Chapter 12: The Cursed Blue Skin

On top of the majestic palace, a towering figure stood, his mighty frame accentuated by a long white beard. With an air of authority, he rested his hands on the parapet. Arrayed behind him, an assembly of soldiers clad in the military uniform of Vagarintha adorned with an emblem of a charging bull stood in an imposing formation surrounding the palace. Bows at the ready, arrows poised low, their precision awaited only the command to rain down on the tall man standing below, clad in regal armour.

"Release!" His authoritative voice reverbarated.

With a firm stance, the man's piercing gaze shifted to the sword nestled inside the pool by his side. Through the rippling water's reflection, he caught the first arrow hurtling towards him from behind. In a swift motion, his foot depressed down a small iron pedal next to him, unleashing a torrent of water splashes that propelled the sword skyward.

Sunlight danced upon its gleaming surface as he deftly caught its hilt, his wrist effortlessly intertwining with its handle. Swift as a fleeting thought, he spun around, the blade of his sword a hair's breadth away, slicing the impending arrow. With impeccable reflexes, he sidestepped and dodged the onslaught from all angles, an ethereal blur of motion that mesmerized everyone watching him. Within mere heartbeats, all the arrows shattered and descended to the ground.

Sliding his sword into its scabbard, his gaze ascended to the palace top, fixating upon the figure that awaited him. "Is that all you got, grandfather?" He taunted, a mischeif glint on his eyes.

"Is that all you got, Minister Kram? Ensure the future tests are tougher that match his rival." He declared, irked by his grandson's taunts.

"This is the toughest test we have ever devised in the entire history of Vagarintha, General Parastin." Sighed the Minister, a mixture of awe and exhaustion evident in his voice. "Yet, he moves through it with effortless grace. It appears that none can stand his equal."

Parastin's face lit up with pride at his words. "He was molded by my hand, Minister. Naturally, there is none who can rival him." With a dismissive gesture, he sent the soldiers on their way and proceeded to descend alongside the Minister.

"Arazhan! I am proud of you, my boy." Parastin patted his shoulder affectionately.

"Grandfather," Arazhan bowed with respect.

As the commander-in-chief of Vagarintha, Parastin held a position of great authority and wisdom of an elder. Despite being the legitimate heir to the royal lineage of Vagarintha, Parastin had never assumed the throne, for he had remained unmarried. In Vrinastha's customs, the King could only ascend the throne when he had a queen to share the reign, a tradition rooted deeply within the fabric of Vagarintha's monarchy.

"The responsibility of finding a bride for Arazhan now falls upon your hands, General Parastin. He has all the qualities to ascend the throne as our future King." The Minister proclaimed, his voice brimming with joy. However, a spear whizzed past the Minister in a moment that froze time, causing a shiver down his spine. The spear found its mark, piercing through the grand dome of the palace, rending a sizable hole in its majestic facade. The thunderous impact reverberated throughout the grounds, jolting the guards, servants, and even the women seeking solace near the temple, their hurried footsteps filling the air as they rushed there.

Arazhan turned around, finding himself face-to-face with a towering man mere footsteps away.

"What is the meaning of this, Tarken?" Parastin's eyes ignited with an intensity that mirrored a smouldering inferno. "You have recklessly wielded your spear within the palace walls. Servants and guards pass through these halls, innocent lives that could have been threatened by your thoughtless actions."

"Do you think I am so thoughtless, grandfather? I am well aware of the guards and servants and their morning rituals. This is the time when guards and servants gather for their morning meal." His gaze locked onto Arazhan, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Just like my brother, I, too, must exhibit my power as a formidable warrior to you, don't I?"

"Well said, my son," A voice filled the air. Adorned in majestic attire befitting a king, his head was proudly adorned with a crown as he walked alongside the royal advisor and a contingent of loyal soldiers. Though his noble face exuded authority, his pronounced hunch in the back and limp gait showed his physical disability.

King Declan.

"My son is not only the finest spearsman in Vagarintha but also in all of Vrinastha," Proclaimed the King with pride.

"Yes, your Majesty." The royal advisor chimed in, his eyes narrowing as they bore into Arazhan. "Unlike some soldiers who arrogantly claim the title of the finest swordsman merely because they won three small battles."

