Shreya was stumbling in her steps at the end of the party. She had a bit too much to drink and she ate a lot of the strawberry-flavored cake. She was quite cheerful despite the clock striking three, and she somehow managed to appear sober to her parents over an audio call, lying through her teeth despite her inebriated state about her grandparents permitting her to attend a party with a few neighbors of their Mumbai house. She was a bit unhappy about the string of lies she was passing onto her innocent parents, but she needed to maintain the ruse for only two more days. Hence, she went back to drink a few more shots of the tequila the bar offered, and she ended up in a state of further intoxication.

Suyash Singh had called Meethi from the staff quarters to assist Shreya in getting back to the room once they arrived at the palace. Adya, though not completely drunk, was experiencing a throbbing pain in the back of her head and needed to be escorted too. Meanwhile, Aryan was also misstepping and fumbling with his steps which led to Suyash Singh helping him to the bed in the guest chamber right next to Shreya's on the third floor. No sooner did Aryan land on the soft mattress of the guest bedroom, than he slipped into a slumber and did not notice when Suyash Singh came back into the room with all his luggage in tow.

But even after Meethi had requested Shreya numerous times to go to sleep, the esteemed guest did not feel like doing so. In fact, she felt like defying everyone who dared issue orders to her. Especially that vexatious snooty prince she loved to hate. So, once Meethi left the room after draping the blanket around her somnolent form, Shreya found herself slipping down from the bed, holding onto the pillars of the gigantic palace, blinking often to get rid of the blurriness in her vision, and taking small steps towards the stairwell that would lead her to the upper floors.

It was a struggle. The staircases seemed to be never-ending, and she could swear they forked in different directions on every step. Her hold on the balustrade was firm enough to not slip off, and with a lot of staggering and tottering on her way, she managed to reach the fifth floor. She pressed her thumb on the screen outside the metal door, and as soon as it creaked open, she let out a puff of air and threw it apart.

A long and wide corridor, immersed in partial darkness awaited her on the other side. Rows upon rows of arched windows on her right across the length of the alley, through which moon beams flitted, and a string of shut wooden doors on her left greeted her weary eyes. She tucked her hair behind her ears as she made her way down, her gaze fixated on the extreme end where she could see the yellowish hue of artificial lights illuminating the patterned marble floor, flickering once in a while as shadows danced from beyond the open door to the home office.

Stumbling and staggering all over again, she grabbed the mantelpieces and decorative cabinets along the way, but she managed to land at the rear end nonetheless. Before she could enter the room and explore it for herself, she was surprised to find a tall figure appearing in her line of vision. It took her some time to widen her eyes and perceive what she was witnessing, and when she did, she gasped in surprise. "I have never seen you like this," she whispered. "T-shirt and sweatpants?" She gasped again when she peered at the black trousers and the crumpled grey t-shirt he had adorned. "Where did the suits and the crisp shirts go?"

The scowl on his face refused to die, and he blinked hard due to the shock he was in. He was only just wrapping up some work at his home office and was about to exit the chamber to go to his room when he found her dawdling in a very drunken state. "What are you doing here?" He frowned further. "How did you get past the secure door?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course!" she said, slurring slightly. "I am the outsider, right?" He was about to muster a protest, but she cut him off. "You look good in black, Princey." She beamed. "I like... like the color. Not like Aryan, though. He loves black." She frowned. "Adya loves black too. They should be best friends." She squealed as an epiphany hit her, and she clapped her hands in ebullience as a glint shone in her eyes. "They should date each other."

"Shut up, Miss Awasthy," he said, gritting his teeth. "Keep your ridiculous ideas to yourself."

She blinked a few times while a stoic expression came over her features. Her knees buckled, and she was about to collapse to the ground when a very indolent grabbing of her arm prompted her to balance herself on her feet and peer at him through hooded lids.

He clicked his tongue as his jaws twitched in irritation. "When you can't handle it, why drink this much?"

"Mr. Chauhan," she huffed, "I hate you."

His eyes narrowed at her. "I have a very similar reciprocal dislike for you."

