Chapter - 5

AUTHOR'S P.O.V...

Two days had passed since that night. Since the night something shifted in the heart of a man who believed he had none left to give.

Yugveer lay sprawled on his grand bed, his hands tucked beneath his head, eyes fixed on the intricately carved ceiling above him. The glow of the lamps bathed his face in gold, but his expression held a strange stillness—like a storm waiting behind closed doors.

He had gone to that place for a stupid dare. Nothing more.

Spend a night. Come back.

That was the deal.

And he had come back. Physically, at least. But not entirely.

Something remained behind. Something fragile, something real.

His peace.

That girl... her face—no, her eyes. They had burrowed deep into him, into places he had locked away long ago. Her laughter, soft and hesitant, had echoed in his mind like a melody. Her words... her silence... it was all replaying in loops.

He blinked slowly and reached up, fingers brushing his cheek. That kiss.

The briefest press of her lips, tender and trembling, while he himself had been shaking like a damn leaf. He scoffed at himself, a crooked smile pulling at his lips. Yugveer, the man who didn't flinch in battle, had been unraveled by a single girl's kiss.

He closed his eyes for a second. He wanted to go back. Not to the place—but to her.

To see her again. To lose himself in those deep eyes that held too many stories.

Just then, the heavy door creaked open. A young maid entered, her head bowed, anklets chiming softly with every step.

"Rajkumar Yugveer ki jai ho," she greeted, her voice respectful but cautious.

He lifted his hand lazily, signaling her to speak.

"Maharani and Rajkumars are waiting for you at the dining hall," she informed him.

He sighed, a small nod accompanying his words. "Tell them I'm coming."

The maid bowed again and left as quietly as she had entered.

Yugveer sat up, his eyes drifting toward the arched window beside his bed. The sky beyond was cloaked in darkness, stars barely peeking through the thick clouds.

He stood up, dragging a hand through his disheveled hair, then pulled on his heavy overcoat. The royal crest glimmered on his chest, but his mind was far from his duties.

With silent steps, he walked out of his room, each stride echoing off the stone floor.

He was a prince.

But at that moment, he was just a man chasing the ghost of a girl who had unknowingly taken a piece of him.

And left him aching to feel whole again.

Walking through the grand, candlelit corridors, Yugveer's footsteps echoed softly against the polished marble. The ancient palace stood regal around him, its stone walls whispering stories of generations past. Servants bowed as he passed, though he barely noticed—his mind still drifting far away.

He finally reached the dining hall.

Inside, seated at the long carved table, were the ones who had waited: Maharani Ratanprabha, graceful in her emerald silk lehnga; Crown Prince Veerendra, dignified and quiet, with the same sharp jawline they all shared; and the youngest, Aryaneendra—wide-eyed and full of energy, a glass clutched in one hand as he swung his legs under the table.

The King was not present, having left for another state on official business two days ago. In his absence, the table felt less stern—yet the air was no less royal.

As soon as Maharani Ratanprabha caught sight of Yugveer, her serene face lit up with a warm smile.

"Come, Yug," she said, her voice motherly, melodic. "We were waiting for you."

Yugveer offered a polite nod, the edges of his lips twitching into something like a smile. He pulled out the ornate wooden chair beside Aryaneendra and sat down silently, his posture straight but his mind elsewhere.

Veerendra cast him a glance, noticing the quiet tension in his younger brother's eyes but saying nothing.

As the meal was served—steaming bowls of dal, fragrant rice, roasted vegetables, and golden ghee-laced rotis—the clinking of silverware filled the air. Warm aromas mingled with the quiet chatter of servants stepping in and out, refilling silver goblets and laying out fresh rotis.

For a while, everyone ate in peace.

Then, Maharani Ratanprabha dabbed the corners of her mouth with a silk cloth and cleared her throat softly.

"Veer is getting married next month," she announced, her voice composed, but firm. "And I expect both of you"—her eyes moved from Yugveer to Aryaneendra—"to begin acting more responsibly. Enough of sword fights at dawn and sneaking off for horse races. It's time to learn the weight of your duties."

