Word of Sharath Virayan Darsha's accomplishments had long pierced the thick walls of the royal court. The windmills he'd designed now stood as spinning titans across the countryside, their rhythmic turning echoing prosperity. Water mills roared beside rivers, powering machines that once belonged only in a scholar's dreams. Grains were ground faster, cleaner. The fields no longer feared drought, for water was always near. And through it all, Sharath had remained elusive, almost mythic—like the wind he harnessed.
The royal family had, until now, watched with a curious mixture of gratitude and apprehension. Their kingdom flourished under his inventions, but his autonomy—his fierce refusal to bind himself to court, crown, or creed—unsettled the throne.
Now, as Sharath approached his eighteenth birthday, the Queen herself stirred.
---
The invitation was gilded in golden ink, sealed with the royal crest—a lion with wings, clutching a book.
> "Sharath Virayan Darsha, Lord of Innovation, is hereby summoned to the Great Court on the dawn of his 18th birthday, to receive honors and recognition befitting his service to the Kingdom."
He held the parchment in his hand, eyes scanning the calligraphy again and again. Behind the words, he could sense something more—something ceremonial, calculated.
He looked up at the horizon from his workshop window. The sun was setting beyond the sea of windmills he had built with his own hands.
"Lord of Innovation," he murmured, the words tasting foreign in his mouth. "But at what cost?"
---
The Grand Court glittered with gold and silk the morning he arrived. Nobles lined the aisles in embroidered robes. A sea of jeweled eyes turned to him as he entered, not as a commoner, not as an outsider, but as a man now draped in the title the Crown itself had given.
The King rose. The Queen stood beside him, a knowing calm in her eyes.
"Sharath Virayan Darsha," the King announced, his voice echoing off pillars of ivory. "We honor you. You have gifted this kingdom prosperity and innovation. The winds move for us because of you. The rivers obey. And so, the Crown recognizes you not merely as a subject, but as a savior."
He raised a scroll and unfurled it slowly.
> "Let it be decreed that Sharath Virayan Darsha shall be named henceforth as the **Lord of Innovation**, and to further bind our kingdom's destiny with his genius, he shall be wed to Her Highness, Princess Alina Elinor, Second Daughter of the House of Auriel, under the blessing of the Crown."
Gasps rippled across the chamber.
Sharath's heart pounded. It felt like thunder inside his chest.
His mind raced. A marriage? A binding to the throne? No—this was not reward. This was containment.
---
The Queen's gaze met his.
She saw it in him—the storm.
He stepped forward, hands trembling but voice unwavering.
"Your Majesties," he began, "I am honored beyond measure. But I cannot—will not—accept a marriage bound in duty, not desire. I am eighteen today, yes. But I have sworn to myself to walk freely until I understand the path I must carve."
The nobles murmured.
Sharath inhaled deeply, the weight of hundreds of eyes pressing into his back.
"If this marriage is the price of the Crown's favor, then I must decline. Not out of arrogance—but out of honesty. I am still becoming. I do not know what I will be."
There was silence.
Then the Queen stepped forward.
She raised her hand, and the murmuring ceased.
"Sharath Virayan Darsha," she said, "your words are brave. And it is that bravery we seek—not submission. The Crown does not intend to shackle you. We wish only to ensure that your brilliance remains with us—not out of duty, but because this kingdom is better with you in it."
She turned to the King, then back to Sharath.
"This marriage decree shall not be forced upon you. But know this: Princess Alina herself desired the match—not for politics, but for admiration. She is an inventor, too. Perhaps, one day, you may choose one another."
Sharath bowed his head slightly, his eyes stormy.
"Then let it be a choice, Your Grace—not a decree."
The King nodded solemnly.
"So it shall be."
A new scroll was raised.
> "Let the records show: Sharath Virayan Darsha, **Lord of Innovation**, shall serve the realm not through marriage, but through wisdom. He shall remain unbound by crown or court unless his inventions threaten the peace of the Kingdom. In such cases, he shall offer alternatives to avert destruction."
> "He shall remain free—to build, to dream, to fly."
The courtroom burst into cautious applause.
---
That night, Sharath returned to his windmill hill alone. The stars were high above, winking like cogs in a celestial machine.
He sat in the grass, watching the blades spin.
A small voice called from behind.
It was Princess Alina.
"I didn't ask them to do this," she said quietly. "But I did hope... maybe... you'd see me as something more than a political chain."
Sharath looked at her.
She wore no royal garb. Just a smock with oil stains and gloves on her belt.
"You're an inventor," he said, surprised.
She nodded. "Not a great one. But I built a water filter that saved a village from plague."
A smile broke across his face.
"Then perhaps we should talk—with gears, not vows."
She laughed.
The windmill turned behind them, carrying dreams into the night.