Shauryagarh—an erstwhile princely state that acceded to the Union of India upon gaining independence from the British Empire in 1947. A small town it was, boasting a collection of five-hundred-year-old castles and palaces in a tremendous state of glory in western Rajasthan. Comprising a population of roughly two hundred thousand people and extreme fear of the royal family still running in their social fabric, Shauryagarh was every bit a normal Indian town.

Their main source of income was the iron mines lying deep beneath the city. A webbed and intricate labyrinth intersecting each other under the ground, comprising millennia-old iron ore packed up to the brim, the town had no dearth of the presence of the very imperative metal. Factories set up for smelting of the ore and offices constructed to handle the exports out of the city and shipping out of the country formulated the business district while residential complexes had sprung up on the outskirts. Strong bastions and fortifications, nearly five hundred years old, encircled the town, and the economy of the city wasn't the worst. The architecture of the palaces and castles wasn't nearly as captivating or regal as Suryagarh, but it was fancy enough to capture one's attention nonetheless.

The king of Shauryagarh had ruled the town with an iron fist for centuries, and even the government authorities needed his nod to bring any changes into effect. The hierarchical structure was very well-defined. Even with the monarchy abolished decades ago, the king held all the political clout and all the power. In a town where black money and scams were considered as ethical as the normal standards of business, the king ensured that even the well-oiled public machinery would be under his control. After all, what could money not buy in the 21st century?

The citizens remained fearful of the king and his group of men. Crime rates were always low in the city because of the stringent laws. Nope, not the ones decreed by the Government of India. Shauryagarh functioned under its own set of rules laid down almost five centuries ago by the monarch, and they were followed to this day and age. The extreme forms of punishment prevalent for offenses as petty as stealing coerced the citizens into submission. Not that they held the king in high regard, but for most of the populace, fear for him was above the respect for him. People who could leave did abandon their homes for the pursuit of an establishment more along the lines of democracy, but there was a vast majority of the population who were accepting of the erstwhile monarch, for the economy wasn't the worst and the crime rates were always low.

On paper, Shauryagarh was every bit a normal Indian town. Decent schools and colleges, shopping centers, recreational parks. Normal.

Or so it seemed.

One of the few forts in the country where an active population still lived within the premises, there were numerous palaces located within the confines. The newest one—the one at the absolute center of the town—had an aura of nebulousness and negativity encompassing the edifice from all sides. Even the walls were fashioned out of black stone, the obsidian hue overwhelming every other color, and the frigidity hanging in the air was reminiscent of a cold winter morning with no source of warmth to assist one survive the extreme condition. Although artificial lights shimmered on the windows in the evening, the extreme darkness was palpable around the palace at all points in time. Fortunately enough, the structure was still rightfully held by the royal family, the Chauhans.

It was largely unostentatious. The seven-story palace was built about seven decades ago when the king decided to move into a new abode, and he had taken an immediate fancy to the jet-black sandstone and black marble that his prestigious architect sourced. Hence, the walls and the ceilings were obsidian in colour, and the melancholy remained hanging in the ai. More so because of the dullness of the palace and probably also due to the dark magic running deep underneath the mines of the city.

The king was a resident of the fifth floor. He didn't like sharing his floor with anyone else, so in the vastness of the fifth story of the palace lived a single soul. His eyelids refused to droop despite the exhaustion in his body after a long day of business meetings, and he was busy gazing at the twinkling stars in the night sky. The full moon night was merely two days away, and his heart began thudding with excitement at the mere thought of the natural satellite and its glowing iridescence.

Five hundred years.

He had waited for a harrowing period of five hundred years to receive this piece of exhilarating news. The correspondence he had received from a sage perched on a lofty mound of the snowy Himalayas communicated to him that the location of the object could finally be traced. The very same object that he had been searching for centuries. It had been so elusive, hiding from plain sight, concealed behind a veil of clandestine and covert forms of magic. But the sage's message now blinking on his iPhone told him a different tale. The object was close, lying in the very heart of India, and was not tucked away in the roughest terrain of the Himalayas as had been presumed earlier.

The sage had always advised him to remain patient, for the sweet fruit of waiting could be much richer and decadent than decisions made in the spur of the moment. But then Chauhan men always had a penchant for impatience and choleric temper. Despite his shortcomings, he did heed the sage five centuries ago, and the results were tucked in his hands now.