Her shoulders slumped. "I talked to my Mommy and Daddy a few hours ago. They were wishing me." She scoffed. "They think I am such a good girl, staying with my grandparents and helping them bring groceries from the supermarket." She groaned when she felt tipsy and was about to fall. His hold on her arm tightened. "But I am not a good girl." She clicked her tongue. "My grandparents are sweet. They lied to my Mommy and Daddy. Then I lied to my Mommy and Daddy. I told them I couldn't be on a video call because," she gulped, "because I need to attend a party with a few newfound friends, but how could I... the prettiest Shreya Awasthy... be on a video call with them?" Her eyes widened with sheer horror imprinted in them. "Won't they discover that I am not in Mumbai and in some random Rajasthan town with not a single soul who is my family? Won't they realize that I am considered an outsider in this city by the crowned prince himself? Won't they figure it out that their daughter... their utterly foolish daughter... has put herself in peril because of people she doesn't even know properly?" She stood straighter, and a pink tint painted her cheeks. "Won't they understand that their daughter quite likes the prince and his snobbish princely attitude?"

He ended up chuckling at her remark. "Okay, that's enough for today. We will go to your room, and you will go to sleep."

Her mouth hung open, and she smacked his chest, scowling heavily. "Such an insolent Princey! I am not going to a room with you. I am..." She licked her lips. "I am not that forward, Mr. Chauhan. I am not allowing that," she enunciated every word, "to happen between," she wagged her fingers between her and him, "you and I. It's not happening."

He rolled his eyes and puffed out air from his mouth due to the bubbling exasperation. "Foolish!" Without giving her a moment to contemplate, he picked her up, disregarding the squeal and shriek she managed to muster when his arms brushed against her waist and the back of her knees.

Her palms slid up his chest and went to hook behind his neck. She swung her legs in the air. "Princey!" She groaned again. "Put me down, Princey! Is this royal etiquette? Is this your decorum? Picking up unsuspecting girls and trapping them in your opulent palace for blood rituals and hurling fire into jewellery?"

He remained silent and commenced walking down the corridor to head towards the staircase.

"And is it," she swayed her feet, "acceptable for a prince to carry unsuspecting girls around his manor? Oops!" She squinted her eyes shut. "Palace! Palace, Shreya Awasthy! Not a manor. Not a house. Not a mansion. Palace!"

He remained silent, the corners of his mouth threatening to curve upward.

"And is it at all acceptable," she sighed, "to be oh so handsome?" She clicked her tongue again. "Princey, you are very mean. Why are you so mean? And why are you so handsome?"

He did chortle a bit before he managed to descend down the stairs and enter the corridor on the third floor.

"Princey!" She giggled. "You are not talking to me. Say something! It's my birthday."

"Hmmm."

She huffed. "I hate when you hum in response or say a single word in answer. It's so vexatious. You are vexatious."

He took a deep breath. "Hmmm."

"Do you know something? I am a student of World History, and my best friend is Aryan. My roommate is Hailey, and my parents live in San Fransisco. I live in LA. My uni is a twenty-minute bus ride from my apartment. Aryan lives across the hall in the same building. His roommate is very annoying," she scrunched her nose, "and I don't like him, but he is Aryan's good friend, so I have to tolerate him."

"Hmmm."

"I am part of a sorority too, and I love baking. I make amazing cakes and pies. You should try sometime."

"Hmmm."

"And do you know something? I can play the piano too. I learned it when I was ten. No!" She frowned. "I was eleven."

"Hmmm." He waltzed into her room with finesse and sauntered to the regal bed placed centrally in the chamber.

"And do you know something? I took salsa lessons too, so I can dance pretty well." She was gently deposited on the mattress. "Maybe you and I should try salsa. It's good. Not the food salsa. But the dance salsa. Okay?"

"Hmmm."

Her face fell. "Why do you do this, Aarush?" She had to force herself to keep her eyes open since the bleariness was overpowering. More so when her spine hit the soft and comfy bed. "Al-Always?"

He extricated his arms from under her waist.

"The moment I think you are sweet and cute Princey," she pouted and slapped his forearm, "you go back to being the rude and brute Princey. Why do you do this?"

