Chapter 8: Proving Ground

Arjun brought me to the army camp. The air was alive with marching feet, shouted orders, the earthy aroma of boiled dal and burning wood mingling with gun oil. Tents and rough shacks filled the grounds; soldiers bustled with energy. Lines of women washed clothes, hands moving in rhythm as they gossiped, children playing nearby. Men drilled in the open, dust rising with every step.

“Since the Ration Officer has chosen to stay, you must do as the locals do.”

The conditions were harsh—dust everywhere, sun beating down, sweat soaking my clothes. I wiped my brow, squared my shoulders. "If they can do it, so can I," I told myself.

Arjun was daring, telling me to do as the locals do. But maybe, here in Kaveripur, respect for the royal family wasn’t automatic. If I could share hardships, maybe I’d win hearts. I remembered my father’s words: leadership is about walking with your people, not above them.

With that thought, I relaxed, watching the camp with new eyes. The laughter of women, discipline of men—something comforting in the routine.

I didn’t see any women near the men’s work, and I wouldn’t ask Arjun. Just seeing him annoyed me.

Seeing my silence, Arjun called for a plastic stool, sat down with the ease of a man at home in chaos. I stood, refusing to be intimidated.

“This officer is considerate of the Ration Officer’s delicate health, so let’s start with the simplest: horse stance.”

I shot him a disgusted look. “What do you mean? Why am I not doing laundry and cooking?”

There was a snort, then laughter. Arjun slapped the armrest, laughing until I pressed my sword to his neck. The cold blade didn’t faze him; he just kept laughing, drawing curious glances.

“What are you laughing at?”

I’d misjudged him—Arjun wasn’t problematic, his mind was. He laughed until tears came. “Looks like I overestimated the Ration Officer. If you want to cook and wash, that’s fine…”

His words dripped contempt.

“No need.” I withdrew my sword, took a deep breath. “Horse stance it is.” I squared my feet, ignoring the smirks. Dignity, I reminded myself. "Rajkumari hoon main," I whispered, and settled in for the ordeal.