A wide grin developed on his features when he perused the message again. In the very heart of the Indian subcontinent, on the foothills of the mountains that protected the mass of land from every foe for millennia, hidden deep beneath an estuary, accessible only by magic, was the pot of liquid gold he so desired. His heart beat with ecstasy, and the thrumming could be heard over the chirping of crickets. Finally, his grueling wait could end in a few full moons.

He glimpsed at the crescent of the moon above his head, partially concealed by the horde of dark clouds gathering over the town. He had rarely seen Shauryagarh devoid of its classic mark—nebulous clouds engulfing the city from all sides. And he knew the reason behind the dullness of the city. It could all be attributed to the magic running in the veins and bricks and stones of the estate he founded well over five hundred years ago. The very magic running in his blood. The very magic that had once been bestowed upon him by nature herself, albeit when coerced by him.

Heaving a sigh at the thought of how treacherous nature could be, he whirled around and went inside his room from the balcony he was on, shutting the door behind him with a resounding click.

More and more clouds gathered over the entire fort, hanging low, casting a pallor across the expanse. Shadows coasted on the empty roads, scampering over the shops and houses, gliding past the gardens and lawns, leaping to find their way back to where they belonged. Something deep within the very fabric of Shauryagarh decayed and perished—a moribund breath, a deadly whisper, a ghastly exchange. The message that had made him so ebullient was also making the shadows despondent and disconcerted after ages. They were busy interacting with one another in a bid to ascertain if they had sensed it right.

Something deep within the very fabric of Shauryagarh decayed and perished, the underlying currents reverberating in the ground, rumbling in the bricks and stones, enhancing the nebulousness, howling with the winds, and announcing the arrival of something new. For better or for worse.

Something deep within the very fabric of Shauryagarh had decayed and perished...

***

The lecherous smile was perpetually etched on his face as his eyes raked over the generous and lascivious curves of the woman in front of him. His gaze halted ever so slightly over the swell of her breasts as she pirouetted at her spot, clad in the minimum lingerie to cover her modesty, and his smirk grew wider. He unbuttoned his shirt, took it off him, and was about to lunge it to a corner in the room when a rap on the door alerted him, and he groaned under his breath.

"What is it?" he barked.

"Your Highness, His Majesty has called you forth for breakfast. He wishes to see you and His Highness Prince Arnav at the table in the next fifteen minutes."

Hearing the servant, Abhaas Chauhan pushed the woman away from him. "Leave," he muttered, picking up the shirt and sliding his arms in it. "Come back tonight. Midnight. Sharp." His icy stare was directed at the shivering and fragile girl. "I hate tardiness."

***

The black stone walls and marble floors cast a gloomy shadow across the galleries and corridors of the Shauryagarh palace. Mellow illumination gliding like snakes, slithering on the ceilings when the sporadically placed yellow LED bulbs shone near the roof. Every inch of the mansion reeked of pessimism and melancholy so deep and rich that newcomers were afraid of entering the palace, but the Chauhans—the original residents—were not baffled in the least. They preferred the darkness over light. They favored the obsidian colors of the furniture and the embellishments. They liked the flavor of doom encasing and engulfing from all sides, more so, when they were well aware of the gruesome truth. Dark magic ran in the very veins of the town, and the light was the antagonistic foe, nothing to be revered and venerated.

As Abhaas sauntered down the labyrinthine passages cascading through the seven stories and straddling the entire manor, he only had one thought in his mind. The darkness that defined the integral essence of Shauryagarh could be attributed to the five-hundred-year-old king—the immortal, the man who didn't die in over half a millennium. The extreme forms of magic the man utilized to fulfill his desires and quell his thirst to remain the living, breathing monarch of Shauryagarh caused immense amusement to Abhaas. Perhaps, one of these days, his distant uncle—His Majesty Adhyayan Singh Chauhan—would let his nephew on certain secrets of immortality.

