90. The weight of the Crown
The nights were no longer silent.
The winds, once gentle, now carried the distant echoes of war drums.
Even from the palace balcony, Harsh could hear the faint but familiar rhythm—the steady pounding of boots against dirt, the clatter of armor, and the occasional distant scream carried by the wind.
Beyond Suryagarh's fortified walls, the kingdom's borders still bled.
The coalition of rival kingdoms, though repeatedly defeated, refused to yield. Their hunger for Suryagarh's lands had only grown sharper with each loss.
Bands of enemy mercenaries raided remote villages, slaughtering and burning.
Rebellious nobles still lurking in the shadows stirred unrest, sending spies to disrupt Harsh's reforms.
Fierce battles raged along the borders, even as his soldiers pushed them back.
Though Suryagarh grew stronger, the wars were endless.
---
Inside the royal hall, Harsh sat alone in the large chamber, staring at his own reflection in the polished silver basin before him.
His once unblemished face was now lined with faint scars. His jaw was harder, his eyes sharper. The years of battle and governance had carved a weariness into his features that no victory could soften.
The heavy gold and iron crown rested on the table beside him—a symbol of the kingdom he had built.
Yet Harsh hated it.
He stared at it for a long while.
Not as a symbol of power.
But as a reminder of the burden he carried.
---
As the lamplight flickered, Ishani entered the chamber.
She had seen him like this before.
Silent. Still. Burdened by thoughts he shared with no one.
She sat down across from him, watching him quietly.
For a time, neither spoke.
Finally, Harsh's voice broke the silence, low and rough.
"Do you think it will last?"
Ishani blinked, momentarily confused.
"The war? It will end. We will survive this."
He shook his head faintly.
"No. Not the war. The change."
His voice was distant, almost hollow.
"Everything we've built. The laws. The reforms. The rights we gave them. Do you think…" He exhaled heavily.
"Do you think it will outlive me?"
She stilled, surprised by the question.
For years, Harsh had spoken with unshaken certainty, as if his ideals were unbreakable.
Now, for the first time, she saw hesitation in his eyes.
"We gave them knowledge, Harsh," she said softly.
"We gave them the tools to fight for themselves. It will last."
But he shook his head again, his eyes dark with doubt.
"No. You know it won't." His voice was bitter.
"Not forever."
He stared down at his hands.
"There will always be another ruler. Another greedy lord. Another conqueror. Another man like me."
His hands curled into tight fists, the tendons on his arms taut.
"And they will tear it apart. Just as I tore apart the world that came before me."
---
Over the next few weeks, Harsh buried himself in his work, but the weight of doubt remained.
During a meeting with the council, his ministers praised the kingdom's prosperity:
Food stores were full despite the war.
Schools flourished, and literacy rates had doubled.
The codified laws were enforced, and nobles could no longer exploit the people without consequences.
But Harsh remained unmoved.
As the ministers spoke, his eyes drifted across the faces of his commanders, advisors, and aides.
Vidur, once an outsider, now sat among the highest ministers, a symbol of how far commoners had risen under Harsh's reign.
And yet, Harsh's thoughts were grim.
He could see the subtle ambitions in some of their eyes.
The hunger for power in the new magistrates.
The lingering arrogance in former noble-born officers.
And he knew—his reforms could only hold as long as he was alive.
---
That evening, Harsh walked the streets of Suryagarh, dressed in plain clothing with a hood pulled low over his face.
He had done this many times before, but tonight felt different.
He watched as a group of farmers and artisans gathered outside a tavern. Their faces were weary but hopeful.
A blacksmith, his hands calloused from labor, spoke firmly.
"The law says we can report corruption directly. I saw the ledger myself. The merchant overcharged us for the iron. I will take it to the magistrate."
But an older man shook his head, his eyes tired.
"You're a fool if you think they'll listen. We are still commoners. What does the law mean to men like us?"
The blacksmith's jaw tightened, defiant.
"It means we fight. It means we don't kneel."
For a brief moment, Harsh felt hope stir in his chest.
But then, he saw the lingering fear in the others' eyes—the doubt, the hesitation.
Though they spoke of equality, centuries of oppression still weighed on them.
Even with the law on their side, they still hesitated.
And he realized with a heavy heart:
Freedom could be given, but faith had to be earned.
---
Later that night, Harsh sat alone in his chamber once more.
The war maps lay scattered across the table, but his gaze was vacant.
For years, he had believed that justice was inevitable—that once the people were armed with knowledge and rights, they would seize their own destinies.
But now, he saw it differently.
Even with laws and education, even with power in their hands, the scars of oppression ran deeper than he had imagined.
And he was tired.
Tired of wading through blood.
Tired of carrying the weight of a kingdom that might shatter the moment he was gone.
Tired of wondering if it was all for nothing.
And for the first time, he allowed himself to wonder:
What if it had been?
---
The door creaked open softly, and Ishani entered once more.
Her eyes immediately fell on the untouched wine goblet on the table—one he had poured but never drank.
Without a word, she crossed the room and sat beside him.
She took his hand in hers, running her thumb across his knuckles.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Then she quietly asked,
"What are you afraid of?"
His voice was hoarse when he finally answered.
"That it will all disappear the moment I do."
She gripped his hand tightly, her eyes fierce.
"It won't."
When he didn't respond, she leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You changed their hearts, Harsh. Not just their laws."
For a moment, he didn't believe her.
But then he remembered the blacksmith in the street, defiant despite his doubts.
He remembered the children in the schools, reciting laws that would outlive him.
He remembered the soldiers who no longer knelt, but saluted with pride.
And for the first time in weeks, he let himself believe that maybe she was right.
---
Though the war raged on, Harsh's resolve slowly returned.
He redoubled his efforts, not just on the battlefield, but in the hearts of his people.
He walked among them, unguarded, speaking to them directly.
He stood in the schools, watching children from all castes learn side by side.
And he saw the seeds of his dream—growing, slowly but surely.
And he knew then:
Even if he fell, the kingdom would endure.
Because it no longer belonged to him—
It belonged to them.
---