"She died and he also escaped," Harsha sighed deeply, wiping the blood off his hands with Rukmini's fallen scarf.
The old patriarch and the guard approached from a distance, their expressions shifting from curiosity to horror as they saw the scene before them. The ground was now stained with blood, and Rukmini lay motionless, her face battered and bloodied. The pool of blood spreading around her added a grim touch to the already dire situation.
"Prince, what happened here? Why is the maid dead?" the patriarch asked, his voice stiff as he struggled to grasp the scene. His eyes darted between the lifeless maid and the prince, searching for answers.
Harsha, his face set in a disgusted expression, shrugged nonchalantly. "Ha! She was silenced by some guy who shot her with an arrow," he said, as he continued to wipe his hands with the stained scarf, the casualness of his actions in stark contrast to the severity of the situation.
The Patriarch's gaze was fixed on Harsha, his face full of disbelief. "What do you mean? Why would anyone do this? And why were you running after here?"
Harsha threw the now bloodied scarf onto the ground beside Rukmini's lifeless body. "She was a spy," he said coldly. "Her job was to gather information, and it seems she was compromised. The real threat was the person who killed her and escaped,"
The Patriarch looked at the body, then back at Harsha, his hands clasped behind his back. "A spy? Here in our mansion? And someone managed to get past the guards and kill her?"
Harsha nodded, his gaze fixed on the pool of blood. "It appears so. This was not just a random act of violence,"
The Patriarch's face tightened in worry as he turned to the guard. "Increase the security. Make sure this doesn't happen again. Bring in someone to clean the body up quick,"
"Yes, Patriarch," The guard hurried off at the stern command.
"Now, young prince," the patriarch's tone shifted to something colder, more authoritative, "how do you know she was a spy?"
Harsha remained unshaken, his expression calm despite the patriarch's piercing gaze. "She was assigned to spy on me. Didn't the Nayakas thoroughly check before allowing a maid into your mansion?"
The patriarch's face grew stern, a sign of his concern. "This is a serious issue. It raises questions about the security of the mansion."
The patriarch's eyes narrowed as he processed the gravity of the situation. "We'll need to investigate this matter deeply, I will personally look into this,"
' Haa! My age is catching up, I am being lax thinking I would be safe, This is the result,' Patriarch thought inwardly
"Young prince, do accompany me to the room. We have something to discuss," the patriarch said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Harsha, still staring at the blood-stained floor, responded coldly, "Is it like last time? I don't have time for your whims, patriarch."
The patriarch's eyes narrowed, and he shook his head slightly. "Hmm! No. Follow me, young prince. It's important."
Harsha sighed and followed the patriarch as he turned and started walking down the corridor. The old man moved with a steady pace, his robe flowing behind him. The sound of their footsteps echoed in the empty hallway.
They arrived at a door at the end of a long corridor. The patriarch pushed it open, revealing a spacious room with a large wooden table and comfortable chairs. The room was sparsely decorated, with only a few items indicating its purpose. The patriarch motioned for Harsha to enter first.
"Please, have a seat," the patriarch said, gesturing toward one of the chairs. Harsha sat, his eyes scanning the room, awaiting the patriarch's explanation.
"Young prince," the patriarch began, raising an eyebrow, "why do you think we Nayakas are so strong?"
Harsha waved a hand dismissively. "I don't care. Get to the point, Patriarch."
The old man chuckled, patting Harsha's shoulder as if sharing an inside joke. "HAHAHA. It's solely because of my military prowess."
Harsha raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Are you praising yourself?"
The patriarch waved his hand, dismissing Harsha's comment with a slight shake. "No, no. But what do you think will happen when I pass away?"
Harsha's face hardened. He crossed his arms and replied coolly, "Simple. Your family, which you've cherished, will become easy prey for other nobles."
The patriarch's expression grew serious, turning to face Harsha with a grave look. "Precisely. That's why I must ensure everything is in place to protect our legacy,"
"Yeah, so what? That's a problem for you to figure out, not me," Harsha replied coldly. "Don't you already have an heir?"
The patriarch sighed, rubbing his temples. "A bad heir is even worse than leaving the family without one."
Harsha raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "AHAHA. Is your son really that incompetent? What about Rama Nayaka?"
The patriarch's face grew stern. "Rama is better than my son, but he's not politically adept to lead a noble house."
"Would your son accept appointing another heir apart from himself, considering he is your only blood?" Harsha asked, raising an eyebrow.