"Royal advisor," Arazhan drawled lazily, his voice laced with smug confidence as he leisurely unsheathed his sword. "In case your memory has failed you, let me remind you that the title of Vrinastha's greatest swordsman was not given to him. It was earned through the three terrifying battles that shall forever echo through the annals of our history. Care to savour the bite of that blade?" His thumb traced a deliberate path along the razor-sharp edge, a subtle threat disguised in his nonchalant gesture.

Fear gripped the royal advisor's throat, his gulp a desperate attempt to swallow his ill-timed words. He took advantage of the situation and spoke nonsense because the King was beside him to support him. How had he so carelessly overlooked that this tyrant prince ruled with a sword that sang its wrath long before his mouth uttered a single word?

Parastin and Minister Kram stifled their laughter.

A cloud of ashen despair settled upon King Declan's face. His gaze pierced through the Minister's soul. "Be aware, Minister Kram, spreading misinformation can poison the minds of people in our Kingdom. Do not dare to mislead them by falsely proclaiming the wrong heir to the throne. Echoes of falsehood travel faster than the wind." Shifting his weight to his left, the burden of his hunched back evident, he placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "It is my blood, my son will ascend the throne after me. He will sit on the Golden throne. Tell this to the Minister, Uncle Parastin."

"Your Majesty." Parastin spoke with a veneer of politeness. Yet, his tone carried a subtle warning. "Do not overlook the fact that you are merely serving as the regent of Vagarintha in lieu of Alistair. Arazhan, Rander, and Tarken each have an equal claim to the throne. The prince who proves himself worthy in every trial shall rightfully ascend to the title of King."

King Declan, despite being the eldest among his three brothers and possessing the inherent right to claim the throne, was disregarded due to his physical disability. Concerns echoed through the council, questioning how he could effectively run the Kingdom forward if he struggled to walk on his own. Instead, the crown was bestowed upon Alistair, Declan's second brother and the father of Arazhan. Tragically, fate dealt a cruel blow, claiming the lives of both Alistair and their third brother Killian. With the throne left vacant and Parastin bound by a curse, unwilling to marry to inherit the throne, Declan ascended the throne. But Parastin cleverly put a leash around his neck by making him King Reagent until the princes reached adulthood to claim the throne.

Declan's knuckles tightened in anger. How dare he entertain the idea of passing the crown to this cursed bastard. "I have served the burden of this crown for_"

"Father, Grandfather speaks the truth," Tarken interjected, his hand squeezing his father's shoulder. "We all are rightful to the throne. But should Brother Arazhan desire the throne, I am willing to give my claim. Anyway, we have five years ahead to declare the rightful ruler. But for now, Father, let's leave. It's time for your medicine." Tarken's gaze shifted towards Arazhan, a silent understanding passing between them. "Brother, let us meet at our spot in the evening," He said before departing with the King.

As the King moved farther away, Parastin spoke up. "Arazhan, your father's wish is that you should_"

"I have no desire to inherit the throne, Grandfather. My father would wish the same if he was alive." Arazhan asserted, fully aware of his grandfather's persistent fixation on the matter. As a warrior, he harboured no interest in ascending the throne, commanding others, and sheltering behind the palace walls. "A true warrior's heart seeks only the thrill of battle, never burdened by the weight of a crown. I find my throne on the battlefield, untouched by the trappings of these politics. I am that warrior, destined for a legacy beyond a throne. I have answered your question. I will take my leave." With his declaration hanging in the air, he strode away.

"The first prince is not interested in the kingship. The third prince, forever in his brother's shadow, destined to follow, not lead. It seems only Tarken is interested in the throne, General." Minister Kram let out a sigh. "And trying to change Arazhan's decision is like attempting to alter the path of a raging river."

"Why rush? He is only eighteen now, with five years left until he is eligible for the throne," Parastin reasoned. "Let him bask in the glory of his warrior's path until then. If the Golden Throne still fails to claim his interest, perhaps his wife will sway his heart."

"Have you found a suitable match for him, General?" Kram inquired eagerly, a spark of anticipation in his eyes.

"Ahantha."

"Lady Ahantha? She is the perfect fit for Arazhan. They have been friends since childhood and complement each other flawlessly. He values her words above all else. Your choice was wise, General," The Minister said, a knowing smile gracing his lips. There is a rumour going around the city that they are in love, and Arazhan is only waiting for the time to claim her hand for the marriage.

Parastin nodded. "By the way, where is Hiraan? I am not seeing him lately. Tell him to meet me. I have an important task for him." He stated before striding away.

