Harsh lounged on the carved sturdy chair, slouching in it as he almost napped to whatever the lesson was all about. Why did he care how many wives his grandfather's great-grandfather married?

His fingers were drumming lazily on his knees. He didn't push back his hair flopping into his eyes as his mouth twitched to yawn.

This should be the worst thing to do in your free-time.

The instructor stopped mid-sentence, already frowning. "Sit properly, your Highness," he words echoing in the grand hall with sunlight pouring in through tall windows. 

"Spine straight with shoulders rolled back and your chin tilted up slightly."

Harsh sulked and slowly shifted, still slouching. He glared at his instructor, glancing at Kshitish who watched back with absolute boredom, leaning against a white column with his arms crossed. His crisp linen shirt was half-rolled at the sleeves, flexing his lean muscles and reminding Harsh he was nowhere as strong to headbutt him, even though Kshitish was the leaner twin.

Agney had sent over his little soldier after Harsh had ran-off mid-lecture.

Since no one, not even the security wanted to manhandle a prince, Kshitish was sent over to drag him by his arm and forcefully make him attend the lecture.

Now, the demon had been lurking around Harsh for the past half an hour to make sure he was attending his class.

"Your highness, sit straight."

Harsh melted in his chair to purposefully annoy the middle aged man. "I won't. So what?" he provoked with a raised chin.

"That's your loss then. Posture is your personality," the instructor replied, circling him. "How you sit is how the world sees you. A lazy man? A lazy ruler. No one bows to someone who looks like he just crawled out of bed. Anyone can do that. They want something unachievable. Unfathomable. Certainly... epitome."

Harsh tilted his head slightly. "You are wrong teach. They still bow."

The instructor froze.

Harsh leaned forward and continued, "the world doesn't bow to a beggar in nice clothes. It bows to power, money and name. Whoever has that is the King. The world will still bow to me because they know I'm a prince. If they don't know, they will just call me a con-artist and mock me for trying too hard."

The instructor's lips parted, but no sound came out.

Kshitish frowned. Normally he wouldn't heed to a commoner's perspective on how to lead his life. Commoners were simple and naive, oblivious to the world of class and taste.

But something about Harsh's words impressed him because he was... right.

They were royalty because they were a royalty. It didn't matter if they lived by rules or broke it, their privileges would ensure they remained at the top.

It was a concept his twin always tried to make him understand, but he couldn't grasp it.

Until now.

He didn't speak though. Just watched Harsh and their speechless instructor. 

The instructor cleared his throat, adjusting his collar with a stiff hand. "That will be all for today," he muttered.

Harsh slowly pushed up himself and walked out of the hall, ignoring the demon. 

Kshitish stayed still, his gaze following him until he disappeared from his sight.

***

Harsh strolled down the corridor, irritated by the superficiality of these royals.

What was their purpose of being fake? To lure people in?

He would put on a mask when he wanted something. But it was only limited to his goal. Once it was over, he would back to his unhinged ways. He didn't understand the point of the Royals of Ajmerganj to keep their heads in the clouds.

"Sir," Chirag greeted, falling in step with him as he took long leaps.

"Neelakshi ma'am has asked for an extracurricular to be chosen by you by-" Chirag swiped at the IPad. "Weekend."

Harsh scowled. "Stop doing that."

"Doing what, sir?"

"Annoying me."

Chirag clamped his mouth shut as they cleared onto the east wing. 

A beautiful girl was chuckling, phone tucked between her ears.

Harsh slowed down, his body heating up as his heartbeat accelerated. Petite with perfect curves. He liked ultra-feminine women and ultra-masculine men. There was no in-between when it came to his types. He drooled.

"Chirag?" Harsh grinned, nudging his assistant. "Who's that hot chic?"

"Isha- Sneha ma'am's daughter." However, his eyes rounded the instant he understood the implications. "Don't even try sir. Prince Kshitij will kill us! Sneha ma'am is his and Prince Kshitish's PA."

Harsh blinked lazily and turned back to the lamb. "They won't know what they won't need to."

He adjusted the cuffs of his coat, suddenly adopting a smooth, refined poise that Chirag had never seen before. It was, as if a switch had been flicked on. Gone was the brash, unruly prince.

In his place stood someone composed, charming, almost dangerous in his elegance.

Chirag frowned, stepping back. Is he possessed?

Harsh strolled up to her with the warm, practiced smile. He felt a part of him staying back, hidden beneath the mask.

Isha looked up from the ground, smiling faintly. Her attention was both thrilling and dangerous to him.

