The wind in the mountains never stayed quiet.
It moved through the tall pine trees like a wandering spirit, carrying the scent of snow, wildflowers, and distant rivers. Sometimes it whispered gently through the valleys. Other times it roared across the cliffs like an angry storm.
But today, it carried something else.
A scream.
"RAJULA!"
High above the narrow mountain path, a girl was standing on a branch that definitely should not have been holding her weight.
Rajula Shauka leaned forward, stretching her arm toward a bright red apple hanging just a little further away.
Just a little more…
Below her, an old shepherd stared up in disbelief.
"Rajula! That branch is thinner than a goat's patience!"
Rajula didn't look down.
"I almost got it!"
The branch creaked.
The shepherd sighed and rubbed his forehead.
"You say that every time."
Rajula reached further.
The apple was right there.
Just one more inch—
CRACK.
The branch snapped.
For a brief moment, Rajula floated in the air like a very surprised bird.
Then gravity remembered she existed.
THUD.
A cloud of dust rose from the ground.
The shepherd slowly walked over and looked down at her.
Rajula sat up, brushing leaves out of her hair.
"…I got the apple."
She held it up proudly.
The shepherd stared at her.
"You climbed a tree taller than my house… for one apple."
Rajula took a bite.
It was delicious.
"Worth it."
The shepherd shook his head and walked away muttering something about mountain girls having no fear of death.
Rajula just laughed.
The village of Darma Valley sat between two towering mountain ridges.
Stone houses clung to the slopes like stubborn goats, their wooden roofs weighed down with heavy rocks to keep them from flying away during storms.
Prayer flags fluttered in the wind between the houses, their faded colors dancing against the endless blue sky.
Rajula walked through the village street, tossing the apple core into a nearby bush.
People waved as she passed.
Some shook their heads.
Others smiled knowingly.
Rajula had a reputation in the village.
Mostly for things like falling out of trees.
Or climbing cliffs she shouldn't.
Or racing goats down steep mountain trails.
"Rajula!"
She turned to see her father standing near their house.
Sunapati Shauka was a tall man with a thick beard and the posture of someone who had spent most of his life traveling dangerous mountain roads.
He crossed his arms.
"Why were you in a tree again?"
Rajula shrugged.
"There was an apple."
Sunapati looked at the scratches on her arm.
"You could have died."
Rajula considered that.
"…But I didn't."
Sunapati sighed the long sigh of a man who had raised this daughter for eighteen years.
"Come inside," he said. "Travelers arrived today."
Rajula's eyes immediately lit up.
"Travelers?"
Sunapati nodded.
"From the capital."
Rajula followed him instantly.
The inside of their house smelled of warm bread and mountain herbs.
Three travelers sat near the fire, their heavy cloaks dusted with snow from high passes. Their horses were probably resting outside after the long journey.
Rajula quietly slipped into the room and sat near the doorway.
Travelers meant stories.
And Rajula loved stories.
One of the men was speaking animatedly.
"I'm telling you, the capital grows bigger every year. New markets, new temples, new walls."
Another traveler laughed.
"You talk like you built them yourself."
The first man waved his hand dramatically.
"But the palace… ah, the palace is still the most beautiful place in the kingdom."
Rajula leaned forward slightly.
"The palace?"
The travelers looked at her.
Sunapati gestured casually.
"My daughter."
One of the men smiled.
"Have you never seen the royal capital?"
Rajula shook her head.
"No."
The traveler chuckled.
"Then you've never seen Prince Malushahi either."
Rajula tilted her head.
"The prince?"
Another traveler nodded.
"The future king."
Rajula listened quietly now.
"They say he's the finest swordsman in the kingdom," one man said.
"And clever too," another added.
"But stubborn," the third traveler laughed.
"How so?"
"He refuses every marriage proposal brought by the court."
Rajula blinked.
"Why?"
The travelers shrugged.
"No one knows."
One of them leaned closer to the fire.
"There are rumors though."
Rajula's curiosity sharpened.
"What rumors?"
The traveler lowered his voice slightly.
"Some say the prince was promised to marry someone long ago."
Sunapati suddenly stiffened slightly.
Rajula noticed.
But the traveler continued.
"A merchant's daughter, they say."
The room fell strangely quiet.
Rajula looked between the travelers… and her father.
"Is that true?" she asked.
No one answered immediately.
Sunapati finally spoke.
"Stories grow strange during long journeys."
Rajula studied his face.
He was avoiding her eyes.
That meant something.
And Rajula had always been very good at noticing things.
That night, Rajula sat outside on a large rock overlooking the valley.
The moon hung above the mountains like a silent guardian.
Below her, the village lights glowed softly in the darkness.
But Rajula's mind was still thinking about the travelers' story.
A prince.
A promise.
A merchant's daughter.
She picked up a small stone and tossed it down the slope.
"Father was acting strange," she muttered.
The wind answered by rushing through the trees.
Rajula leaned back on her hands and looked up at the stars.
Somewhere far beyond those mountains…
There was a palace.
And a prince who refused to marry anyone.
Rajula smiled slightly.
"Well," she said to the wind,
"That sounds suspicious."
The wind carried her words away into the endless mountains.
And somewhere far beyond those peaks…
In the royal capital…
Prince Malushahi stood on a palace balcony, staring at the same moon.
Neither of them knew it yet.
But the story of their lives had already begun.