Aryan blinked, a piece of roti still halfway to his mouth. "But ma, I'm still growing."

"You're nineteen," Veerendra deadpanned without looking up from his plate.

"Exactly!" Aryan said, mouth full. "Barely legal!"

Yugveer smirked. "Legal enough to get caught sneaking into the festival with the royal guards' horses."

"That was one time!" Arya groaned. "Why does everyone remember that?"

"Because you wore a turban made of mango leaves," Yugveer added, dodging a flying grape Aryan threw his way.

"Enough!" the Maharani interrupted with a small smile playing on her lips despite the reprimand. "Veer's marriage is not just a family matter—it is an alliance with the Devgarh Kingdom. A chance to end generations of bloodshed."

Yugveer grew still. Aryan put his grape down. Even the servants paused for a second.

Veerendra, sitting tall and straight in his seat, finally spoke. His voice was quiet, low. "It's a smart move. A necessary one. But let's not pretend it's anything more than politics in silk."

"You still dislike her?" Maharani asked gently.

Veer's jaw flexed. "Dislike is a soft word, ma. She's arrogant, entitled, and cold. If peace didn't depend on it, I'd refuse without blinking."

"And I hate her with my all being." He said

"But peace does depend on it," Yugveer said, his tone serious for once. "We've lost too much. Father barely sleeps since the last skirmish at the border. This marriage could stop another war."

Veer didn't deny it. He simply nodded once and returned to his food, though his appetite was clearly gone.

Aryan looked around dramatically. "So, we're all sacrificing now? Veer's marrying a dragon, Yugveer's been smiling like a poet lately, and I'm apparently next in line for royal torture. What a time to be alive."

"Finish your food," Ratanprabha said sternly, but the fondness in her voice gave her away.

Yugeer let out a rare laugh, and Yugveer grinned, nudging Aryan's leg under the table.

The royal dining hall, for all its marble and gold, felt warm—alive with teasing, tension, and the weight of being royal sons born in a land where every move carried history on its shoulders.

And yet, for a moment, they were just a family sharing dinner.

Just as dinner came to an end, one by one, the royal family began to disperse. Crown Prince Veerendra was the first to excuse himself, muttering something about an early meeting with the council. Aryaneendra followed shortly after, yawning theatrically and making a joke about how his brain shuts down after dal and rice.

But Yugveer remained seated at the long dining table, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of his goblet. Across from him, Maharani Ratanprabha still sat gracefully, though her plate had been cleared long ago. She didn't look like she was waiting for anything—but she was. She always waited for her youngest.

"You can go, Maa," Yugveer said, lifting his gaze to her with a soft smile. "You must be tired."

But she just smiled back, warm and unyielding. "I want to spend some time with my child." she said.

He nodded.

After finishing the last sip of his drink, he stood and walked with her through the winding corridors of the palace. The stone walls echoed with their light footsteps, and soon, they reached the palace gardens. A quiet sanctuary filled with night-blooming jasmine and soft glowing lanterns hanging from age-old trees.

The two of them made their way to the white wooden swing draped in silk cushions, gently swaying with the breeze. Yugveer settled onto it and laid his head in his mother's lap without a word, like he had done since he was a child.

The queen's fingers slipped through his dark hair, massaging gently, her touch tender and familiar. Moonlight fell across them, silvering the strands of her hair and casting long shadows over the flowering hedges nearby.

"What's wrong, Yug?" she asked after a while, her voice soft but direct.

He looked up at the sky for a beat, then turned his face toward her, attempting a tired smile. "Nothing is wrong, I'm fine."

She didn't stop stroking his hair, but her eyes narrowed slightly. "You've seemed... distant since few days. Restless."

He stiffened ever so slightly at her words, then quickly relaxed again. "I'm just tired, Maa," he murmured, snuggling deeper into her lap like he used to do when he scraped his knee as a boy.

"Hmm," she hummed in response. She didn't press further. She knew her son well—he would speak when his heart was ready.

