The Maharaja of Ajmerganj wasn't a man.

He was a flawless Greek God carved from gold.

Tall, sharp like razor and sleek. These were the words that crashed into Harsh's mind when Agney Rajvansh stormed inside the cabin like a gust of wind, a woman falling two steps behind his military march. They ignored Harsh and his cold, numbed ass from prolonged sitting on the clean bench of the exclusive faculty. 

This was all his mother's doing. 

Harsh's mother not just died of a rough night. She died of jumping down from their building's terrace. Typical of her profession to be honest. He had seen it coming since long. 

But that wasn't his problem. His problem was that she contacted them. 

Without consulting him.

Then, a group of buff looking men in black kidnapped Harsh from the municipality where he was debating whether to let her corpse be unclaimed or claim it, and bear funeral expenses from his own bank account.

In the beginning, he thought she had a massive debt or some similar dues owed to mafia, just like it's shown in movies, and they wanted him to repay it. Then his blood was extracted by a vicious needle and a cold doctor who looked like he worked for vampires and not humans.

It didn't take him long to realize they were conducting a paternity test. 

All of a sudden, it dawned on him who would demean and humiliate him this way.

Harsh didn't understand how his mother had the contact number of Rajvanshs. But she had. And just before succumbing to her suicidal tendencies, she chose to reach out to them about Harsh.

His chest burnt with hatred, a rancid feeling he couldn't shook off his heart.

For the umpteenth time, he looked up at the sky and prayed to whatever Gods who listened and tormented him, to not make him one of them. Maybe, his mother was delusional. Maybe, she was mistaken.

He wished he wasn't a half royal.

    Inside the sterile cabin, Agney occupied the seat across the geneticist with his belying cold eyes, his hand was raised near his face as he slowly twisted his sapphire heirloom ring with his thumb.

"The results should remain strictly between us." His chin nudged to the side, and Neelakshi— his PA, slid a contract across the desk.

The man cleared his throat, careful and guarded. "Your majesty, I've ran the results three times, considering the sensitivity of the matter. Every time the result is same. He shares around twenty five percent of your DNA. There's no doubt he's your half brother."

Agney tensely released the breath he was holding. "What he is to me will be defined by me. Neelakshi, take care of the rest."

Standing up, he calmly pushed back the chair and strode out of the cabin while Neelakshi conversed with the man. When he emerged, the security held the door open for him and closed it when he approached the tense teen. 

His eyes flicked over the tall teen, a face akin to his bhaiya's to a disturbing extent.

None of his brothers looked much like their bhaiya. Except for this boy.

His heartstrings tugged for a brief moment, melting. He crushed the feeling immediately.

A face doesn't mean anything. It doesn't guarantee love or a family.

With apathetic eyes, he focused on his startling honey eyes instead. 

Must have been from his mother...

Harsh looked up with a scowl. His eyes roamed over the man's body, from head to toe. The King was a dashing and handsome man. Such a shame he was his brother. 

Or maybe not?

"Stop slouching like an old man," he heard him speak.

Harsh settled his eyes on his face instead. "If I don't, what will you do, your majesty?" He leaned back, palm over his thigh. "Look, my mum had cracked her skull open when she called you. That's it. Don't get sentimental and pull this family shit on me. I got to go." He stood up, walking past Agney. 

A guard blocked his path.

"You're coming to stay with us."

He turned around to face Agney. 

"Why?"

Ageny frowned. "Why what?"

Harsh stormed to him. "Why now! Why do I need to stay with you? I was fine living on my own."

"With your mother," Agney interjected calmly.

"Yes." Harsh rolled his eyes. "But she doesn't count as a person. She was a junkie. And junkies don't have any other identity other than being... junkies. Look," his head tilted, "I go my way, you go your way. We can forget this charade and continue our lives unaffected, as if this never happened. No need to get angsty or senti over this. Blame my mother."

He turned.

"You're a minor."

He sighed, glaring over his shoulder as he faced him. "Only nine months short of an adult. I'm sure in some part of this world, my opinion matters too."

"It doesn't," Agney reply blankly.

Harsh gaped. "You son of a bit—"

"Language."

"Fucktard, how about you go and shove that attitude up your arse and let me live in peace? When I'm telling I won't go with you, I won't. Why do I need your supervision to live my life? Who are you to dictate me?"

"Your blood."

Harsh sniggered. Unaffected. "Blood means nothing. If you were a stranger, I'd have gladly asked you to fuck—"

"I will tolerate anything," Agney growled as he stepped forward, cutting Harsh mid-sentence.  "But this. Mind your words and the relation we share. Blood means nothing. That's why you're not my brother. You mean nothing, but your blood does. As the blood of my ancestors, you are the responsibility of the crown of Ajmerganj— me. Come with me. You're not allowed to tarnish this name anymore."

Harsh glared, hatred simmering in his heart. "After abandoning me for seventeen years," he choked with emotions. "You have some guts to speak about responsibility. I'm neither your responsibility nor your redemption. Your ancestors can go fuck—"

His hair was fisted firmly. He hissed in pain.

"Don't you dare insult our ancestors!"

"Those were pricks!"

He was shaken on this spot again, more violently than he could tolerate without being scared. He didn't want to be hurt. Hatred or not. His heart hammered in his chest, pain prickling at his scalp from his hairs being viciously tugged on.

"Listen to me now, brat. You'll either willingly come with me to Ajmerganj, or forcefully. Choice is yours."

Tears welled in his eyes. Harsh swallowed the lump of hopelessness and humiliation as fear won. "Wi--willingly."

He gasped as he was let go, stumbling back. Agney strode away without tossing him a glance.

The elegant, professional woman from earlier emerged out of the cabin. She frowned, eyes softening with pity at his tear streaked face. Harsh wiped his face harshly with the back of his palm, refusing to be pitied.

With an apologetic look, she approached him. "We're sorry, your highness."

"Fuck you!" He yelled and stormed ahead.

Neelakshi watched after him, apprehensive. The boy was a walking storm. He had the signature Rajvansh aura.

Unforgiving.