Choose between two beasts– one who carries a heart and one who chants his own name.

****

The fire crackling outside the tent sparked off with new vigour when moans resounded on top of the cascading river.

"Turn around."

She obeyed. Sweat gleaming on his broad chest fell down on her bare back. Taking hold of her hands, he locked them behind her in his grip, pushing himself inside her with passionate force. He groaned like a lion as she bit her lower lip, struggling to not scream. Finally, he had let his all escape into the beauty beneath.

He wiped himself with a cloth and wore back his loincloth, covering his body with a velvety mantle. Clapping his hands, he summoned a maid. "Dress her up and take away. Is my bath ready?"

"It is. Furs and flowers have been provided."

He nodded and walked out of the tent.

The carnal adventure of the night had given the nocturnal king enough warmth to withstand the raw, frosty weather. Under the canopy a tub of copper had been set, big enough to accommodate him. Steam arose from it and the smell of musk roses filled the air. The ambience was sensual. Submerged in it, he felt all his fatigue melt away, replaced by bewitching waves of joy. He played with the rose petals floating on the tub. Soon, he was attracted to a familiar tune of flute.

"Aishan?" the Rajan of Revat called.

The name echoed in the depths of the forest. Butterflies of fire came and swirled around his blond locks. He touched one, feeling his skin prick for a moment before the butterfly faded away as smoke. He chuckled. "Enough of your plays. Come to me."

He spread his arms and closed his eyes. The melody of the flute ceased, and after a brief moment of silence two arms travelled down his chest while kisses tickled his neck.

"I have plenty of news, Master." Aishan was a gorgeous young man with chestnut brown curls that reached his thighs and a silky amber gaze. His lean, tall figure hovered above the burly king.

"And what are those?" the Rajan of Revat asked and pulled Aishan by the collars. The latter took the hint and entered the tub, squeezing himself in the arms of the monarch.

Aishan intertwined his fingers with the Rajan. "Pretty interesting things have happened. My spies said that the cursed werewolf had come to the Valley of Saints again, and this time without his Beta."

"So is that lowly vampire finally going to take my side? After all, he must remain with his kind."

"I don't know, and from what it seems like, he isn't switching sides. The events following that werewolf's visit to the valley says fortune is testing us."

"Fortune cannot test me, Aishan. I am a god, an incarnation," he retorted. "It may try to bind me in its shackles, but I will break through."

Aishan heaved a sigh. "We mortals aren't so lucky. One of the curses have been cured." The Rajan, who had been leaning on the tub, jerked upright. Water splashed around him. Aishan stared back at his maroon eyes, caressing the cherished face of the Master of Yavana. "I didn't promise good news."

"How did it happen?"

Aishan ran his hand over the Rajan's chest. "I am not blessed by the sight of gods like you. I can only inform that the curse has been broken, proved by the rains that graced the kingdom."

"So even that whore's pain is not invincible enough to punish Ishgar." The Rajan drummed his fingers on the sides of the tub. "The werewolf found a way to defy his own mother's curse."

"Poor thing doesn't even realise it."

"He better not. He should never get to know the truth. Let him live in the darkness of his illusions."

"If I am not wrong, while we are discussing fates, Rudra is celebrating the end of a curse. I heard he gifted the Dhananjaya Sword to his bodyguard, and the famous Palace of Spring to that vampire's wife."

"The Dhananjaya Sword?" The Rajan wheezed. Moments later he was overcome with a fit of crazy haunting laughter. "So you say, the games have begun?"

"They must have."

The Rajan got up from the bath and after cleaning his body, wore a furry coat woven from the skin of a bear. He slipped his legs into a narrow skirt. Aishan was in the mood of enjoying the bath more, but understood that his master was pumped up for a heated session of thinking and plotting.

"Rudra thinks that I know nothing," the Rajan said. "Nothing can be hid from me, not for long. I knew the day would come when Nadira would return, and also when," he feigned to mimic Rudra, "the little one's rebirth comes to light."

"Now that you know, can we not just annihilate them?"