Silence stretched between them again, but it was a silence rich with emotion. The queen's fingers moved in a soothing rhythm, the night air cool and fragrant around them. Somewhere in the distance, a flute began playing—one of the palace musicians practicing late into the night.

And though Yugveer said nothing more, his mind wandered—to a dimly lit room, a pair of soft eyes, trembling hands that had reached for him in the dark, and a kiss that had burned its way into his memory.

He closed his eyes, the weight of longing quietly settling into his chest.

And the queen, who felt the shift in his breath and the unspoken ache in her son's heart, simply cradled him a little closer.

The night had deepened, cloaking the palace in a hush broken only by the rustle of trees and distant calls of nightbirds. The gentle creak of the swing echoed faintly in the open courtyard where Maharani Ratanprabha sat, her son Yugveer's head resting quietly on her lap, his breath slow and uneven with the weight of unspoken thoughts.

She smiled softly and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, her fingers lingering for a moment in a mother's silent prayer.

"Yug, my son," she whispered, gently tapping his shoulder. "Come, wake up. I'll tuck you into bed."

Yugveer stirred, blinking against the heaviness in his eyes, and slowly sat up on the swing, rubbing his face. Without a word, they walked together through the dimly lit corridors, the torches along the sandstone walls casting flickering shadows behind them.

Inside his chamber, the air was cool, scented faintly with sandalwood. Maharani poured water into a silver cup and handed it to him as he sat at the edge of his bed.

He drank slowly, the silence between them not uncomfortable—just full. When he finished, he lay back, arms folded behind his head for a moment before he turned onto his side. She pulled the soft cotton quilt over him and smoothed it gently across his chest, the way she had done since he was a child.

Sitting beside him, she began to pat his shoulder lightly, her touch tender and rhythmic, like the lull of old lullabies.

His breathing gradually slowed, his body finally relaxing into sleep.

Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his forehead and whispered against his skin, "I hope whatever is troubling you fades soon, my son. You carry too much alone."

She lingered for a moment longer, watching him in the soft glow of the oil lamp, then rose slowly and slipped out of the room, the door closing behind her with a quiet click.

The chamber fell into peaceful silence—where worries paused, and a mother's love lingered in the air.

---

It was midnight.

The palace lay in a blanket of silence, disturbed only by the soft rustling of the breeze through the garden trees and the occasional hoot of a night owl. Moonlight spilled through the carved jharokhas, casting delicate patterns on the polished stone floors of the inner chambers.

Yugveer lay in his bed, breathing steadily in deep slumber. His hair slightly tousled against the pillow, the sheet pulled up to his chest, and one arm sprawled lazily over the edge of the bed. He looked peaceful, unaware of the mischief sneaking its way toward him.

From the backside garden entrance, a small wooden door creaked open with the faintest sound.

Samar slipped in like a shadow.

Dressed in dark kurta and carrying a small satchel slung over his shoulder, he stepped lightly, his boots making no sound. His sharp eyes scanned the chamber and instantly found the prince—fast asleep, mouth slightly open, completely defenseless.

Samar rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Of course. The great Prince sleeping like a baby while the rest of us stay alert," he whispered, shaking his head.

But then, a mischievous smirk curled across his face.

"Oh, this is too perfect," he muttered, pulling out a tiny glass vial from his satchel. The clear liquid inside shimmered faintly—harmless but notorious for causing an unstoppable itchy nose and a few hours of random sneezing. A common prank ingredient used among palace trainees.

He tiptoed closer to Yugveer's bed.

With the grace of a seasoned troublemaker, Samar gently dabbed a drop on the edge of Yugveer's pillow and stepped back, waiting.

Nothing happened.

Yugveer continued sleeping like the prince he was.

Samar crossed his arms and waited another moment... then—

"ACHHOOO!"

Yugveer's entire body jerked as he sneezed loudly, startling even himself awake. His eyes flew open in confusion.

"Wha– ACHOO!– what the hell?!"

Samar burst out laughing, clutching his stomach.

"Good evening, Your Highness," he grinned. "Sleep well?"

