"Sir, we're getting late. His majesty is very punctual of his schedule."

"Don't be so lame," Harsh waved off Chirag, peeking down from the balcony at the vast, royal lawn being patrolled by security. "Is this place really spread across acres?" He turned to his assistant. 

Chirag, eyes red from the emotional turmoil of an hour earlier, nodded hastily. "Yes, sir. But you're getting late."

Harsh glared, exhaling. "What calamity will befall on us if we will be late? We can reach there in just ten minutes."

His PA shook head. "Sir, you don't know how particular his majesty is."

"Whatever," Harsh grumbled, shoulders tense. He side eyed him. "Boy, you don't know how particular I am. Twenty four hours... that's all you have to make up your mind."

Chirag slumped. "I know.."

Harsh nodded thoughtfully  and turned back to gaze at the arid Rajasthan beyond the palace walls. 

"Sir?"

"What now?" He groaned. "Why are you nagging me every two seconds? You want me to meet Agney? Fine!" He stormed across the corridor.

Chirag gaped. Did he... did he call Maharaja Agney as... Agney?

Harsh halted, and glared over his shoulder at his stupefied assistant when a turn came.

"Stop standing like a fool and guide my way!"

"Sorry, your highness!" Chirag bowed quickly and raced ahead.

Harsh scowled after him. "He better get me laid by tomorrow or I'll drink his blood," he muttered to himself. 

              Harsh knocked at the door, barely acknowledging the guards positioned outside the teak door. He had begun to ignore their presence.

"Enter."

He soundlessly pushed the door inside and slipped into the quiet study where Agney was highlighting some lines, elbows on the desk and brows knitted tightly in thought. After closing the door behind he, he shifted.

"You're two minutes and," Agney glanced at his classy wristwatch, his gaze sharp and calculative, "forty nine seconds late." His eyes briefly flicked up with a hint of cold annoyance before he resumed his work, expression returning to impassive focus.

Harsh scoffed, pocketing his hands. "Why did you call me? Fed up of me already? Please, hurry. I'm dying to live back in my apartment."

Agney looked up, eyes narrowing slightly as his lips pressed into a firm line. "Sit." He nudged towards the couch, his forehead ticking.

Harsh eyed it wearily. "Okay...? Is that why you called me? To admire my face? Or..." he leaned forward, glancing around the room to make sure no one else was listening. "If you wanted to get laid, I'm sorry man. I'm not into incest. You're my brother. I can't stoop that low," he whispered.

A flash of rage passed Agney. His eyes darkened almost instantly, jaw clenching visibly as his nostrils flared. A vein pulsed at his temple as his stare cut into Harsh with unspoken fury. Harsh inched away, his bravado shaken as quietly made his way to the couch.

His face subtly paled, eyes averting.

"Now what?" He asked after he sat down and crossed his arms to boost his confidence.

Agney observed him for a moment, eyes flicking between Harsh's eyes before he exhaled sharply and his face regained his earlier composure.

"We will resume half an hour later," Agney tossed flatly, and turned back to his work.

Harsh stared at his side profile blankly. "Huh?"

"Silence."

His lips pursed, before he glared. "What do you think you are? Prime Minister? Even he has more liberties than you."

"Do you want to kneel on the floor?" Agney looked up with sharp, glinting eyes.

Harsh frowned. "What?" He shifted.

"If you uttered one more word, or tried to move, you'll be kneeling on the floor till my time slot is over."

Harsh swallowed his nervousness, his throat bobbing. His heart thudded violently in his chest as he subconsciously brushed his scalp, the phantom pain still pricking from his hairs being tugged. His lips trembled for a second as he recalled that terrifying moment.

Agney's eyes flickered to his hair. Something briefly shifted in his expression, his features softening for the faintest moment, before his eyes hardened and he resumed his work with his cold, blank face.

Harsh leaned back on the couch, shoes up as he gazed at all the books in the bookshelf above his head. Bobbing his feet, he counted them and found out they were 346 books, minus two gigantic books that looked like a compilation or some sort of series. His eyes darted to custom cornices, upwards at the ceiling with soft, lighting, washing a regal touch over the study. He glanced back at Agney and sighed as he watched Agney drowning in his work.

Lucky bastard.

At least he wasn't bored to death.

Harsh missed his phone dearly. Unfortunately for him, he had left it at his room to set up a new one, courtesy of his filthy rich royal family. Setting up his new phone was a nightmare.

He sighed loudly and watched as Agney didn't even blink, his face remained perfectly unmoving, not a muscle twitched as he breathed. 

Was he really that immersed in his work? What was so entertaining about paperwork?

Harsh couldn't understand why the man was uptight. 

Like... chill man.

By the time Agney was done, Harsh had totally glazed over, lost in random thoughts.

The young King turned in his executive chair and watched the teen with a blank face. He quietly studied Harsh's hunched posture and distant stare, wondering what was the boy thinking? 

Harsh was staring at the floor, one hand curled to his stomach and other subconsciously running through his scalp, fingers woven in his hair. 