Rudra Simha Nayaka had one son, Bhima Nayaka, whose talent and strength were a stark contrast to his name. Bhima was not only considered incompetent due to his lack of strength but was also uninterested in leading the household. Rama Nayaka, the patriarch's nephew, had been brought into the house after the patriarch's only brother had passed away a decade ago. Rama had some ambition to lead but was aware of his shortcomings and feared that he might tarnish the household's name.
"Yes, he would accept it," the patriarch replied with a hint of resignation.
"Huh? Why would he?" Harsha asked, puzzled.
The patriarch's eyes softened. "He's a gentle kid and doesn't like to fight. He wants to live a life helping others achieve their dreams,"
"What do you want me to do then?" Harsha asked, raising an eyebrow as he leaned slightly against the chair.
"The Nayakas will lend you support for the throne," the patriarch said, nodding gravely. "In return, keep my legacy alive."
Harsha's lips curled into a smirk as he crossed his arms and shook his head. "Old man, you're so funny," he said, rolling his eyes. "You're asking a child to take up a burden you couldn't handle."
His gaze was unwavering. "Do you really think I need your support for the throne?" Harsha's expression was filled with amusement as he awaited the old man's response.
"Young prince, do you think I can't kill you here and the Emperor wouldn't even bat an eye at your death?" The patriarch's eyes were sharp as he leaned in, his voice low and menacing.
Harsha chuckled, "Hoo! Old man, you look scary trying to threaten me," he said, shrugging the threat off.
He got up from the chair, his hands gesturing dismissively. "Of course, I acknowledge you have the strength and authority to get away with my death scot-free. But what would happen after you pass away?" Harsha raised an eyebrow, his expression cool. "The Emperor would raze your family to the ground to show his authority."
"Old man, you're too soft," Harsha said as he approached the patriarch. He placed a hand on the old man's shoulder, his expression serious. The patriarch looked at him with a cold, menacing glare. "You could have changed this situation by choosing either your nephew or your son and molding him into a perfect heir."
Harsha's hand remained on the patriarch's shoulder as he continued, his voice steady. "You chose to send one to the Royal Palace and one to roam around doing charity. This is all the result of your own doing."
The patriarch's gaze hardened. "Haa! So you're calling me a bad parent?"
"Yes," Harsha replied, nodding slightly. "But, yeah, I do need your help for the throne."
The patriarch's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing. "So you do acknowledge your shortcomings, young prince?"
Harsha straightened up, meeting the patriarch's gaze confidently. "A man should work on his shortcomings, not run away from them. I may not be in the same league as the other princes, but I am confident I can defeat them head-on."
"That's a bold claim, young prince. The first and second princes' abilities are no joke," the patriarch said, his hands resting on the table.
Harsha folded his arms, leaning slightly forward. "Are you still doubting me? You, who didn't invite either of them and chose to invite me, must have seen something in me."
The patriarch let out a hearty laugh, throwing his head back. "HAHAHAHA, it's true. But my own influence alone won't get you the throne."
Harsha took a step closer to the patriarch, his fingers drumming on the edge of the table. "Well, I will have to work on it then. I do hope you won't betray my expectations, old man."
The patriarch's expression softened as he looked at Harsha, nodding slowly. "Hmmm... The Nayakas never betray."
Harsha smiled and extended his hand toward the patriarch. "As a present for lending me your influence, I will solve your long-standing problem."
The patriarch's eyes narrowed with interest as he reached out to shake Harsha's hand. "Really now? I'm curious about how you plan to do that."
"I will kill you," Harsha said with a sadistic smile.
Author Notes
So Guys, Forgot to mention I got the contract and can now set premium chapters. I do plan to go premium later, once I get enough daily readers. Thanks to whoever reads my chapters daily
Creation is hard, cheer me up!
Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!
The evening sun bathed the town in a soft pastel orange, casting a warm glow over the streets. Oil lamps flickered to life in the temples, their gentle light mingling with the devotional hymns of the evening prayer drifting in from a distance. Each house glowed warmly as its own lamps were lit, creating a cosy, inviting ambience.
A tall young man with long, flowing black hair made his way toward the Nayaka mansion. Slim and lanky, he carried an air of grace. His handsome features were framed by dark eyes and thick eyebrows, which gave him a striking presence.
As he walked, the shopkeepers greeted him with friendly waves and cheerful smiles. Conversations were punctuated with laughter and light-hearted chatter.