Yugveer glared at him, half-asleep, half-murderous. "Samar... I swear on every sword in this palace... I will end you."

Samar casually leaned against the bedpost. "You say that every time. Still alive, aren't I?"

Yugveer groaned, rubbing his itchy nose. "What did you do?"

"Just a gentle reminder not to sleep with your guard down. What if I had been an thief?"

"You'd be a very annoying one," Yugveer muttered, voice thick with sleep, as he grabbed a pillow and half-heartedly flung it at Samar.

Samar caught it effortlessly, grinning. "And you'd be a very dramatic one. Come on, wipe your royal nose and get up. The boys are waiting outside."

Just then, Yugveer's drowsiness vanished like a candle snuffed in wind.

That place.

That girl.

The memory of her eyes—dark, knowing, and far too haunting for a stranger—flashed in his mind. Since that night, she'd returned to him again and again in thoughts he couldn't shake. He grabbed a cloth, wiped his nose hastily, and stood.

Moments later, faces veiled and shadows hugging them like cloaks, Yugveer and Samar slipped out through the rear passageway of the palace. Silent as whispers, they passed through the garden and followed the winding trail that led to the old ruined wall near the stables—where rebellion and laughter had often found them before.

There stood Abhi, Dev, and Raghav—huddled like conspirators, the orange glow of their lantern flickering against the early hour's mist.

"Finally," Abhi said, clapping his hands together. "I was about to send a bard to write a tragedy about your absence."

"Let's go," Raghav urged. "Before the sun rises and our sins start to look like mistakes."

With silent agreement, the boys started moving, cutting through winding village lanes and dusty footpaths. The world around them was asleep, but their steps were alive with mischief and thrill. The scent of night-blooming jasmine mixed with the musk of damp soil and the faint whiff of sandalwood smoke from distant hearths.

As they walked, Samar leaned in close to Yugveer, voice thick with teasing.

"You never told us," he began with that signature smirk, "how was your first night at the Kotha?"

Yugveer didn't reply immediately.

His mind was elsewhere—trapped in the memory of crimson curtains, tinkling anklets, and her voice that dripped like honey but carried the sharpness of steel. She wasn't a girl one could forget. She was art with a broken edge. A performance and a person all in one.

Samar nudged him, eyes gleaming.

Just then, Abhi laughed. "He's quiet. Probably still lost in that moment."

"Maybe she kissed his forehead and whispered poetry in his ears," Dev chimed in, his tone dripping with mockery.

Yugveer smirked, the prince in him returning. "You lot still owe me, remember? That dare—polishing my Vagha's hooves. I haven't forgotten."

Silence.

The laughter died instantly. The boys all shared a look.

He was right. That night when they returned, sweaty, guilty, and overwhelmed, Yugveer had reminded them of the dare they lost. They had begged him to spare them the humiliation, promising anything but that.

But now, as they reached the edge of the forbidden quarter—where women danced behind lattice screens and secrets slipped from lips for a price—they were too caught up in the thrill to dwell on it.

The Kotha stood like a living dream carved from sin and silk. A grand Haveli draped in soft lights and sheer curtains, its carved balconies echoing with distant laughter and music played on the sitar. Veiled figures glided like phantoms behind colored glass, and the sweet, sharp scent of attar, alcohol, and incense clung to the air like perfume on skin.

The entrance was wide, with golden lamps lining either side. A doorman, older and expressionless, recognized the boys from last time and let them in with a silent nod.

Inside, the shift in energy was instant.

Men lounged lazily on velvet cushions, intoxicated not just by the wine, but by the hypnotic sway of women dancing in the center of the hall. The room pulsed with tabla beats, laughter, clinking glasses, and hushed whispers that meant everything and nothing at once.

The boys transformed the moment they stepped in—wild-eyed, grinning like idiots, the way only young men drunk on freedom could.

As soon as the boys stepped in, they shed their princely airs and turned into mischief-hungry boys. Wild-eyed, grinning, their voices louder, gestures looser. Dev had already started humming along with the music, Raghav winked at one of the dancers, and Samar swaggered ahead like he owned the place.

