"Why were they quivering like I ate their babies?" I seek because I didn't intimidate them ample to meet frightened faces. She looks skeptical. Afraid almost. "Why are you making that face?" I demand, troubled.
She refuses to talk until I charge her and when she does; she uncovers the factors that savage Aadhya did.
She explains to me I was wicked, whipped them for fun, and even beat Nishtha for nothing. I wonder what was going on inside that psychopath's head. Why did she do that?
No wonder the prince hates her.
I was about to solace Nishtha when I'm withdrawn and frozen on my spot with Arnav scurrying inside. He looks angry. "Why do you continue driving my existence into purgatory?" Here's his lecture, again. Snarling like a dog in a duel. I'm so annoyed by this.
"Because I want to go out?" I express with ridicule in my manner, including no strength to it. "I am a person. I require air. And I'm sick. How can you hold the sick inside with no fresh air?" Cutting his remarks was worthwhile. He looks like he's amending his verdict.
"What do you prefer to do, then?" He exhales, humbled at last. But why? The prince I've clashed with isn't like that at all. "Well, a lot of things. But we'll start with not requiring your permission to do anything."
I awaited for him to howl and throw outbursts at me, but he acknowledged it and even persuaded me to the family banquet with him.
"Has he gone crazy?" I propose to Nishtha after he's gone, leaving me astonished more than ever. She snickers along with me. On my aghast, suspended body and face, to be explicit.
But instantly she informs me of the reason for his profound behavior. The physicians. Well, I didn't have the stamina to fight him. So, that's good. "I guess I'm going to take advantage of this situation.
"I got ready as he recommended. The red lehenga must be extremely heavy for me but is exquisite and peculiar. Nishtha claims it's not my style, but suits me well. Aadhya used to wear varied colors and styles, which didn't suit her. Who's going to tell her I am not her brutal Aadhya?
"You look so delightful!" She ogles at me, standing by my side, as I struggle to stand steep with the heaviness of my body. I can read that I look magnificent, in her eyes.
I can't imagine that I am in a story that I chose to write. It appears like a dream, but a wonderful one or a horrifying one is still to be determined.
I had to prepare the feast. To establish that she is fine and healthy. I'd further have to warn her to not constitute a scene like the last time.
She turned despondent with the meal that was prepared for the feast, because of her unlikeness for it and has all of it thrown in the animal farm. All of the servants had to cook all the meals again.
I don't wish something like that to take place repeatedly.
Particularly our households know she remembers nothing, and I do not want this information to flow further. I can't have another black patch to my name. It will lead her to lose honor and virtue in everyone's eyes.
So, let's just wish for everything to be pleasant and as I designed.
I foresaw her not to be dressed and in a jumble for the feast. But when I enter the room, I see a whole distinctive character standing right in front of me.
She gawks at herself in the mirror, fondling her collarbone to fix the necklace. Her hair looks so extraordinary. She's never tied them in a bun before. I didn't recognize she can look so elegant in red. The style she adopted is so divergent from her character.
Her curves are intense today, and so is her personality. Unexpectedly, she caught me peering. What was I doing? Why was I staring at her like that? "So, are we ready?" She mocks at me, appealing to my awareness back to the place and the feast.
Her attitude has evolved since the injury. Her body language is very confident in my presence, which was never the case. She speaks with character in her tone. She looks like she recognizes what she's doing.
It's practically like she's not herself anymore.
I nod, eliminating the haze off my face. "Yes. Let's go!"
As I cultivated her about her family, she accounted for them accordingly. Unlike before, she's learning everything so rapidly and is intrigued to talk to the officials as well. She thanks them for their services and welcomes the relatives with gratitude.
After addressing everyone along with our families, making them trust that she's fine, we relax together on the soothing mattress, laying on the floor. Where our meal tables are brought to us.
Everyone's remaining around us but at a distance, since I'm to be their king. All the guests show their respect with namaste and pleasant smiles as they take their places and wait for the dancers to appear.
She's smiling so differently at everyone. She never offers me that smile. I feel myself getting caught in her drama again. This time, something strange is happening.
What am I thinking? What am I feeling?
To clear my head, I hail the servants to provide me with liquor.
I never realized she drinks as well. Perhaps I never paid her any thought. She beams even at the servant serving her wine and when she detects me; she turns away with a bitter look.
The night has played along with us. With dancing girls in front of us and methanol in our systems, we're snorting as if we've known each other for years. She's so tipsy that she can't even sit straight. Maybe I'm tipsy too, but not as much as her.
She peers at her father's dancing beard as he chews and laughs, driving me to burst out with my suppressed mirth as well. "Stop, he'll notice," I advise her, laughing as she responds.
"So, what? He's my father--- he will not hound at me as you do." We laugh more as she calls me an old hag who only knows how to nag.
"Oh, like you're such a talented person. How can someone fall from the horse? —-From the horse?"
There he's again. Reciting the incident unknown to me. But this time he's not nagging, he's making fun of me. His red cheeks are becoming more hued up as he gulps another glass of liquor along with me. He can't sit straight now.
"Yeah, yeah, so what? Will you punish me when you turn into a king?" We laugh louder and stronger as I taunt him in a tone the same as his. Now, indeed he can't sit straight. One more cup and he'll be moping the floor.
We both didn't realize it but ended up in my room, snorting and inadequate to even stand still. I may be drunk but I figured out he was not that drunk. I suppose I was wrong. He's an unusual man when he's drunk. A man I'd like to be with.
We land on my bed. Our heads are on the cushions, wearing every heavy piece we planted on us, peering at the curtains on top of my bed as we both laugh simultaneously. "You realize why I despise you?" He quips again, exciting me to learn the reason for his hate.
"You -- you, are so foolish!" He shrieks again as I receive my hands on his chest. When did they go there? Everything feels dazed to me, blurry and unsteady.
I watch him shift his expression as I Iean closer to him. His lips are so welcoming, the wine left its red color on his lips. And within a second, I'm chewing his plump lips. He tastes sweet and bitter at the same time.
His whimpers might be an affection of alcohol, or maybe me. I press them rougher, cupping his sharp jawline into my palms.
He accepts my actions and answers them by offering me his lips. He leans further, deepening the kiss. "You look so beautiful!" He admires.
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