The Rajan smirked. "I want to erode Rudra agonisingly slow. I want to snatch away his love when he is on the brink of union. And as of Aryamna, he is just a useless pawn of Rudra. He won't be on my path for long."

"His powers worry me, Master. He seems to be a mystery, just like you."

"You dare to belittle me?"

Aishan flinched. "No Master, I am just–"

"Don't worry for me, Aishan. I have not taught you to be weak. Let your heart be venomous." The Rajan admired his reflection over the waters. "I have returned. Petra has returned. But Aryam won't. He is as dead as his uncle."

Aishan clenched his fist. His guts told otherwise, but he trusted this god more than he trusted his heartbeats. If he was saying that Aryam was dead, then it was the perfect, unadulterated truth.

"Even though I am Hamal the Second," he uttered bitterly, as if remorseful of being named after his worst enemy. "I am one of a kind and the very first." The Rajan smirked. "My name invites dread on the quivering lips of even Rudra. I was his wife's doom years back, and I will be again."

"And what about Nadira?"

Malicious shadows crossed Hamal's face. "She is the only one, if I am being honest, whose powers I think shouldn't be underestimated. Even though she has forgotten her memories, they will come back eventually. And when they do..."

"When they do?"

Hamal's eyes glowed blood-red, fangs protruding from his gums. "I will take what is rightfully mine, Aishan."

****

Ishvara bumped into objects several times, inviting worrisome stares. She rejected every help and entered the personal tent of her and Aryamna. Pulling the covers, she surrounded herself in the darkness. She didn't want to see the entities around.

Their bodies, oiled and fragranced, were embellished in gold coins and shimmering blue dust. Orange lips giggled and cackled like possessed puppets of a ghost. They slid in the tent and circled around Ishvara, breathing on her neck and touching her fragile skin. She cowered and wrapped her arms around her body, but in vain. They came closer and uttered words of fear in her ears.

"Leave," she ordered, mustering up the courage to be bold. "I desire to be left alone."

Her words did have some effect on the apparitions. The dancers' faces became dull and pale, their eyes growing into deep hollow pits from where no ray returned back. It sucked  in every guard that Ishvara had put up.

"The Rajan is coming to meet you, my princess. Sing to him his favourite lullaby– Anastasía."

"I won't. I am not his princess."

One of the dancers produced a whip out of thin air and slashed it across her back. Ishvara fell down with a scream. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I won't give in."

"Hamal shall take you one day, my dear. He is not going to play hide and seek for long."

The dancers retreated from the tent. Utter obsidian conquered Ishvara's vision. Erupting out of the black canvas, a burst of white light blinded her. Emerging from the broken orbs, walked in two men. Both were dark-skinned, but one had blond hair and the other boasted of midnight black curls. The blond one, standing to Ishvara's left, had skin that was cracked and scarred.

"Nadira, my sweet princess, sing for me," he whispered. Ishvara recoiled, only to feel her back against the cold toned chest of the other man. This one too, was someone she knew.

Someone she knew too well. "You love me, don't you, Nadira?" he asked.

"Aryam, you are not like him. Don't do this. You are not him. You are not."

"Oh, I am not, I assure you." Aryam ran his fingers through her hair. "It's just that, my powers have become my ruler. I bend to their will."

"But I won't."

"You will."

Aryam came nearer, dangerously close to her tear-soaked lips. She shut her eyes, waiting for the nightmares to leave.

"Ishvara, it's me, your Swami!"

No, I won't open my eyes. Hands cupped her face and wiped her tears. But Ishvara was too afraid to see who it was.

"No one is here, Ishvara. It's me, Aryamna, your husband."

There was no denying that the velvety voice was the same. When she opened her eyes, a shock traversed down her spine. The blue eyes, the sorrel skin, the artful arch of his sharp lips– everything was Aryam. And yet, instead of forcing himself on her, this man was being delicate.

"Why do you care for me?" she asked. "I am a mad woman. You should give up on me."

"You are not mad, Ishvara. You are having nightmares."

