Chapter 9: Two Brothers and One Tiny Queen

The morning was clear, sun-dappled, and humming with quiet life.

The snow had softened into puddles. A few flowers had dared to bloom along the edges of the woods.

Near the cave mouth, Nakula adjusted the strap on his quiver while Sahadeva gently lifted Agnika, swaddled in layers of soft fabric.

She blinked sleepily at the sunlight, her round cheeks flushed, a single curl stuck to her forehead.

“Where are you two going?” Draupadi asked, amused.

Nakula gave a little bow. “The forest trail, milady. With the smallest of queens.”

“She needs sunlight,” Sahadeva added. “And a break from Bhima’s overly dramatic songs.”

Agnika made a small sound as if agreeing.

Draupadi raised an eyebrow. “Don’t let her eat stones again.”

“That was once!” Nakula defended. “And it looked like fruit!”

“Be back before sun touches that ridge,” Draupadi warned, pointing. “And if she cries—”

“She won’t,” Sahadeva smiled, rocking her gently. “She likes us now.”

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The forest was gentle that morning.

Birdsong fluttered from tree to tree. Leaves danced as the twins walked along the path, Sahadeva holding Agnika against his chest, her small hands curled around his tunic.

“She’s heavier than last week,” Sahadeva noted.

“That’s muscle,” Nakula said confidently. “She’s training secretly.”

Agnika let out a hiccup.

Nakula leaned in. “See? Battle cry.”

Sahadeva laughed.

They walked for a while, occasionally pointing at butterflies or tiny mushrooms. Agnika blinked at everything — eyes wide, soaking in every color, every sound.

Eventually, they reached a quiet glade.

Sunlight spilled like gold across a patch of moss. Sahadeva laid down his shawl and sat, setting Agnika carefully on the soft earth.

She sat upright with wobbly dignity.

Her head turned left… then right… then up — eyes catching on a single dragonfly floating by.

“Do you see it?” Nakula asked, kneeling beside her. “That’s a sky-dancer. Rare.”

Agnika lifted her hand.

The dragonfly came closer… hovered near her fingers… then gently landed on her tiny thumb.

Both twins froze.

Sahadeva whispered, “That never happens.”

Agnika stared at the creature, eyes full of wonder, then softly… she laughed.

Her very first laugh around them.

A soft, bell-like giggle. Full of sun and sky and something ancient.

Nakula felt his chest tighten.

Sahadeva smiled, eyes wet for reasons he couldn’t name.

“She’s… magic,” Nakula whispered.

“Maybe not magic,” Sahadeva said. “Maybe just… right.”

They sat with her there for a long time — letting her explore a leaf, touch the moss, chew her own shawl.

At one point, she reached both arms toward Nakula, demanding to be held.

He hesitated.

Then smiled, and gently lifted her.

She nestled against his chest like she belonged there.

Nakula looked up at the sky and muttered, “I didn’t think I’d be the kind to love something so small.”

Sahadeva grinned. “You cried when our horse got a cold.”

“That was different,” he snapped.

Agnika let out another happy sigh and drooled down his shoulder.

“…Still worth it,” Nakula said.

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By the time they returned to the cave, the light was golden and soft.

Draupadi looked up from stirring the evening fire. “How was it?”

“Educational,” Sahadeva said solemnly. “She now outranks us in the forest.”

Nakula held Agnika up like a royal prize. “Presenting: Her Highness of Sunshine and Dragonflies.”

Agnika laughed again.

And for the first time, Draupadi noticed:

The twins didn’t just carry her.

> They belonged to her now.

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🦋 End of Chapter 9