His eyebrows crinkled slightly, eyes dropping with regret before hardening again. He mentally berated himself for losing his composure in the morning. The boy had an infuriating personality. He was rebellious, uncouth and untrusting. He would rebel. Agney should have seen that coming soon and been calmer. He would need to tame his anger around him.

His bhaiya would have been better instead.

Agney inhaled deeply. His bhaiya wouldn't come back. He couldn't help him as they were worlds apart. 

Agney  would have to deal with this teen on his own.

Alone.

His chest ached from the hollowness. It... hurt.

The boy continued to massage his hair, unaware he was watching him, his soul anguished.

"Does it hurt?"

Harsh froze, eyes slowly rising. His face tightened, brows raised in exhaustion. "Why do you care?" he retorted wearily, voice dull. His eyes were soft for the first time.

Agney blinked to shake off these emotions. He wouldn't get attached.

"That's not my answer."

Harsh exhaled and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His expression flattened into reluctant resignation. "No. It's not bleeding..." he whispered. 

"A lack of bleeding doesn't mean it's not hurting," Agney replied back. 

Harsh frowned, confusion flickering across his face. His eyes roamed Agney's as if trying to uncover a trick. Agney's gaze was unreadable.

What was up with this man? Was he bipolar? Because one moment he was scary as the devil and next he was asking whether he was hurt or not?

Or was he trying to manipulate his feelings?

His gaze sharpened, lips pressing into a tight line when that thought crossed his mind. It wasn't the first time someone would be playing with him.

"Sit up straight. Don't slouch like a sloth."

Harsh pushed himself up, expression sulky, eyes rolled with exaggerated annoyance. "Don't slouch," he repeated in a nerdy voice, sneering at Agney.

Agney's eyes narrowed into a slit, his cheek twitching with restraint. "We need to talk. Sit across me."

"I won't," Harsh glared, his jaw set defiantly as dragged himself towards the chairs. He occupied one of them and leaned back with a theatrical sigh. "Now what? I'm sleepy. Be fast."

Agney sighed mentally, though his face remained calm and unreadable. He wouldn't let the boy read his inner thoughts. "Your classes will start from tomorrow."

"What classes?" Harsh's eyebrows shot up, confusion and irritation spreading over his face.

"History. Language. Culture. Etiquettes. Everything you need to know and everything you need to unlearn."

Harsh rolled his eyes, lips twisted into an exaggerated scoff.  "What's the use of those fancy classes? I know a little, enough to survive."

"You struggled at the dining table," Agney pointed out, his tone level but his gaze unapologetic. 

Harsh's chest fluttered with irritation, a flicker of embarrassment flashing across his face. His nostrils flared slightly as he glared at the polished desk between them. "Just one time, okay? My mum had nagged me enough about all the... royalness you're talking about."

"Yet you still have an uncouth mouth."

"That's my personality." Harsh shrugged, expression tightening. "I'm not going to apologize for being me."

Agney leaned back, hand raised near his face. His gaze was cool and steady. "That's where you're mistaken. You have a tremendous responsibility of our family's name, and whatever life you lived by now, unlearn it. Start living upto your blood."

"I'm not one of you," Harsh gritted and leaned forward, eyes burning with raw defiance. "I only share a sperm donor with you. That doesn't make me one of you."

"It doesn't," Agney agreed instantly, voice devoid of warmth. "But you can't fool around tarnishing this family."

Harsh scoffed, face hardening with disdain. His lips curled into a bitter smile as he considered Agney for a while. It's always about reputation for people like him. Isn't it?

Then what was he doing here if it's all reputation?

Harsh looked away, jaw clenched and his face partially shadowed. "What did my mum say? Make a prince out of me?" He turned to face Agney, a dry, mocking look in his eyes. "You know what? It will better if you throw me out. A mega saver of your resources."

"I won't. You will either become what you should have been long ago or... bear the consequences of your failure." Agney tipped his head slightly, gaze simmering with a steady darkness.

"What consequences?" Harsh's voice cracked, pulling away from the man's stifling presence.

"Consequences of being a... weakling." Agney leaned forward, locking eyes with him. Unrelenting.

"Don't get into any trouble or anything that tarnishes our reputation. You may have none, but we have. Stay away from scandals. Now, you may leave." The king turned back to his next file, face closing off completely, as if he wasn't trampling over Harsh's heart a second ago.

Harsh glared at him, his cheeks flushed and vision heavy with unshed tears as he bit the inside of his cheek.

"Are you deaf or that stupid?" Agney peered up, mouth twisted in contempt. "Leave."

Harsh got up swiftly, mentally cursing him blue and black. 

Agney turned back to his work. "Good," he muttered.

His heart burnt with rage at being ignored after his soul was crushed by their cold, self-centerednes. Harsh reminded himself he didn't care but the pain refused to leave him. His heart panged. He was hurt. Badly.

"I hate you!" Harsh stomped to the door.

Agney's chest tightened for a brief moment before he nubbed the bud of attachment himself as Harsh left the study.

Some weeds should be plucked sooner.

Their dislike was mutual.