She gulped. "Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"And let myself be sent back to Gandhar?" she quaked. "I know you are going to abandon me. I am not a sinless woman. I am ugly. I am a wretch. I am–"

Aryamna kissed her under her earlobe. Ishvara shivered and gasped at the sudden proximity, too stunned to speak. He carried her to the makeshift bed and sat her on it. Ishvara found herself in his embrace, feeling blood rush to her face.

"You are a mad woman because you think I will leave you." Aryamna began braiding her hair. "I will not."

Ishvara didn't know what to do. Despite being so unlovable and strange, this man was adoring her. "Why are you so good to me?"

"Because I am wise enough to understand that you have suffered. And I do not want the bad days to come back."

You were a part of my bad days, weren't you, Aryam? You had hurt me, didn't you?

But then, what made us fall in love? How can...how can the hunter and the prey become equal?

"You know too much and hide most of it." Ishvara removed Aryamna's hand from her half-done braid and spun around. "You are being too good to me because you have a motive. You pretend to love me because you have something you want."

More than her glare or the sheen of water over her eyes, the unrelenting words pierced Aryamna. He gently reached back for her braid, but like a leopard she hissed and threw away his hand. This time, Aryamna wouldn't have it anymore.

"What do you think is my motive?"

"How would I know?" Ishvara puffed up. "I am not a mage like you. I don't read minds. I was neglected and tortured in Gandhar. They wanted to marry me off to get rid of me. I am an abnormal woman, and you will get to know it soon."

"You think I am very normal?"

Ishvara narrowed her eyes at him. "Definitely not. You act as if you are a gentleman. But you aren't. You–"

"I am a lustful man, am I not?" Aryamna scoffed. "Someone who disregards consent, chains you, drags you across the hall and into the open abyss of slavery. I am the one who hurts you the most."

Ishvara rocked back and forth, clutching her hair. "You know too much."

Aryamna forcibly held her hand. She wriggled in his grip, but he made sure she couldn't escape. He locked her on his lap. "I never promised that I was a gentleman. Yes, yes I have sinned, Ishvara. I have wronged people too." Aryamna looked into her eyes, then  nuzzled her neck. "But everyday, I regret it. I turned into a better man, thanks to certain lovely souls. And know you are also one of them, Ishvara. You keep me sane. You keep me happy."

"I may not always be what you desire. I may be troublesome."

"I shall accept it. You just showed me how ferocious you become when you are angry." Aryamna rested his head on her breasts. "You should have told me before that you have nightmares. We promised to open up to each other."

"I have now. And you must open up too."

"I have too. I confessed not being a nice man always," he murmured against her skin. "Though I am not the worst. I am not."

"I will decide what you are."

Aryamna smiled. "I will let you judge me. If someone can call me an animal and a beast, it will be my wife. Only she can disrespect me. I won't allow anyone else to do it."

Aryamna hugged her closer, now freeing her arms so that she could hug him too. His breath tickled her bosom, setting ablaze buds of sensations. He pressed on her skin further, as if trying to bury his whole inside her body.

She prayed to Shiva to show her more of this man. What was beyond the demonic side? What made them fall in love? What could have?

"The song is traumatic for you. It invites back unpleasant memories, don't they?" Aryamna asked, acting ignorant of Ishvara's amnesia. Initially he didn't realise that this song could yank back the past, though her delusional state confirmed his suspicions.

Ishvara recalled the distorted face of the blond man. She saw him for the first time, and it was enough to frighten her. "Queen Ambalika used to sing this."

And Hamal used to threaten you to sing it too, Aryamna thought. Hamal the First. Though, it wasn't him. Not his soul.

His soul lives in the Valley of Saints, while your real culprit breathes in Yavana.

"Alright, you must rest. Try to sleep. I will be awake." He put her to bed and gave her a blanket. "I will be close by."

Aryamna brought out some scrolls and busied himself in studying them. Ishvara observed his knitted, focused brows and the mess of papers around. She closed her eyes, gradually losing to the exhaustion. Sleep– she needed sleep. She was tired.

When all of a sudden, it hit her.

Nadira.

Her eyes widened when the enlightened epiphany arrived at the threshold of her memories. It was the name to which she had answered back. It was the name which Aryam had called her.

Nadira. I was named Nadira.