"Men fear dangerous women.I begged her to become my downfall."

People often assume discipline is something men like me are born with.

It is not.

Discipline is simply what remains after royal life finishes tearing softness out of you slowly.

My name is Yatharth Devendra Singh Rathore.

Twenty-five years old.
Future Maharaj of Kshatragarh.
Raised inside a kingdom where crowns matter more than emotions and weakness gets buried long before adulthood arrives.

People call me honorable.I suppose they are correct.

I do not drink.
I do not smoke.
I do not lose myself inside meaningless pleasures simply because royal men are expected to behave recklessly.

Control matters to me. Always has.

Perhaps because I grew up watching powerful men destroy kingdoms simply because they lacked it.

At seven, I trained beside soldiers twice my age.
At ten, I sat through war meetings while other children still played outside palace walls.
At fifteen, I learned something terrifying about kings.

The crown does not care whether you are tired. It only cares whether you survive.

And my younger brother, Advik...

Gods.

That idiot entered this world exactly twenty minutes after me and spent the rest of his life pretending those twenty minutes meant nothing.

Twenty-five years old.
My twin.
My greatest headache.

Warm where I become distant.
Reckless where I remain controlled.
Charming enough to survive conversations I would rather escape entirely.

But never weak. Never. People love Advik easily.

Children run toward him.
Women adore him. Still...

he remains the only person capable of pulling me back from my own mind when it becomes unbearable inside there.

And lately...

it has become unbearable often.

Because of the Black Lion.

Gods.

Even thinking about the commander still feels like betrayal against myself.

The Black Lion was not merely a warrior.

The commander was a legend.

A faceless monster powerful enough to terrify kingdoms before battles even began. A strategist intelligent enough to destroy armies while remaining hidden behind black armor and silence completely.

No one knew who the Black Lion truly was.

Not soldiers.
Not kings.
Not enemies.

The commander never spoke publicly.

Orders were delivered through another appointed man while the real Lion remained hidden beneath armor and silence.

And somehow... without ever seeing the commander's face even once...

I became attached. Pathetic honestly. because the eyes.. they tells stories that word will never . the emerald green just like the deep forest that holds secrets that can both make you win or be the reason of your downfall

At first, I called it admiration. Then respect.I waited too eagerly for battle reports carrying the Lion's seal.

I searched battlefields unconsciously for glimpses of black armor.
I trusted the commander more than men I had known my entire life.

And perhaps the most terrifying part?

I never once felt this way for another man.Only him.

No.

Not him.

The Black Lion.

Because how could a man like another man? is something wrong with me? why not other men but only him.

Impossible.

I convinced myself repeatedly that war was confusing my mind.
That surviving battles together created dangerous attachments.
That admiration had simply sharpened too far.

Nothing more. It had to be. But sometimes after military discussions... I caught myself wondering things no man should wonder about another.

What kind of truth the eyes hold beneath the helmet?
Why does the commander's presence calm me more than victory itself?
Why does every battlefield feel safer whenever black armor stands nearby?

The Black Lion was simply fog inside my mind.
Nothing real.Nothing understandable.
Nothing I intended to examine too closely.

An alliance between kshatragarh and Sinhsthali became necessary immediately if both kingdoms wanted stability . 

And unfortunately for me... our kingdom follows traditions older than empires themselves.

A king cannot complete coronation alone. The final tilak must come from the queen's blood. Without her... the crown remains incomplete.

Which meant marriage stopped being personal the moment my coronation approached. It became duty.

Survival.

one woman remained terrifyingly calm.

Samyukta Rajyashri Deshmukh.

Beautiful.
Unreadable.
Dangerously composed.

The future queen chosen to stand beside my throne. And Gods...her eyes unsettled me immediately. Emerald green. Sharp enough to slice through thoughts.Familiar enough to make my chest tighten painfully.

Because somehow...

they reminded me of the Black Lion.

Impossible obviously.Completely ridiculous.

I have no idea the monster haunting my mind and the woman becoming my wife...

are the same person. 🩸