He chuckled when he saw the undying man sitting at the dining table in one corner of the gigantic living hall. Even during the day, the curtains on the arched windows were drawn and the roaring fireplace had the flames lapping and crackling in the hearth. Seated at the high chair was the immortal, the irradiance from the fireplace casting shadows on his pale skin. As Abhaas advanced towards the black mahogany table, Adhyayan sensed the approaching footsteps and looked up.

Abhaas was once more—for the thousandth time in his life—impressed and amazed. Five hundred years old, yet not a day older than thirty years of age. Handsome and rugged the immortal was, and Abhaas wondered how many men and women did the man have pining for his attention back in the day. But then, he had been thirty years old for five hundred years. How many men and women had been pining for his attention over the course of the centuries?

Abhaas was going to celebrate his thirty-second birthday in a couple of months, and he was going ballistic over the fact that just like his ancestors, he would perish one fine day too while Adhyayan Singh Chauhan would continue being the monarch for another five hundred years. The title of being the king of Shauryagarh had remained with the immortal irrespective of who was born in the family and who was the heir apparent to the throne. Everybody knew what the outcome would be. He was an immortal, supposed to live and exist till the end of time unless someone purposely extinguished the flames of his life force—something very impracticable and unattainable. Adhyayan had made sure of it.

Gulping down the bile rising up his throat, he plopped down on a chair drawn by a servant and smiled at his distant uncle. "Good morning."

Adhyayan beamed, taking a slice of bread off the ceramic platter in front of him. "Good morning, dear nephew." His sharp, watchful orbs landed on Abhaas. "This is the second time I have seen the same girl exiting your chambers. Is she really that good?"

Abhaas evaded meeting the man's gaze, his focus now on the apple he picked up from the fruit bowl. Clearing his throat, he said, "Uncle, please... It's embarrassing."

Adhyayan giggled like a teenage boy. "Some would say you are in love with the girl."

Abhaas scoffed. "She is just a mere commoner. Well-suited for ephemeral nightly pleasures and nothing else. My princess," he smirked, "shall be born of high blood."

Adhyayan sighed and shook his head in amusement. "My queen was surely not born of high blood. She was a naive belle from the village. Very sweet. Very... very caring. I liked her for as long as she lived." He clicked his tongue in dismay. "Died young."

Abhaas chomped down on the apple. "What were you going to talk about? You called Arnav and me."

"Hmmm?" Adhyayan broke out of his reverie and pushed the thoughts of his late queen to the back of his mind. "Yes... yes... But where is Arnav?"

Abhaas snickered. "Lovelorn fool he is. Must be busy with his wife."

"Now, now," Adhyayan said with a hint of playful admonishment, "he is young and newly wedded. Additionally," he beamed, "Princess Shyamali is such a wonderful girl. No wonder Arnav is smitten by her charm and beauty."

On cue, Abhaas's younger brother slid into the hall from a side corridor, rushing to the table with hurried steps, and perching across from the other men in the family. "Sorry, Uncle. I am late." He smiled in a sheepish manner. "Good morning."

"Where is Shyamali?" Lines of concern developed on the immortal's features. "Is she okay? Should I call a doctor?"

Arnav chortled. "She will be fine, Uncle. Morning sickness. She has been getting cranky and temperamental. I have asked her to rest."

Adhyayan hummed, his concentration going back to his plate. "Poor girl! She is new to the palace, and look at what she is suffering through! Hope she feels better soon."

Abhaas cast a dubious glimpse at Adhyayan and then at his brother. "Did anyone hear back from Mithilesh? Any more information from Suryagarh?"

Arnav shrugged. "Not aware. Mithilesh is still working out the details of the encrypted message he received from the spy in Suryagarh. I will text him today and ask him to speed up."

Adhyayan took a deep breath, linking his fingers as his elbows were propped on the black mahogany table. "Perhaps," he sighed, "the spy has been unable to trespass inside Suryagarh Palace yet again."

"The last I heard, Aarush Chauhan had captured a man named Hamid," Arnav mumbled. "I wonder who Hamid i, and who sent him to Suryagarh? That man refused to utter a single word apparently."

Abhaas frowned. "Mithilesh didn't send him, you are saying?"

"No, brother." Arnav clicked his tongue. "Hamid, whoever he is, is not on our payroll."

Adhyayan chuckled. "Hamid was... not on our payroll. Do you really think Aarush will let him live if he senses Hamid to be of threat to Suryagarh?"