She didn't step back as she lazily pocketed her phone, her eyes fixated on his dark honey eyes. The gaze triggered an urgent need to win her attention.

He caught the way her fingers brushed her hip, and the subtle tilt of her body angled ever so slightly toward him when he stopped before her.

"Why are you staring at me, Prince Harsh? Is staring considered a royal etiquette now?" She joked. 

Harsh smirked. "Only when the view is worth it," he flirted. It was better than living with a harrowing emptiness.

Her eyes flicked over him playfully.
"You are a... trouble. Unlike other princes."

Harsh smirked.
"Trouble gets me remembered, beautiful."

Harsh dropped his head, breathing in her intense perfume. He stepped in carefully inside her personal space, making sure the signals were right. He gently brushed an invisible speck off her shoulder, his fingers grazing the fabric close to her skin. He scanned her for any signs of discomfort or disgust, but there were none as her breathing deepened, eyes drawn to him.

His eyes never left hers.

"There was a bug at your shoulder. I hope you didn't mind," he spoke intently and pulled away his hand with tease.

Isha's eyes moved to where his hand had been, her lips parting. Her lashes fluttered, looking up again at him with her dark, dilated pupils. Her lips curled up faintly. 

"I like trouble more. Safe is boring," Harsh commented, clasping his hands behind his back as he subtly puffed out his chest.

"It is," she agreed, smiling impishly. Her eyes trailed down his throat to his chest.

Green signal.

He leaned in slightly.
"So?"

"So what?" She looked back up, teasing him.

Harsh pulled away with a smirk. He turned to Chirag.

"Where's a place no one will disturb us?"

Chirag was dumbfounded at their exchange.

Isha giggled. "Chirag bhai, get out of your dreamland."

Chuckling, she turned to Harsh. "Will the west quarters be fine? There's a room besides the archives. I can snuck in a spare key."

Harsh cocked a brow, lips curving up in a dirty smirk. He pulled away. "Maybe I will have to make you wait. You need to be taught patience, kitten."

She smirled, her cheeks flush. 

Just then, quick deliberate leather shoes echoed down the corridor.

A figure passed by Harsh in ivory white. Yuvaan. 

He was mentally turned to his airpods when his eyes flicked sideways, just for a second and landed on Harsh, then Isha. His gaze lingered on Harsh as something shifted in his gaze, before he dismissed their presence altogether and went away from their sight. 

Harsh's heart dropped to his stomach.

[This work is only available on Scrollstack and Wattpad by DaisyDayNew.]

No... what if he found out?

Another pair of footsteps sounded closer.

Isha's mischievous smile dropped as the woman from the dinner passed by them.

The older female slowed down by their side when her eyes landed on her daughter standing a little too close to Harsh. She glared silently,  jaw clenched.

Isha's posture stiffened.

Harsh stepped back.

Isha looked down, squirming when her mother turned to Harsh with a strained smile.

"Apologies, your highness. In case Isha bothered you," She eyed her daughter pointedly. "She can... forget her place sometimes."

Harsh shifted on his leg, suddenly awkward. He smiled faintly but it was shallow. "Don't apologize Ms. She didn't annoy me. Ugh- I need to go," he excused hastily.

       As they rushed away from Isha, Harsh exhaled in relief, shoulders slumping. "That was a close call."

Chirag glanced at him, half-horrified.
"What was that?" 

Harsh regarded him cheerfully for the first time.
"What it looked like."

"You don't even know her. What if she had gathered an audience or told Sneha ma'am?"

"C'mon. She wanted it." He waved him off. "She didn't even squirm when I drooled at her."

"How could you have been sure? What if she was too scared to protest?"

Harsh half-smiled, his eyes ahead with a mischievous look. 
"Tight black skirt. Loose shirt. One button open close to her cleavage. But it's not that hot. She was standing alone, smiling to herself while she hadn't called anyone."

"She wasn't on a call?"

Harsh continued, "No. She had dressed for attention, but not just any attention. Specifically from one of the princes. Maybe one of the twins. But they are uninterested, she knows it too. That's why she was low-key. They won't notice the difference, but too much will give her away."

Chirag stopped, stunned.
"Did you read all that in just ten seconds?"

Harsh spun around.
"Eight, actually."

Chirag shook his head
"This is still very risky, sir. What if—"

"Don't chicken out now. Let me handle it. Just do me a favor," he leaned forward with an mischievous grin, "arrange protection, hm? I don't want to waste time doing positions."

His poor assistant paled, staggering back.

Harsh laughed at his reaction. "You're so funny."

He refused to pay attention to the tight feeling in his chest. The mask shouldn't fall now.