Further inside, in a raised corner cushioned with silk bolsters, sat Amma ji—half-reclined, puffing lazily on a hookah pipe. Smoke curled from her lips like slow-moving snakes. A young girl sat near her feet, gently massaging her legs.

Samar walked forward, bowing slightly. "We want to spend the night here."

Amma ji exhaled a long plume of smoke, studying them through narrowed, kohl-rimmed eyes. She nodded once, not bothering to speak, her fingers tapping the hookah rhythmically.

Then Yugveer stepped forward, his expression more guarded than the rest. He reached inside his cloak and placed a small velvet pouch on the silver tray before her. The clink of gold inside made her brows arch in appreciation. She weighed the pouch with a knowing smile.

With a sharp clap, she summoned a few girls, their eyes trained low, lips painted like rose petals. She gestured them toward the hallway that led to the private rooms. Just like last time.

Yugveer followed slowly, heart pounding harder with every step. He didn't want the wine. Nor the music. Nor the sin. He wanted her.

His thoughts were a silent prayer: Let it be her. Just one glimpse. Just her.

He sat in the room, the air warmer and heavier. A single lantern glowed near the corner, flickering shadows across the carved walls. His friends had disappeared behind velvet curtains, already lost to the night.

And then... the soft sound of anklets.

His breath caught.

The door creaked open.

A woman stepped in, her face turned away as she quietly shut the door behind her. The light barely touched her, but he didn't need light. He knew it was her.

She turned, slowly. The dim light fell on her face, and her hands moved up to untie the end of her dupatta. She let it slide off her shoulders, falling softly to the floor. Her eyes never met his.

Yugveer froze. This wasn't what he came for.

"Hey... you don't have to," he said gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her body stilled. A broken sob escaped her lips.

His heart shattered.

He rushed to her, held her trembling hands and slowly guided her to the edge of the bed. She was crying, shoulders shaking, eyes lowered in shame.

He stood quickly, grabbing the brass jug on the side table, pouring water into a glass with trembling hands. He knelt before her, offering the glass, his voice calm, warm.

"Here, drink. Please."

She took it, hands still shaking, and sipped in silence. Tears slipped down her cheeks.

"It's okay," he said softly, rubbing her hands, staying beside her. "I'm not here for that... I just wanted to see you again."

Her sobs quieted, breath by breath. The room went silent except for the distant beat of music and the echo of something unspoken blooming between them.

He stayed like that, kneeling before her—not as a prince, but as a boy who couldn't bear to see her cry.

Then, with a faint gesture, she patted the empty space on the bed beside her. Her eyes still carried the traces of sorrow, but there was a silent plea in them—a need for warmth, not touch... presence, not possession.

Yugveer stood, not saying a word. Before taking the seat beside her, he walked quietly across the room, picked up the dupatta she had dropped earlier. The soft fabric slipped between his fingers as he made his way back. Kneeling gently before her, he reached out and wrapped it around her shoulders, shielding her bare skin from the cold and from the weight of unspoken shame.

She froze at first, startled—not used to such gestures. But his touch held no lust, only kindness.

Then he sat beside her, careful and quiet. Their shoulders barely touched, but something between them shifted—closer, calmer.

She turned to him, her voice fragile but honest. "I thought... I would never see you again."

He met her gaze, surprised. "That's why you were crying?"

She nodded slowly, her lashes glistening under the golden glow of the lantern.

"I am happy to see you," she said, her words simple and stripped of any game or pretense.

A small smile curved on his lips—genuine, soft. "Me too," he replied, his voice steady, eyes locked with hers.

She smiled back, hesitant but real. And in that moment, her face lit up, not like the dazzling courtesan she was forced to be, but like the girl beneath it all.

"I like you smiling," he murmured, unable to stop the truth from slipping out.

At his words, her smile grew shyer. She dropped her gaze, cheeks warming with a blush that made her look even younger, more untouched by the world she was thrown into.

He didn't move. He just watched her—so full of beauty, sorrow, strength, and something so rare it made his chest ache: innocence, still untouched at the core.