening intently.

"I ran like he told me to," she continued, choking slightly. "He promised he'd follow. But… he didn't."

Jay's expression turned serious. "You said… your father fought like a trained warrior?"

"Yes. He wielded a sword like—like someone from a legend. I've never seen him fight like that. He always said violence was not our way…"

Madhvi gave Jay the location of the hut, the path through the jungle, every detail her memory could offer.

"I'll send my men right away," Jay assured. "You need to rest. I'll handle this."

He stood up, glanced back once more, then left the tent with urgency.

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Later that Day

The sun dipped lower, casting amber hues across the camp. Madhvi sat upright now, her leg still stiff but wrapped sturdily.

A fresh plate of food sat before her—warm lentil stew, forest greens, and a bit of honeyed bread. She poked it half-heartedly, lost in thought.

The tent flap rustled again.

"Permission to dine with the savior of my life?" came a familiar voice.

Jay.

Madhvi smiled faintly. "Permission granted, my prince."

"Don't call me that," Jay chuckled, sitting cross-legged beside her. "I get enough of that from the soldiers."

She raised a brow. "So what should I call you?"

"Jay's fine," he said. "Besides… I'm not a prince yet—not until I earn the title of War Lord of Vaithara."

"War Lord?" she asked, intrigued.

Jay nodded. "My father, King Visharath, won't let me return to the palace as a decorated commander. He believes strength must be earned, not inherited. This entire training camp—missions, patrols, ambush drills—this is all my trial."

"You're fighting to be more than a prince," she mused.

"I want to be a leader, not just a royal with a title," Jay replied. "When I stand before my people, I want them to know I've bled for Vaithara, not just worn a crown."

Madhvi smiled softly, impressed.

"And you?" he asked, leaning slightly forward. "Did you always dream of being a healer?"

She paused. "I didn't dream at all. I never left the forest. I didn't even know who ruled the kingdom."

Jay laughed lightly. "That explains why you didn't bow the first time you saw me."

"I was too busy saving your life," she replied with a smirk.

Their laughter echoed softly, easing the weight in the air.

"But something strange happened that night," Jay said more seriously. "Your healing… it wasn't normal."

"I don't know what happened," Madhvi replied honestly. "It was like… something inside me moved. The leaf in my hand… it felt like it heard me."

Jay's eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtful. "The ancient texts speak of true-channelers—people who could tap into nature's flow without rituals. They were healers, seers… and some say… warriors."

"I'm no warrior," she said quickly.

"You may not have a sword," Jay said softly, "but you have a power that saved me when ten physicians failed."

For a moment, neither spoke.

The silence was comfortable.

But it didn't last.

A thunder of hooves and boots echoed outside.

The soldiers returned.

Jay stood and stepped out of the tent.

Madhvi watched through the gap in the flap, heart pounding.

A senior scout saluted Jay. "We found the location she gave, sire. The hut… it was burned to ashes. No survivors."

Madhvi's heart dropped.

"But—" the soldier continued, "we found five dead bodies of attackers, all killed by a single blade. No sign of the old man. No blood trail, no footprints leading away."

Jay's face grew dark.

Madhvi clutched her blanket tightly, trying not to cry.

Jay turned and walked slowly back inside.

Madhvi looked up at him, eyes wet.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Your father… he was a warrior indeed."

Madhvi bit her lip, her voice barely a whisper. "Or he's still out there…"

Jay knelt beside her. "We'll search again. I promise."

She nodded slowly.

They sat there in silence once more, the fire outside crackling faintly.

And though the camp was filled with warriors, strategies, and honor trials, at that moment—there were only two souls, each carrying grief and mystery, bound by fate neither of them had chosen.

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