Hearing her whine so adorably and innocently, he couldn't help himself but allow the foolish grin that refused to ebb away. "You silly girl! Don't you always say I have an outlandish temper?"

"Oh..." Her lips puckered more. "So, you have mood swings. Like a 90-year-old cantankerous pregnant lady with only a cat as her friend, living by herself in an old mansion... oops... palace," she flipped her hair, "with no one to keep her company because she is cantankerous and has two sons and three daughters living with her. You are that cantan... cantan..." Her eyelids drooped. "You," she breathed, "are that cantan..."

He grimaced at her. "Always spouting, and always spouting nonsense," he muttered. "How can an old lady be pregnant?" He unfurled the blanket pooled near her feet and draped it over the girl's supine form. "And how can she live alone when she lives with two daughters and three sons? And," he scrunched his nose, "I am not cantankerous, alright? I am Aarush Chauhan. People kill to be like me. It's called having an attitude. And," he rolled his eyes and placed his hands on his hips, "you are calling me names! You have some audacity, girl."

She let out a soft moan. "Take more pictures of me, Aarush. I need to post to media... social... I have a hundred thousand followers..." And she continued to mumble incoherently under her breath.

"You talk so much, Princess." But then a smile graced his lips, and his frown lines cleared. "You are nothing like her," he murmured.

She groaned in her sleep, twisted and turned, hiding her face in the pillow while her tresses were sprawled over the silken sheets.

He took a step back, hearing the even breathing coupled with occasional soft snores from the girl, and a full-blown grin appeared on his features. "Good night, Princess. Happy birthday."

He traced his steps backwards, his unwavering gaze on the sleeping beauty in the room, but the moment he egressed the chamber, dark rage overpowered the affection in his eyes. In the shadows flitting across the prince's face, the imprinted fury mingled with the ancient torment at the mere thought of the betrayal, the pain, the disloyalty, and the immense disrepute the prince had once suffered at the hands of Meera.

Though he made his way to the fifth floor where his room lay, he was unable to enter it and slip into a peaceful slumber, which he effortlessly did on any other night. Restlessness and turmoil percolated through his heart, rendering him breathless and powerless, bringing him to his knees, coercing him into submission. Chauhan men had always been known to love too passionately and hate too intensely. That night, he was experiencing a rash mixture of both. Love for Meera. Hatred for Meera. Scrambling in his mind, each scurrying to garner his attention, each ripple much more potent than the previous one, leaving him in a state of delirium, madness, and agitation.

He couldn't sit still in his chambers. He needed to take his mind off, and he knew what to do. The rooms on the forbidden fourth floor awaited him.

***

An utter and deafening silence descended inside the two-hundred-year-old sandstone palace that night. Not a single soul was awake—there were only a couple of servants sleeping in the gigantic mansion anyway. No one else was present in his vicinity, and the absolute quietude was disconcerting. The darkness was very discomfiting.

Not to him. He preferred isolation and sequestration from the madness that otherwise ran in circles in that town and palace. The seclusion always helped him sort his thoughts. The deeply frenzied memories and madly conflicting thoughts—ones that never permitted him to sleep peacefully at night. And on rare occasions, those very memories caused him enough anguish to drink his woes away, for intoxication helped him.

It also enabled him to appreciate anyone other than Meera. In a sober state, he could never imagine intimacy with any other woman, for only one girl ruled his mind and heart, only one exquisite woman who never let him sleep a wink. The betrayal stung him acutely. He couldn't care less about how she unwittingly committed treason against the throne, but the hurt he experienced at a personal level left an indelible, profound mark in his fragile heart that didn't go away despite so many centuries that had passed.

In a sober state, only she existed for him. In a sober state, he could love only her.

But he was inebriated that night, the empty bottle of whiskey now lying in shards on the floor, and the naked woman under him was coming across to be somewhat beautiful too. She had a decent figure, nice curves, pretty face, and she knew how to please him the right way, leading to the situation where he was aroused and she was a writhing mess on the bed.

