Harsh couldn't relax. Not after the ordeal.

His mother was a generational courtesan. In fact, ceremoniously the last one. Now the generic term is an escort. His mother refused to pass that title to him, even though men of his family often became skilled seducers and lovers of Queens and Princesses.

However, mere absence of a title wasn't enough to keep Harsh away from his roots.

One of their rule was— Despise the free lunch. 

This situation was exactly a free lunch as his eyes flicked over the in-suite bedroom. A personal study, library, console and even a personal vanity attached to it.

It was time to be alert.

He tried to figure out this sudden wave of charity washing over the royal family.

Why call back their illegitimate brother after never accepting him?

It didn't make sense to him.

Were they waiting for his mother's call? 

Then why did his mother never call them? 

Why did she always warn him about Ajmerganj?

Everything was puzzling. What did they want from him?

A knock outside his door pulled him out of his reverie. 

Sitting up against the cushioned headboard, he sighed, "come in."

The same elegant woman from earlier strutted inside his room. She was tall and graceful, but almost flat-chested. It was an instant turn off for him, especially with her mirroring disinterest.

Either she was a rule abider or an opportunist who hadn't the perfect time to strike yet. A day wasn't enough to categorize her.

"What do you want?" His chin lifted. 

She side stepped. "Chirag."

A guy his age, just a few years older, stepped forward with a formal bow. "Your highness."

"This is Chirag, Prince Harsh. As a royal, you are allocated a personal assistant who looks after your interests and needs." She gave Harsh a tight-lipped smile and clasped her wrists, one hand holding the IPad. 

"Needs?" Harsh smirked with a dirty look. He leaned back with greedy eyes. "My needs require a special experience, lady. I can't waste my time with amateurs."

She cocked a brow, before flashing a strained smile. "We're truly sorry your highness. But I don't think his majesty is talking about your definition of needs. Chirag is here to assist you and keep you out of any trouble."

"Go away," he spat at the mention of that man. His scalp hurt with phantom burn at the reminder of that rascal.

"I'm sorry, your highness. I can't. I work under the crown and I only listen to the crown," replied she, flatly.

"Really?" He cocked his head provocatively. "Will you take off your clothes at the crown's order?"

Chirag flinched. He tried to pacify but Neelakshi showed him her palm and without flinching, stepped forward.

"The moment a King threatens the safety of his subjects is the same day he's not a crown, but a tyrant. We don't work for tyrants. I know this may come off as a shock to you, but my ancestors and I have been serving this crown for the past thirteen generations. Not once, a woman had to strip for a tyrant. I'm thank you for your concern but you need to cool off your temper first. Rest, your highness. We will leave you. Chirag, follow me. Let his highness rest."

She side eyed Harsh with steely eyes, exiting the room.

Harsh rolled his eyes while Chirag quickly followed her out of the room. He flopped on the bed, bored by these people. They weren't his type. What a waste of his attractiveness. 

He should be basking in attention and desire, but no... 

He was locked up like some celibate church father.

Just his luck!

***

Harsh was vigorously washing his face with different products to determine if he should upgrade his brand of skincare or not when a knock rapped right at his door. He pulled out his face from under the running faucet and grabbed a face towel.

"What now?" He yelled over.

The sound of the opening of the door was faint but unmistakable.

"Your highness, dinner's ready."

He trudged out of the bathroom and tossed a glare at Chirag. "Will you even remind me my bedtime from now on?"

Chirag cleared his throat and clasped his hands before him. "No, your highness. Unless you want me to," he rushed to add the last line.

"Uh-huh," Harsh replied flatly, bored as he took off his shirt and grabbed a clean white shirt from the walk-in closet.

His necessities were stocked just in two hours after he came here.  Now, he had a bunch of old money designer clothes and unheard exquisite brands. It was a premium upgrade, one he wasn't complaining.

He side eyed the guy once more to detect any signs of interest. The shorter guy was flabbergasted- yes, but uninterested. Trying to play with him would be barking at the wrong tree. Besides, he wasn't even attractive. 

Now he just wanted a hot mommy or a hot daddy to relieve his stress. He was getting restless.

"Chirag?"

Chirag looked up, but his gaze dropped when it landed on his chest as Harsh was slowly buttoning down his shirt. 

"Yes, your highness?"

"Call me Harsh. I'm not into master kink, not for you at least," he boredly added.

Chirag's face turned crimson but remained otherwise stoic. He was trained to remain composed, Harsh noted.

 "We all have needs, you know," he began boredly. "Life's a little lonely and cold if you don't find some warmth to make it more tolerable."

He recited the same lines once a woman confessed to him. She was an older princess of a lesser known royal family, demanding his mother's service. Instead, he snatched her right from under his mother's nose. That was a year ago.

That's how it is in their field of line. Snatch. Or starve from the lack of attention. His mother died too because she couldn't bear the lack of desirability. She was getting old and ugly. 

"I... don't understand what are you hinting at, sir."

"You know exactly what I'm hinting at. You're a man too." He walked before Chirag, close enough to unnerve him as he tilted his head. "You can feel what I'm feeling. My desperation. Tell me where can I quench this fire?"

Chirag stepped back, swallowing hard as his eyes darted around in hesitation. "I'm not allowed to support your... debauchery, sir. His majesty will kill me!"

Harsh cocked a brow, before nodding. "Okay. Then I'll tear my own clothes and tell his majesty you were trying to have your way with me. He will be thrilled to know his baby brother was almost raped by one of his men." He smirked devilishly. "My, my, what a shame. Really."

Chiraj shook his head. "Sir! Anything but that!" He recoiled as sweat crystallized on his forehead. He looked ready to burst into tears.

For a brief moment, Harsh's eyes flickered, guilt pooling in the pit of stomach at the sight of fear before he willingly suppressed that feeling. If he didn't relieve his pent up emotions soon, he would wither to  depression he wouldn't know how to climb out of.

Sex was his escape. His life. No one, not even his own conscience could stop him from fulfilling his need.

"I'm giving you time to think about my words." He looked down at his chest, smirking. "Think it over carefully. Now, take me to dinner. I'm hungry." He looked up with a cruel smile, ignoring the way his chest had tightened.