Nivaan walked towards the gate, hands at his sides, relaxed as if he were taking a morning stroll. The gatekeepers stepped forward, gripping their swords tightly, their eyes locked on him.
A glint in the air.
Nivaan's head snapped to the side. An arrow sliced toward him — he caught it inches from his left eye, fingers closing around the shaft like it was a falling leaf.
"Nice accuracy!" he called, spinning the arrow once before tossing it aside.
Gasps erupted from the crowd, the guards, and even the driver of the approaching carriage.
More arrows flew through the air — fast, deadly. Nivaan tilted his body with fluid grace, dodging some, knocking others away mid-flight. Not one touched him.
He stopped a few feet from the gatekeepers, gaze calm, posture unmoved, like he was waiting for someone.
The gatekeepers held their ground but didn't blink. Their grip on their swords only tightened.
Then came the footsteps. A dozen soldiers emerged from behind the inner wall — well-armed, disciplined, tense. At their centre walked Varyan, flanked by a young woman and a middle-aged man in polished armour
Nivaan's eyes flicked to the young woman. His entire demeanour softened for a brief moment.
They stopped in front of him. The middle-aged man raised a hand.
"You are dismissed," he said to the gatekeepers. They stepped back immediately.
Nivaan gave a slight, respectful bow. "I am Nivaan. Personal bodyguard to my lady, Naira of Narkhazhir. She requests to see King Aariv. One last time."
Varyan's gaze flickered to the bloodied road behind Nivaan, where bodies of fallen guards lay. His voice came cold.
"This is how you request?"
"We came to request," Nivaan replied, turning slightly and pointing toward the bend in the road. "But your commander intercepted us. Didn't listen. Honestly, how did he even become commander? A commander should know when to talk and when to fight. His mistake cost you..." He paused, thinking. "About a hundred? I'm not great with numbers, so don't judge. My parents never sent me to school. Homework sounded awful anyway."
The soldiers looked at each other, unsure whether to raise their weapons or burst out laughing.
"I'm learning now, though," Nivaan added cheerfully. "My lady says I won't find a wife if I can't count. My mother's getting old — someone has to take care of her, right? I want to give her a daughter-in-law. But everyone rejects me. Dangerous job, always wandering. She says if I learn numbers, I might find a better job. Maybe get married. I want twins, actually. Two girls. I haven't picked names yet. Any suggestions?"
A long silence.
One thought was clear in every soldier's mind:
Is this man dumb?
Varyan's lip twitched. "What… what are you even saying?"
"Uncle," Nivaan said to Varyan. "If you know a good lady — anyone. Good or bad, beautiful or ugly, rich or poor, royal or commoner — as long as she loves me and my mother, I'll be happy."
"Nivaan!" a voice called sharply from the carriage.
He turned instantly. "My lady," he said, lowering his head slightly. "I'm sorry. I lost track again."
Then he faced Varyan with a rare hint of seriousness. "What I meant to say is: my lady requests to see King Aariv. This is not a political visit from Narkhazhir. It is personal."
Varyan scowled. "And you expect us to allow that, after you killed our men?"
"If we hadn't defended ourselves, you wouldn't have allowed us to even speak."
"Orders were clear. No one from Narkhazhir enters the city."
At that moment, a soldier rushed forward and whispered into Varyan's ear. Varyan's expression stiffened, then he sighed and looked back at Nivaan.
"Fine," he said. "But listen closely. If you wish to enter, your lady walks. No carriage. No games. No wandering in the city. You see the king. You mourn. You leave. We escort you the entire time."
Nivaan nodded. "So… you're allowing us?"
Varyan clenched his jaw. "Yes. If you follow every rule."
"Let's confirm. No carriage. Direct visit. Mourn. Leave. Escorted. No roaming. Right?"
"Correct."
"Anything else?"
He stepped forward, closer to Nivaan. The guards tensed behind him.
Nivaan didn't flinch.
Varyan leaned in, speaking in a low voice only the two could hear. "You think we don't know what this is? You walk in with blood on your hands and ask for peace. But I know your kind. Calm smiles. Clever words. And knives in the dark."
Nivaan's eyes remained steady.
Varyan's breath was cool and sharp. "If you step out of line — if your hand so much as twitches the wrong way—I'll end you before your heart finishes a beat. Understand me?"
The silence between them hung like a drawn blade.
Nivaan tilted his head slightly, as if considering whether to speak. Then he said, with quiet composure, "My lady came to see King Aariv. Not to fight."
Varyan's jaw flexed. "Don't test me, Nivaan. This isn't Narkhazhir. Your lady won't be protected here."
But Nivaan stood there, still as a mountain. The same faint, unreadable smile lingered on his face.
The silence pressed on again. Around them, the soldiers exchanged glances, unsure whether blades would be drawn again or if the storm had passed.
Finally, with a sharp exhale through his nose, Varyan stepped back. "Then don't give me a reason," he muttered. "Escort these green-bloods. Closely."
He turned his back and walked away without another word.
Nivaan watched him go, then let out a slow breath. Not a sigh—just the return of rhythm.
Nivaan adjusted the folds of his sleeve. He turned and called, "My lady! It's done. They've accepted."
After a moment, the carriage door creaked open.
A young woman stepped down, graceful and quiet. Her orange eyes burned softly under the daylight, her red hair tied behind her shoulders. She wore a black dress, simple but elegant. She was Naira, the third princess of Narkhazhir.
"You stay here," she said to the raider beside the carriage.
"But, my lady—"
"They won't dare touch me," Naira said firmly, then looked at Nivaan. "And even if they do… they can't pass him."
"My lady, walking, if His Majesty hears, he'll be angry—"
"I do not fear my brother," she said coldly.
"But—"
"Remember your place."
The man fell silent instantly.
Naira walked forward, joining Nivaan without a word. Her face remained calm, but her hands — hidden under the folds of her dress — were clenched.