"Young master, are you heading home now?" one shopkeeper called out, a friendly grin on his face. "We've got some new pottery you might like."
The young man paused, clasping his hands together in a gesture of polite refusal. " I have to head back soon, Uncle. Sorry, no time."
The shopkeeper's wife stepped in, gently pinching her husband's cheek as she spoke. "Oh, come on, don't bother the young master. Just visit us if you can. Don't listen to this one," she said with a playful nudge.
The young man chuckled, giving a nod of appreciation. "I'll try to come by if I get a chance. Thank you for understanding." He continued on his way, the warmth of the people accompanying him as he made his way to the mansion.
The man was the only son of the Patriarch of Nayakas, Bhima Nayaka. He entered the grand mansion, a contented smile on his face.
He spotted the old butler slowly making his way down the corridor. Bhima approached him with a friendly demeanour, a warm smile playing on his lips. "Where is Father?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.
The butler, lifting his gaze from the floor, acknowledged Bhima with a slight bow. "Ah, Young Master! The Patriarch is with the Prince."
Bhima's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Eh? Again? He's been with the Prince ever since he arrived."
The butler nodded slowly, adjusting his back slightly. "Young Master, the Prince is of royal lineage. The Patriarch needs to honour his duties and uphold the family's honour."
Bhima sighed, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Well! I'll go and greet Father then." He reached out and gently took the stack of documents from the butler's hands. "I'll deliver these myself. Next time, let someone else handle this. You shouldn't overwork yourself," he said with a concerned expression, glancing at the butler's weary face.
The butler's face softened, and he managed a small smile. "Young Master doesn't need to worry about this old man. Hahaha."
Bhima released a long, drawn-out sigh as he turned to head towards his father's quarters. "I'll go meet Father then," he said, waving casually before continuing down the hallway, the documents tucked under his arm.
Bhima Nayaka encountered the youngest prince for the first time during his visit to the mansion. He had heard numerous rumours about the prince—stories of troublemaking and a lack of talent. However, his initial impressions shifted as soon as he laid eyes on the prince.
The prince stood tall with an air of undeniable authority, his demeanour radiating a commanding presence. The way he carried himself spoke volumes, far exceeding the whispered tales Bhima had heard.
Bhima thought to himself, 'The prince is so different from what I expected. Perhaps that's why Father extended the invitation to him.'
Bhima reached his father's study and knocked on the door. When there was no response, he knocked again, a bit louder this time.
' I guess he fell asleep,' he thought.
He turned the handle and pushed the door open, stepping inside and closing it gently behind him.
"Father, are you asl—"
His voice faltered as he took in the scene before him. His father lay sprawled on the floor, a dagger protruding from his chest. Blood pooled around him, soaking into the marble floor. Bhima's eyes widened in shock, and he dropped the documents he was holding. His gaze shifted to the young man standing nearby, wiping his hands on his father's bloodied upper robe.
"Tsk, shitty old bastard got blood on my clothes," the young man muttered, his expression full of disdain.
"Oh, look who's here," the young man chuckled, glancing up at Bhima with a cold, mocking smile.
Bhima's face turned pale as he stumbled back, his voice trembling with disbelief. "Why? Why did you kill Father, Prince?!" His eyes welled up with tears, and his heart pounded with rage as he looked down at his father's lifeless body.
The young prince shrugged nonchalantly, his smile widening. "Does it matter? Your father was begging to spare his incompetent son even on his last breath. It was so funny, HAHAHA."
"YOU SCUM!" Bhima's voice erupted in fury, his entire body shaking.
"Sad, you couldn't see your father for the last time," Harsha said, a wide grin stretching across his face as he observed Bhima's anguished reaction.
"YOU MONSTER! STOP RUNNING YOUR MOUTH!!" Bhima shouted, his voice trembling with rage. He lunged at Harsha, but the prince deftly sidestepped, causing Bhima to stumble and crash onto the floor.
Harsha laughed, his gaze fixed on Bhima with a look of contempt. "Hahaha, you can't even fight properly, and yet you think you can avenge your worthless father?" he mocked.
"I WILL KILL YOU!" Bhima shouted as he staggered to his feet, his face contorted with rage.
"Doesn't hurt to try. Here," Harsha said coldly, tossing a dagger that landed at Bhima's feet. "I'll give you a chance to avenge your worthless father."
