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Shubman sat in the dark, cold cell, his back against the stone wall. His mind was in turmoil, the image of Ishan’s face haunting him constantly. He had tried so hard to push the thoughts away, but they kept creeping back, stronger each time. He closed his eyes, counting the seconds, then the minutes. He had lost track of how long they had been imprisoned.

Beside him, Abhishek lay slumped against the iron bars, his head occasionally lolling to one side as he drifted in and out of sleep. At one point, he mumbled in his sleep, clutching the bars, "They better come soon... or I swear, I'll break these bars myself." He stirred, blinking awake, and glanced over at Shubman, who hadn't moved.

"Shubman..." Abhishek groaned, sitting up straighter, rubbing his neck. "Are you still counting the hours?"

Shubman opened his eyes, his expression distant. "It's been fourteen hours now," he muttered.

Abhishek raised an eyebrow. "You're unbelievable. Fourteen hours and you're still at it." He stood up, stretching his stiff limbs, peering out through the small barred window, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone. Anyone.

"Any news?" Shubman asked, his tone flat, yet carrying an undertone of hope.

"Nothing. No one's come. I’ve barely seen any movement out there except for the usual patrols," Abhishek replied, sighing. "I thought maybe they’d let us out early, but..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Guess not."

Meanwhile, outside the walls of Indraprastha, the early morning sunlight glistened on the white coat of Prince Ishan’s royal horse as he rode through the bustling bazaar, his face grim and unyielding. His soldiers followed closely behind, their eyes sharp and alert as they scanned the crowd.

Ishan pulled his horse to a stop in the center of the marketplace, his fierce gaze sweeping across the gathered locals. The air seemed to tense as the prince raised his voice, loud and commanding.

"Let your prince know," he bellowed, his voice carrying through the marketplace, "that his 'friend' from Patliputra is here to have his head for dinner!"

His words hung in the air like a dark cloud, and the townspeople gasped in shock. Some stepped back in fear, while others exchanged nervous glances, unsure of how to respond to such a bold declaration.

One of the local soldiers of Indraprastha hurried forward, trying to calm the situation. "Prince Ishan, we ask you to lower your tone," the soldier said, his voice trembling slightly. "This is not the way to—"

"I’ll speak however I like!" Ishan snapped, his eyes blazing with anger. "Where is Shubman? Where is your prince? Hiding like a coward, is he?"

The soldier hesitated, unsure of what to say. "Prince Shubman is... unavailable at the moment. Perhaps we could discuss—"

"I didn't come here for discussions!" Ishan cut him off sharply, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword. "I came here for one reason. And until I get what I came for, my men and I will take over this bazaar."

Without waiting for a response, Ishan signaled to his soldiers, who immediately began taking control of the inns and surrounding buildings. The locals looked on in alarm as the soldiers set up makeshift barricades, blocking off several key areas of the marketplace.

The soldiers of Indraprastha attempted to negotiate with Ishan’s men, urging them to stand down and avoid unnecessary conflict. "Prince Ishan," one of them said, stepping forward cautiously, "this is not how things should be handled. Let us speak with your—"

"My men won’t move an inch," Ishan interrupted, his voice cold. "Not until your prince faces me himself."

The Indraprastha soldiers exchanged uncertain glances, clearly torn between following orders and avoiding escalation. "Please, Prince Ishan," one of them ventured, "there must be another way to settle this."

"There is," Ishan replied, his tone unwavering. "Bring me Shubman Gill. That is all I ask. Otherwise, this will not end peacefully."

The soldiers stood at an impasse, unsure of how to proceed. The bazaar, usually a place of bustling trade and activity, now felt like a battlefield waiting for the first strike. The tension in the air was palpable, and it was clear to everyone watching that this was far from over.

Ishan, his heart burning with betrayal and rage, remained firm. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword tighter, and his eyes flickered with the dangerous resolve to finish what he had started.

***

Shubman heard patrolling guard pass by their cell, calling out his name. "Prince Shubman!" the guard said in a rushed voice, leaning close to the bars.

Shubman raised his head, a sense of dread already forming in his chest. "What is it?" he asked, his voice tired but firm.

The guard hesitated, glancing at Abhishek, who was now sitting up and staring at him intently. "Prince Ishan of Patliputra... he’s here. He’s... demanding your head."

For a brief moment, the world seemed to freeze. Shubman blinked, processing the words, before slumping back against the wall with a groan. "Not this..."

At the same moment, Abhishek’s eyes went wide. "Oh, for the love of everything sacred, this is like moving from hell to hell to hell!" he cried, standing up and pacing frantically. "First Patliputra, then Patliputra's prince, then 'The Meera' drama, and now Patliputra's prince again!?"

Shubman couldn't help but facepalm, his frustration spilling out. "This is a nightmare," he muttered, his voice low with disbelief.

Abhishek threw his hands in the air dramatically, his voice rising in exasperation. "Thank you for agreeing with me, finally, Shubman! You know, I’ve been saying this all along!"

Shubman shook his head, rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off the mounting stress. "It just keeps getting worse," he said softly. "First, I have to leave Ishan behind, and now... he's here. For my head."

Abhishek, pacing the cell like a restless lion, raked a hand through his hair. "Does he not have anything better to do than chase after you? I mean, seriously, Shubman, you’ve managed to make this guy so mad he’s riding into enemy territory just to take your head. What kind of charm do you have?"

Shubman gave him a sidelong glance, still overwhelmed by the news. "I guess I underestimated how angry he would be."

"Underestimated?" Abhishek nearly choked on his words. "We literally befriended their prince like it was nothing and then disappeared after betraying his entire kingdom. I’d be mad too!"

Not just befriended. Shubman thought.

He closed his eyes briefly, his heart clenching as he thought of Ishan’s feelings. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Shubman let out a long breath. "We need to find a way out of this. Fast."

Abhishek nodded, the lightness in his tone fading as reality settled over them both. "Yeah... because if we don’t, Prince Ishan will do more than just demand your head. And I don't think we'll like the consequences of that."

Few minutes after their rant, Shubman was being brought out of the cell.

"What about me?" Asked Abhishek.

"Okay, I know you're getting restless just to meet Meera!" Shubman said accusingly as he got out, "Have some patience, dear friend..."

"I am..." Abhishek pointed at at him, "...yeah, whatever." He continued, "So what are you going to do?"

Shubman looked to his left, thinking, "I honestly don't know, but I think I can deal with him."
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"There's no way I can deal with him," Shubman breathed in as he saw Ishan in his armour, with the finest sword Shubman had ever seen in his entire life. He almost imagined himself getting chopped into pieces.

Oh wait. He just wanted the head.

And that was even worse. That was literally an embarrassment even after death. If he would be chopped, atleast people would sympathize.

The moment their eyes met, Ishan's fury seemed to burn tenfold. Every inch of Shubman, dressed now as the prince he truly was, reminded Ishan of the lies, the deception, and the betrayal.

Without a word, Ishan yanked his sword from its scabbard, the metallic sound sharp in the tense air. "You bloody bastard!" he roared, charging at Shubman with blind rage.

Shubman, reacting just in time, bent backwards and narrowly dodged the blade. In a swift move, he grabbed Ishan's wrist, halting the strike. Their eyes locked once more—fury against sorrow, betrayal against guilt. Ishan's breath hitched for a moment, seeing the regret written in Shubman's gaze, but his anger held him firmly.

Shubman, his voice low but steady, spoke, "Prince Ishan, the consequences of this will not be good. You must know that."

Ishan, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword, spat back through gritted teeth, "I do not care." His voice trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the storm of emotions raging inside him.

***