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📖 Chapter 1 – The Weight of Hunger

Thomas Stanley was the eldest of three brothers. Life had been unfair to him from the very beginning. Poverty was not just a condition for the Stanleys—it was their shadow, their air, their destiny.

Every morning, before the sun even rose, Thomas would roll out the tiny wooden cart onto the crowded streets. His hands smelled of boiled potatoes, tamarind water, and spices—his only weapon to fight hunger. He sold panipuri, not for himself, but for his two younger brothers: Sam and Harry.

They were his world.

Sam, the middle brother, was quiet and studious. He dreamed of becoming something more—perhaps a teacher, perhaps a writer. But dreams cost money, and money was a luxury they never had.

Harry, the youngest, was still in school. His innocent eyes didn’t yet understand the depth of their poverty. To him, the panipuri cart was an adventure, a game.

But Thomas… Thomas knew the truth.

He was only 22, yet his shoulders carried the weight of a father, a mother, and a provider.

The coins he earned each day were barely enough for bread and books. Sometimes, when customers haggled too hard, he would let the panipuri go for less—because at the end of the day, he wasn’t selling food, he was selling survival.

At night, when his brothers were asleep, Thomas would sit by the broken lamp and count the coins with trembling fingers. Always short. Always not enough.

Still, he smiled for them.

Still, he told Harry bedtime stories and encouraged Sam to study harder.

Still, he believed—maybe tomorrow will be better.

But deep inside, Thomas knew the cruel truth:

The world doesn’t care for the poor.

And fate was preparing something even more painful for him…

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Chapter 2 – The King’s Proposal

Thomas Stanley was not like other boys in the marketplace.

Though he sold panipuri with his hands rough and clothes torn, his face carried a strange, soft beauty. His eyes were deep brown, shining like wet earth after rain. His lips were pink and delicate, his skin sun-kissed, his smile so innocent it could melt even the hardest heart.

Every girl in the town whispered his name.

The daughters of merchants, rich girls wrapped in silks, even noble ladies who passed through the market—all of them wanted him. They would come, pretending to buy panipuri, only to stare into his eyes and blush. Some even gathered courage and said the words out loud:

“Thomas, will you marry me?”

But Thomas always shook his head with a polite smile.

“No, I cannot. My brothers need me. My life is not mine to give.”

With each refusal, the whispers grew louder.

People began to mock him: “The panipuri seller thinks he is above all of us!”

Yet Thomas stayed firm, his beauty still untouched, his dignity still whole.

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One day, during a royal festival, the King himself came out to mingle with the crowd.

He was young, barely 25, with eyes sharp as steel and a body sculpted like a warrior. His presence was magnetic—every man envied him, every woman desired him.

But when his gaze fell upon Thomas… everything else disappeared.

The King was struck.

He had seen hundreds of women, thousands of faces, but never a boy so delicate yet strong, innocent yet fierce.

“Who is he?” the King demanded.

The guards whispered, “A poor seller, Your Majesty. A nobody.”

But to the King, Thomas was not a nobody.

He was the only one.

The next morning, an announcement shook the kingdom:

The King had chosen Thomas Stanley as his consort.

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The streets filled with laughter, mockery, and disbelief.

“The panipuri boy? A king’s bride?”

“A servant in the palace halls? This is madness!”

Thomas felt the weight of every mocking eye.

He never wanted this life. He never wanted power, crowns, or gold.

And when the King himself arrived, dressed in dazzling robes and carrying the charm of royalty, Thomas stood silent. The King smiled, confident of his power. He reached forward, brushing Thomas’s cheek gently, whispering:

“You will be mine.”

The crowd gasped.

The world froze.

And Thomas, trembling with anger and humiliation, raised his hand and slapped the King across his royal face.

The sound echoed like thunder.

The King’s jaw tightened. His eyes flared with both rage and desire. He had been insulted before his people—for the first time in his life. Yet instead of punishing Thomas, he leaned closer, his voice dark and promising:

“You may slap me, Thomas Stanley… but you will still belong to me.”

The crowd laughed louder, mocking Thomas as if he had sealed his doom.

And Thomas’s heart pounded with fear—he had just struck the most powerful man in the kingdom.

This was no longer just a proposal.

This was the beginning of a painful contract that would bind him to the King forever.

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📖 Chapter 3 – Threats of a King, Tears of a Boy

Night had fallen heavy on the town. The street where Thomas’s little panipuri cart once stood was now nothing but splinters and spilled spices.

Royal guards had come like a storm, breaking everything without a word. The King’s anger had spoken through their swords.

Thomas stood in the dark corner of the market long after everyone had gone home. His brothers slept in the tiny room they rented. He could have gone back too, but he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at the ruins of his livelihood. His fingers clenched around the last few coins in his pocket.