With a roar of frustration, Bhima picked up the dagger and charged straight at Harsha. The prince smoothly dodged the attack, moving his neck aside with a casual flick. Harsha then swept Bhima off his feet and slammed his heel into Bhima's stomach.
Bhima gasped, coughing and struggling to catch his breath as he tried to rise from the blow. "Try harder, HAHAHA," Harsha taunted, his expression a mask of cold amusement. "I won't even use my hands."
Bhima lunged at Harsha repeatedly, each attempt with the dagger proving futile.
"Haa! This is so boring! Like father, like son—both are worthless," Harsha remarked with a yawn, clearly unimpressed.
"DON'T CALL FATHER WORTHLESS!" Bhima roared, charging again with labored breaths and poor form.
"Stop shouting every time you charge," Harsha said, delivering a heavy kick to Bhima's torso. The force sent Bhima crashing to the ground, his dagger skidding away across the floor.
Harsha strode over, grabbing Bhima by the hair and dragging him to the nearby table. With a brutal shove, he slammed Bhima's face onto the wooden surface.
"So, why do you think your father invited me here?" Harsha asked, his voice cold and steady.
Bhima, fueled by rage and adrenaline, roared, "I WILL KILL YOU, YOU BASTARD!"
Harsha responded by smashing Bhima's face into the table again. "He wanted to make a deal because of you," he said, his tone unyielding.
Another brutal slam to the table followed. "Due to you, he begged me to take care of his family if I ascended to the throne."
Blood trickled from Bhima's forehead, obscuring his once-handsome features. His vision swayed, each wave of dizziness hitting harder than the last.
'What? Father did that?' Bhima thought to himself, stunned by the revelation.
"Why did he beg, though?" Harsha slammed his face into the table once more.
"Because his only failure of a son was busy doing idiotic things."
Another forceful impact followed. "I killed him because your father was annoying, and what can you even do?"
"You can't do anything," Harsha continued, "You don't have the authority or the strength to stand up for your family."
He slammed Bhima's face into the table again. "You couldn't even protect your only remaining family."
Bhima's mind raced with shock and regret. 'What the hell, Father died because of me,' he thought, memories of happier times with his father flashing through his mind. 'Father, please forgive your incompetent son. If only I had been strong,' he lamented as tears streamed down his face, mingling with the crimson blood.
With a final, defiant roar, "YOU BASTARD! I WILL FOLLOW YOU TO THE DEPTHS OF HELL AND KILL YOU! MARK MY WORDS!"
Exhausted and overwhelmed, Bhima slumped forward, collapsing onto the table, unconscious. Contrary to his demeanor, Bhima had inherited his father's prowess. He was talented, but instilling the drive to work doesn't come from just being talented. This will make Bhima realize how quickly his family would crumble in front of his eyes and he won't be able to do anything without power.
"Weren't you too violent with my son?" the old man asked, standing up and removing the dagger from his thick vest. He wiped the fake blood from his hands with a sigh.
"You agreed to this, old man," Harsha replied coolly.
After some time, Bhima regained consciousness in the mansion's clinic. He jolted upright, his eyes darting around as he mumbled, "Where am I? Am I dead?"
The sharp pain in his head and face, the result of the one-sided beating from the prince, made it difficult for him to think clearly.
The doctor rushed in upon seeing Bhima awake. "Young master, are you okay?" he asked with concern.
"Where is Father?" Bhima tried to get up but was held back by the pain.
"Patri—"
"I'm here!" The patriarch entered the room, with Harsha by his side.
"Father? You're alive," Bhima said, sitting back on the bed, his face a mask of disbelief.
The patriarch gestured for the doctor to leave. "Give us privacy," he said firmly.
"I am alive and well, as you can see! It was a test by the prince. He wanted to see how much you are prepared for uncertainty if I am not there for you," the patriarch said, glancing at Harsha, who stood with his arms crossed.
"Take this opportunity to better yourself," he added coldly.
Bhima's eyes filled with tears. He threw his arms around his father, saying, "Thank God! I thought you were dead. Father, I will do my best not to bring shame to the family as the heir." He sobbed into his father's shoulder.
The patriarch gently patted his son's back, his face softened by relief and a hint of pride.
" I will protect you, father," Bhima sniffed.
With a newfound resolve, Bhima was ready to embrace his role as the heir of the Nayaka family. This was a new chapter for the family, marked by a fresh sense of purpose.
Author Notes
Another Chapter coming up today, This chapter is courtesy of the Gift by Its_Praveen
Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!
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