Arnav heaved a sigh. "And that's my point of concern, Uncle. Aarush's growing influence has infiltrated the administrative system in Suryagarh and Sumedhnagar. Even... Ranakgarh. Despite Aayansh Shekhawat's staunch disapproval of his—"

"Aayansh Shekhawat! Inconsequential he is." Adhyayan waved his hands in dismissal. "Well, I will focus my attention on Aarush in a while. I need to retreat to the Himalayas for a short duration. The sage has requested my presence. I should be back in a week."

"Uncle Adhyayan," Abhaas shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "I will request you to stay put in Shauryagarh. Aarush Chauhan is hell-bent on breaking the curse, and if my sources are to be believed, he is ready to kill this time. After all, he found the essence of that witch... Meera..."

Adhyayan chortled. "Meera... Meera... that utterly worthless fool oh so in love with that commoner once upon a time." Ripples of mirth convulsed through his body as he sniggered behind the serviette he was using to wipe his mouth. "But that problem was dealt with by Arnav, yes? The last living descendant of Meera was discovered in Rampur the last I heard of this."

Abhaas shot a furtive glance at the way Arnav had his eyes downcast and trained on his plate. Clearing his throat, he said, "Yes, of course, Arnav's men were able to locate the man, but there is a heavily pregnant wife on the loose. She escaped the clutches of our people and fled the scene."

Adhyayan's jaws hardened, and the dark wrath gleaming in his orbs was frightening—a stark reminder of how he held the ability and the disposition to unleash hell on Earth. "And who failed to eliminate a powerless pregnant woman?"

Arnav licked his lips. The indomitable power his uncle exuded was sufficient to give rise to the goosebumps along his arms, and now that fury was bubbling deep inside the man's heart, there could be potentially no limit to the extent of the choleric temper. Trepidation was evident in his voice. "It was... my fault, Uncle. My men were not competent enough to... to do the needful."

Adhyayan's lips were set in a grim line as he abandoned the napkin on his ceramic plate. "Then it should be your incapable, clumsy cronies in the need for freedom. Eternal freedom. Make sure they get what they deserve, yes, Arnav?"

Abhaas said, "I have sent additional people towards Sumedhnagar, Ranakgarh, and even Suryagarh to hunt the woman down, but just in case Aarush Chauhan finds her before we do, they will essentially have—"

"Every element ready at their disposal to break the curse," Adhyayan murmured as his orbs glimmered with repressed excitement. The animalistic glint in his smirk and the way he twiddled with the butter knife in his hands were adequate for creepy serpents to crawl on his nephews' skins. "Abhaas, reschedule my flight to Dehradun, will you? I have a feeling this upcoming full moon night is going to be an adventure for us."

Arnav's interest was piqued. "Adventure?"

Adhyayan flashed a very boyish grin. "I do prefer peace over pointless wars, yes, but I think we should pay a visit to Suryagarh. It has been ages."

Abhaas exchanged a nonplussed glance with Arnav. "Suryagarh..."

Adhyayan smiled wide. "What's the name of the new flavour in town?"

"Shreya Awasthy."

"Hmmm. Shreya... Awasthy... How about we pay a visit to this Shreya Awasthy and that nearly twenty-one-year-old princess? Adya Chauhan." His brows furrowed. "I have never met my distant niece, and this might be my last chance before the curse gets triggered. And probably I can also meet my dearest nephew. It has been twenty years since I last saw Aarush. He must be a handsome young man around my age now."

Arnav licked his lips and fiddled with his phone. "He is the crowned prince now. An accomplished businessman. He is a very well-respected nobleman in the town, and the public's absolute favourite."

"Ah!" Adhyayan smirked. "So, it's decided then. We are going to Suryagarh to meet Shreya. We can greet Adya and Aarush too. After all, we are one family, and when I kill Shreya," he peered at his long fingernails, "I can just eliminate Aarush Chauhan once and for all." He grinned. "And then Suryagarh shall be mine."

And as soon as his words echoed off the walls and ceilings, ricocheted off the dark floors and furniture, something deep within the very fabric of Shauryagarh decayed and perished...

***

Author's Note:

Just a glimpse into the other Chauhan family👀🙈.