Kram heaved an exasperated sigh, fully aware of that brats whereabouts. His abode is either the Tawaif or Arazhan's company. Since the day he had introduced him to the Tawaif, he had become an unstoppable regular, outshining the Minister in his visits. From dawn till dusk, Hiraan immersed himself in the company of those courtesans, engaging in their banters, delving into juicy gossip, mastering musical instruments, and swaying to the rhythm of the dances. And when evening came, he would return home and tortures Kram with his singing and dancing skills.

.....

As Arazhan stepped into his chambers, he made his way to the private bath chamber, discarding his shirt along the way. Revealing a physique chiselled from stone, muscles honed to perfection, exuding strength and resilience. The tapestry of scars, like the battle-worn badges of honour across his taut muscles, accentuated his authority. His bronze skin, kissed by the sun's passionate embrace, added a touch of allure, casting a seductive aura upon him. As the water cascaded through his body, he gazed at his exposed skin, slowly turning to blue colour.

After half an hour passed, he went inside the bedroom and put on his trousers. He unlocked a wooden drawer and picked up a glass bottle containing orange liquid. As he unscrewed the cap, the door swung open.

"Oh, my eyes! You should have warned me that you are still in your original skin." Hiraan yelled, his throat tightening as he stared at Arazhan's haunting blue face and chiselled blue torso. A shiver ran down his spine, for there was no denying that his original skin intimidated him.

"A knock on the door could have spared you the shock." He lazily drawled as he applied a drop of orange potion to the base of his spine. As his thumb pressed against the potion's resting place, a surge of arcane energy pulsed through his veins. Like a cascading wave, his blue skin sparkled with an otherworldly radiance, shimmering and shifting until it settled into his ordinary complexion, hiding his original skin beneath.

How he manages two skins? Hiraan pondered.

"I have heard tales of a long-lost book penned by a renowned scholar about the curse of a blue skin, but it got lost with time," Hiraan said. "We may find the cure if we find that book."

There is no use, Arazhan thought. He combed every corner of Vrinastha in search of that elusive book, to no avail. He put the potion back into the drawer. As he prepared to close it, his eyes were drawn to a small familiar wooden box. He opened it, revealing a ring adorned with gemstones in the shape of a half-moon.

Hiraan couldn't resist a mischievous giggle as he caught a glimpse of the ring. "You are still unable to forget that ugly baby?" Hiraan wondered if her face looked like a monkey even now if she was alive.

"What made you think so?"

"Because you are still untouched." Hiraan casually popped a peanut into his mouth, savouring the crunchy distraction. "You have neither visited the whorehouses, nor fucked courtesans in Tawaif to claim your manhood. So according to my gut feeling, that ugly baby is your_" Before Hiraan could finish his sentence, the sound of an unsheathed blade from the wall mount reverberated through the room, and a cold, steely edge pressed against his neck from behind.

"Zhan!" Hiraan cried.

"Tell me, Hiraan," Arazhan began. "Using your gut instincts, will this blade plunge deep into your neck or." He gestured with the sword's tip, now aimed menacingly at Hiraan's nether region. "Will it swing low and chop off your precious little peanuts?"

"You backstabbing scoundrel! So this is your secret to winning battles? By striking the soldier's sensitive spots from behind?" Hiraan yelled. How dare he belittle his manhood by comparing his prized jewels to mere 'peanuts'! The Tawaif courtesans adored his juicy meatballs, never wanting to let go of them whenever he paid them a visit.

"Such a brilliant strategy, isn't it? Who needs honour and integrity when I can sneakily undermine my enemies? Perhaps I should offer classes on backstabbing tactics in our academy. How to chop off your enemy's manhood on the battlefield. Care to enrol?"

"Zhan! Please keep that sword a little away from my precious brother."

"Give me one good reason."

Hiraan felt an impulse to offer him to taste his peanuts, but he knew all too well that Arazhan would slash them straight away. "I need it to entertain the courtesans."

"You can still entertain them with your music and dance. I guess that's the end_"

"Wait! I generate the most taxes to the Kingdom by visiting them."

"That's a good reason to spare you for now." Arazhan nodded, taking back his sword.

Hiraan let out a sigh.