She moaned when his tongue laved over the sensitive spot on her breasts, and she tugged at the base of his hair. "Yes!"

Her exclamation pounded a hammer against his brain, and he shut his eyes to drown the images flitting through his mind. It was her birthday. She was giggling. She was dancing. She was happy. She was glowing. She was having fun.

His mouth harshly bit the woman's breast, and she squealed, a mixture of gasp and moan slipping past her mouth.

His eyes snapped open, and he perceived the flushed cheeks of the lady. He hurriedly discarded his grey sweatpants and lunged them into a corner. He had only just parted her legs with his knees, willing to drive himself to the edge of passion, when his mind wavered off to some other emotion he had experienced in the wake of the birthday party.

A mad rage had overpowered him when he saw them so close, dancing under the shimmery neon lights of the club, exchanging murmurs with one another. Only he knew the amount of sheer willpower that was needed from his end—and the aversion to doing something very impetuous so close to fulfilling his motives—to control the towering wrath building up inside of him. Only he knew what he went through in those few moments of them being so amiable with each other. Just like how she was with this very man. Ages ago. Oh, how much he loathed their camaraderie! How much he despised the genuine and warm bond between them! Existent even so many centuries later. Her arms pressed against his chest while his palms rested on her hips—the mere remembrance of which caused him enough anguish to murder someone. Only he knew what it took for him to simmer down the aggressive rage and not burn down the entirety of Suryagarh in his anger.

But then Chauhan men did have a penchant for not only extravagance but also extreme levels of passion. Be it in love or hatred. And he was experiencing a rash mix of both that night. Love for her. Hatred for him. Perhaps it was the sharp giggles emanating from her mouth that calmed him down at the club. Just like how she did. Ages ago. That helped him control the wrath coursing through his veins.

Wraiths of the past crawled out of the graves in his heart, and he was compelled into surrendering. There was nothing in this world that could be more tempting than the melodious tittering and the mellifluous inflection as she uttered words out of her mouth. In front of all those people, disseminating profound speeches but shying away from even opening her mouth in front of him or anyone else in the family. There was something so delicate and fragile about her. So... so gorgeous about her. So stunning her simplicity and beauty was that the woman moaning under him didn't appear half as attractive anymore.

With a shallow breath escaping his lips, he sat up and shimmied back into his pair of grey sweatpants. He raggedly respired with his hands tugging at the ends of his hair in frustration. In nearly twenty-nine years of his life, he had never been this confounded. A small part of his heart had definitely longed for her, but this captivation after meeting her again, this feeling of unquenching desire only for her was most certainly renewed. A chortle escaped his throat at the mere thought of how adorably the girl scrunched her nose at the fair, standing in front of the makeshift jewellery shop, carefully prodding the earrings she found fascinating.

However, his eyes turned red with rage when a warm palm slithered seductively across his bare back. "Leave," he muttered.

She was taken aback at the sternness and the vitriolic frigidity of his voice. He had been so very infamous across the entire district and town and western Rajasthan for being a monster, a ruthless beast, and the rays of livid wrath emanating from every fibre of his being were making her fearful. She recanted her hands back and looked away. "Anything wrong, Your Highness? Is there something else you want me to do?"

His nose flared. "I want you to leave."

She sighed deeply, sliding down the length of the silken bed and gathering the dress he had yanked away from her.

"Send me the invoice tomorrow," he mumbled, flopping back on the sheets.

She pursed her lips, keenly eyeing the attractive mole on his cheeks. "That won't be needed. I won't charge you for nothing."

He snorted. "Nothing... nothing..." He chuckled humorlessly. "That's what she said to me, didn't she? There was nothing... nothing... nothing between... ever... nothing..."

She could barely comprehend a word of the agonized whispers of the royal. So, she slid her feet into her high stilettos, picked up her purse, and egressed the confines of that cold room with as much agility as she could muster. She heard the shattering of glass behind her and a very raucous shriek coming out of his mouth. She visibly flinched at the din he was creating and sighed in relief when she found the staircase that could lead her to the lower floors and potentially to a location of safety and security well outside the antiquated and desolate palace.