“Not for me,” he whispered. “For Sam. For Harry. I will stand again.”

By dawn, he was at work. From thrown-away wood, broken iron rods, and old sacks, Thomas built another cart. His hands bled but he didn’t stop. His eyes were swollen with no sleep but his spirit still burned.

When the sun rose, a new stall stood in the same place. Smaller, rougher, but alive.

Thomas stood behind it, back straight, eyes calm, serving the first customers of the day.

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But word travels fast.

Before noon, the King himself appeared, not in his royal hall, but in the marketplace. His soldiers parted the crowd as he walked, his black cloak trailing behind like a shadow.

The King’s eyes found the new stall.

And Thomas.

For a moment, his heart twisted — admiration, rage, obsession — all at once. How could this poor boy still defy him? How could he stand so tall after being crushed?

He walked right up to the stall, stopping so close that Thomas could feel his breath.

“I broke your stall,” the King said, his voice low, dangerous.

“And yet here you are again. Selling food as if you belong to no one.”

Thomas didn’t reply. His fingers tightened around the edge of the cart.

The King’s face darkened. He leaned in, his voice now a trembling whisper, not of power, but of a dangerous kind of desperation:

“If you touch this cart again…

If you rebuild even once more…

I swear, I will end my life right here.”

His eyes burned with madness.

“The kingdom will see my body on the ground and they will blame you, Thomas Stanley.

You will be the boy who made the King kill himself.”

The crowd gasped. Guards shifted uncomfortably. Even Sam and Harry, who had come running to see the commotion, froze in fear.

Thomas’s heart dropped. He could fight against cruelty, but not against guilt. He couldn’t bear to be responsible for someone’s death — even this man who had destroyed his life.

“Stop,” Thomas whispered. “Please… don’t say such things.”

The King’s face softened, just a flicker. His voice lowered further, almost a plea now:

“Then stop defying me. Don’t force me to do this. Come with me. Be mine. I don’t want you to die. I don’t want me to die.”

Thomas felt his strength crumble. For his brothers, for his conscience, for the fear of blood on his hands — he gave a small, trembling nod.

And in that moment, the King smiled faintly. Not with love. Not with kindness. But with victory.

Thomas’s defiance had been his last wall.

Now, it was broken.

The contract that would enslave him had just begun.

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📖 Chapter 4 – The Contract of Chains

The marriage of a poor boy and a King was not a wedding of love.

It was a sentence written on paper.

Thomas Stanley sat in the vast throne hall, his hands trembling as he held the parchment. The King sat on the throne, eyes sharp, lips curved in pride. Around them, nobles and courtiers whispered with cruel smiles.

This was no ceremony of blessings — it was the reading of rules.

A scribe unrolled the scroll, his voice echoing cold and final through the marble walls.

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The Rules of the Contract Marriage

Silence.

Thomas must never speak to anyone outside the King. Not even to his brothers. His voice now belonged to the palace, his words locked in chains.

Obedience.

Every order of the King was law. From the smallest gesture to the deepest command, Thomas was to follow without hesitation.

No Refusal.

The word “No” was forbidden. His lips could never form it again. Desire, pain, or fear — none gave him the right to deny.

No Resistance.

He could not fight, could not shout, could not raise his hand as he once had. His anger was no longer his own.

The Title.

From this moment, Thomas Stanley would no longer be called by his name in the palace. He was to be known only as “The King’s Wife.” His identity erased, swallowed by the throne.

Freedom.

His life, his movements, his dreams — all rested in the hands of the King. Only the King could decide when he was free, if ever.

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The words fell like chains around Thomas’s neck.

Sam and Harry, standing at the far edge of the hall, tried to rush forward — but guards held them back. “Brother! Don’t sign!” they cried, their voices breaking.

Thomas looked at them with tears burning in his eyes. His lips trembled. He wanted to say he would never abandon them. He wanted to scream. But the King’s gaze froze him in place.

“If you refuse,” the King said softly, “then I will keep my promise. I will end myself. And your name will be cursed forever.”

The hall went silent. Everyone waited.

Thomas’s fingers shook as he dipped the quill into the ink. The parchment blurred through his tears. With one broken stroke, he signed away his freedom.

The scribe declared, “By law of the throne, Thomas Stanley is now bound in contract marriage to His Majesty.”

The crowd clapped mockingly, nobles laughing behind their jeweled fans.

The King stood, walked down to Thomas, and lifted his chin with one hand.

“From this moment,” the King whispered, his smile dark, “you are mine. My wife. My slave. My crown jewel.”

Thomas closed his eyes, swallowing the scream that fought to escape his chest.

The contract was complete.

His brothers wept.

And Thomas Stanley — once free, once proud — had become a prisoner in the name of marriage.

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And Hence His real suffering had been started , After the marriage , This shows pains And Destiny