When Arazhan first heard about the Tawaif from Hiraan, he imagined it to be a place where grown-ups played games akin to the children. When he lost the infant thirteen years back, he and Hiraan searched everywhere—through the city, the towns, and the nearby villages for a week—hoping to find any clue about her whereabouts, but they found nothing.

Since the day Arazhan rescued the infant from the Tawaif, his heart has remained haunted by guilt and what-ifs. If only he hadn't set the establishment on fire, he could have kept the baby close and played with her every day by visiting there. But he learned the naked truth about Tawaif when he turned eight.

His grandfather sent him to the Tawaif to educate him on sex and reproduction, and he found himself reluctantly accompanying a woman to a private chamber. The touch of her hand repulsed him so much that he instinctively pushed her against the wall, his disgust evident. It didn't take long for him to grasp the true nature of the games that were played there.

Arazhan's thoughts were abruptly halted by a palace guard, who relayed the message that Lady Rihritha wished to see him. Hiraan, as always, trailed behind him. Arazhan spotted a maid massaging Lady Rihritha's legs on the bed. He gestured for the maid to step aside and took the oil in his hands, kneading and easing the tension in her weary limbs.

"You have come, Arazhan?" Rihritha's eyes fluttered open, her face adorned with a smile.

"And how did you recognize me so keenly?" Arazhan chuckled. Ever since the loss of his parents, leaving him an orphan, Rihritha has raised him as her own, alongside her son Rander.

"I raised you myself. Can't I even recognize the touch of my own son?" Rihritha signalled for him to stop and took a seat on the bed. "Rander left with Ahantha to accompany her home without informing me. You ought to instil some manners in your brother, Arazhan," She complained.

Arazhan's face morphed into a frown. Ahantha left with Rander? Without a single word to him? Pushing aside his thoughts, he inquired why she had called him.

"A royal invitation has arrived from my cousin in the Aashanti kingdom, inviting us to her daughter's grand wedding. I want to go."

"In my recollection, Aashanti belongs to a faraway land beyond the borders of Vrinastha. Venturing into foreign territories poses dangers and risks. So, attending the wedding is out of the question," Arazhan asserted. "Nevertheless, I will instruct Minister Kram to send a splendid gift to honour the occasion."

"This is not the reason I called you here. It has been twenty long years since we have met. I refuse to let this opportunity slip away. I am going to the Aashanti kingdom, and this time, no one will stand in my way." She called the courtier. "Send a message to Aashanti, informing them that Lady Rihritha shall attend the wedding unaccompanied. Who cares about my safety anyway. I don't need any of my sons to accompany me_"

"If Arazhan and Rander don't want to join, I shall accompany you, Lady Rihritha," Hiraan volunteered, his eyes lit up with an idea. "Allow me the honour of being your protector, even if it means sacrificing my own life." As he spoke, he popped a peanut into his mouth.

Arazhan tortures him with military training every day. If he escapes to the wedding, he will get a much-needed break from his relentless drills. Besides, he has gotten bored of Tawaif's courtesans. It's time to spice things up with some exotic ladies from foreign kingdoms! Two feathered birds, one precise arrow, and a whole lot of adventure. Hiraan internally rejoiced.

Protect her with his life? Rihritha's face scrunched up. She wondered if Hiraan had even set foot in the military academy besides the Tawaif. If she takes him with her, she has to bear the burden of becoming his guardian. She turned to Arazhan, unleashing her emotional theatrics.

Arazhan, feeling the strain of her emotional outpouring, wearily rubbed his temples, releasing a deep sigh. "Fine! We shall attend the wedding," He conceded, and an instant spark ignited in Rihritha's eyes. "However, I have two conditions," He added firmly.

Hiraan smacked his thigh in frustration, cursing the missed chance. 'Let him go. I still have the courtesans here. Also, I will be free from his military drills.'

"What are the conditions?"

"Once we set foot in that land, you and I will become strangers," Arazhan declared firmly. The bitter enmity between the two countries weighed heavily on his mind, making him wary of placing his mother in the hands of the enemies. He would have to become a shadow, silently guarding her from the dangers that lurked in the darkness. Another reason is he wanted to avoid any attention from women who might be drawn to his status.

Rihritha didnot know his reasons for acting like strangers, but she nodded.

"The second." Arazhan pointed his eyes to Hiraan. "He will come with us."

Hiraan's mouth full of peanuts opened as he exclaimed. "Why me?"

"Entertainment." Arazhan deadpanned.