The chill of spring was still in the air when Princess Elina made her way across the cobbled courtyard of the castle toward the workshop of the Lord of Innovation. Her long coat fluttered behind her, golden trim catching sunlight, while a hand-carved wooden cylinder swayed from her satchel—an object she had proudly constructed herself, a rudimentary water filter packed with charcoal and sand. Elina was not one to waste time on idle court games; she preferred to shape her thoughts into tangible outcomes.
Inside the workshop, Sharath Virayan Darsha stood surrounded by whirring gears, scattered notes, and the faint scent of oil. He looked up from his sketch of an improved grain processor powered by wind and saw her, face glowing with triumph.
"I've filtered water from the stream near the eastern farms," Elina declared, handing him the container. "It's clean. The villagers tested it. No illness for three weeks."
Sharath examined it with a thoughtful gaze. "The mechanism is simple," he murmured, "but elegant. What if we combine this with pressurized draw systems... perhaps even hand-pumps?"
And so began a new venture—one that would soon shake the foundations of how the kingdom dealt with its most basic need: clean water.
---
For three tireless months, the Lord of Innovation and the Second Princess of Eltheria toiled side by side. They scouted wells in distant villages, sketched hydraulics under candlelight, and tested pump systems at the foot of hills and near flood-prone hamlets. Their bond—one of mutual respect and intellectual fire—grew deeper with every successful test and failed prototype.
The prototype water pump, refined from a triple-vane suction system and paired with a sand-charcoal filter unit, was unveiled in the central square of Bastion—the heart of the kingdom. Crowds surged around the demonstration well, where Princess Elina herself pressed the iron lever and watched as crystal-clear water flowed.
There were gasps. Then applause. Then cheers that echoed up to the battlements.
Queen Seraphine watched from her private balcony, eyes glistening. "He is not just an inventor," she whispered to King Aldric, "he is a renaissance."
"And her equal in spirit," the King replied, "if not yet in blood."
---
The royal court, once divided on their opinions of Sharath Virayan Darsha, now sang his praises across the Empire. Letters from vassals and barons begged for installations of his water pumps and filters. Children from northern provinces carved wooden toys shaped like hand-pumps, and songs were sung of the Lord of Innovation and the Princess of the Wellspring.
But while the kingdom rejoiced, Sharath's heart remained burdened.
The Queen summoned him to court once more, and this time, Elina stood beside her, not as a princess, but as his partner.
"Sharath Virayan Darsha," the King announced in a voice like thunder, "you have gifted this kingdom air that spins, water that flows, and grain that feeds its children. You have turned storms into sustenance. And you have made our daughter smile as no other has. It is the will of this throne, and the decree of Eltheria, that you be wed to Princess Elina on your twentieth birthday."
Sharath stood motionless.
All eyes turned to him.
His mind swirled. He thought of his birth world, of an India left behind, of inventions born from modern memory reshaped by medieval needs. He thought of liberty, of duty, of a crown that might chain or empower. And he looked at Elina.
She did not plead. She simply offered her hand—firm, proud, and open.
"I will not stand in your way," she whispered. "Only beside you."
And something in him shifted. Not submission. Not surrender. A choice.
He knelt—not in subservience, but in agreement.
"I will wed her," Sharath said, his voice steady, "not because I must, but because I choose to build a future with her."
The hall erupted. Not just applause, but a storm of joy. The Queen exhaled a breath she hadn't known she was holding. The King's stern face broke into a proud grin. The scribes penned the royal decree before the echoes faded:
**Let it be known across Eltheria and all her vassals, that Sharath Virayan Darsha, the Lord of Innovation, shall be henceforth bonded in sacred union with Her Highness, Princess Elina of House Aldamar, on the first dawn of his twentieth year.**
---
Celebrations began instantly. Streets were adorned with hand-pump replicas and windmill kites. A new banner was designed: a cogwheel entwined with a rose—the symbols of invention and royal grace.
But as the world cheered, Sharath returned to his workshop that night, standing alone among his machines.
He whispered, "We keep building. For all of them."
Outside, Elina waited, watching him through the open door.
"My lord," she teased, "it's late. Will you not rest?"
Sharath smiled faintly. "Soon. There's a better version of the pump in my mind. Less effort. More pressure. Maybe a dual-stage system. I'll draw it before it fades."
Elina stepped inside and sat beside him.
"Then we draw together."
And the lamp stayed lit long into the night, as the future of Eltheria was sketched by the hands of two hearts bound by purpose and now, finally, by fate.