All the brothers were eventually summoned to Prithvi's study by afternoon. Harsh sat at the far end of the couch, bouncing his knees, hands wringing in his lap.

Agney was safe, right?

He didn't want that guy to die. Not since the misunderstandings were cleared. Now, as much as he hated himself for it, he couldn't imagine harm befalling on the Ajmerganj royals.

He mentally cringed at his over-sentimental ass.

Only a few words of kindness, like leftovers, and his trust could be easily won over.

Just like when he was six.

He shuddered, stilling. He looked up at the guys instead.

Prithvi stood in front of him, eyes transfixed at the door in nervous anticipation. Whereas, the twins were standing apart. The quieter one had retreated into the corner at Harsh's left, while the bull stood beside Prithvi, occasionally glaring at Harsh whenever their gazes collided.

Harsh looked away too, not in the mood to pick a fight.

When Yuvaan finally swept in, occupying the couch's other end with effortlessness, Prithvi sighed, exasperated.

"Well, as you all have been suspecting, there was an.... incident last night," Prithvi began, his eyes briefly snapping toward Harsh before moving on. "But it's handled now. Bhai wasn't hurt. The intruder didn't get far before he was taken down. However, one of the control room guards is also found dead. Which is highly alarming."

Harsh's eyes widened slightly. Intruder? Murder?

In palace?

He schooled his face back into nonchalance. Kshitij glared vehemently, side eyeing Harsh, fists clenching and unclenching.

"You forgot some details, bhai," the bull added.

"I've forgotten nothing," Prithvi replied sharply. "This is all you need to know."

His heartbeat picked up when Kshitij didn't stop glaring at him with raw hatred.

What did he do now!

Harsh narrowed his eyes in silent warning, before he looked away, teeth grinding as he stared at the ground. A tense silence settled among them. Out of blue, he was reminded of the faint rustle. It almost slipped his mouth had he not clamped it shut, throat tightening.

Would they even believe him?

Kshitij would mock him, before accusing him of attention seeking. He could tell Prithvi, but everything in him feared that no one would believe him.

Besides, what guarantee did he even have that the noise was connected to the attack? It could have been anything. Maybe it were rats slithering in the ancient walls.

Still, the unease wouldn't leave. It sat heavy in his stomach, crawling up his spine until he felt sick of sitting still. He stretched his legs, hugging himself.

He heard Yuvaan's voice, and felt the couch shift. "Have we found the intruder's entry point yet?"

Prithvi shook his head grimly. "Not really. His average physique is hard to pinpoint in cameras. It will take some time."

He looked up. Yuvaan was standing now.

"Or..." Kshitij faced Harsh. "Maybe someone from the inside helped him." He feigned innocence.

Harsh frowned. Was he... he didn't even want to think about it.

"Jay," Shay sighed tiredly, but his twin shot him a glare.

"Let me speak."

"No one is speaking anything." Prithvi stepped up.

Jay glared. "What do you want me to do then? Pretend it's not a possible theory?"

"Theory. Not evidence."

Jay turned to Harsh, glaring. "What if he had planned it?"

Harsh gaped. They were suspecting him?

Why would he arrange an attack on them? All of a sudden, he regretted worrying about these motherfuckers.

Yuvaan snorted. "Oddly sounds like a compliment to me," he muttered to himself, and walked out of the room while Prithvi glared at his back.

That didn't faze anyone though.

Harsh stared at Jay, his chest tightening the more he let it sink that they were doubting him. A second later, he swallowed the uncomfortable strain in his throat that tearing up his eyes and rolled them. "Yeah, totally," he said, grinning viciously. "I hired a hitman because I wanted your Agni bhai gone."

Kshitij lunged forward. Shay crossed the distance in two steps, leaping between them. Harsh scrambled up the couch, shaken. "What the!"

"You know he's just annoyed. He's trying to get on your nerves. Cool down, c'mon," Shay spoke coolly, clutching his bicep and firmly shaking him on the spot.

Kshitij glowered at Harsh past his twin's shoulder, but stayed still, muscles taut.

The tension between them thickened.

Prithvi sighed, body slacking. The exhaustion in his eyes more pronounced with this gesture.

"Boys... this isn't the time." He looked at each of them in turn, voice softer now. "Look, be careful for a while, okay? Maybe someone is trying to set up us against each other. Don't let it get to you."

Harsh's gaze involuntary lingered on Prithvi even after he had done speaking. However, the man looked away when their eyes met, avoiding his gaze.

His chest tightened again.

Harsh could feel Shay's suspicion as he glanced his way with a blank look.

Prithvi brushed down his palm over his face. "Dismissed," he murmured, lips barely moving.

A heavy sensation sat on Harsh's chest as he stared at his feet, realizing it was happening all over again. He stood up.

It crushed his naive hope of being understood. He wanted to laugh. Why had he badly wanted to be understood and trusted? All of a sudden, it crashed on him how small he was among these people who treated him like he were invisible, their gaze looking at him, but not noticing him as it went past his soul.

They were ignoring him.

With a scowl, he pocketed his hands, and exited the room before the twins could.

He didn't need them anyway.

***

The next day passed by in a blur.

Harsh could feel it, the shift. The lowering voices whenever he entered a room, the carefulness around him that suddenly replaced the casual indifference. Nobody said anything outright, but the space between the words was too loud.

Even the staff had started to avoid him.

Waiting at the dining table for Agney and Yuvaan, Prithvi's gaze met his from across the table.

"How are you doing?" The man asked gently.

He replied shrugging, staring at his plate, "I don't know."

Because in all honesty, he really didn't know if devouring three books in just a span of thirty hours to avoid his loneliness counted as a good thing or a bad thing.

Prithvi blinked, hand hovering over his glass before he lowered it. His smile faltered, becoming careful. He nodded politely. He looked away, avoiding him the rest of the dinner.

Harsh's chest tightened. He peeked at him from under his lashes, but the stiff man didn't try to reach out again. He realized sickly that he should have kept his mouth shut instead of creating another excuse for someone to hate him.

But he didn't care if anyone liked him.

Then... why was his chest hurting?

He didn't belong with them. He had started to learn and grasp about royalty and one of the cardinal rules of being a prince was being fake— diplomatic for the sake of opportunism. He didn't know if he could do it without a strong reason or fake it all day till he forgot who he really was. It was stifling.

After dinner, he was aimlessly drifting in the hallway on his way to his bedroom. His steps had grown lethargic, body moving with effort as sleep deprivation began to catch to him.

Eventually, he found himself standing near the exact spot where the intruder had been found, having overheard it from the guards gossiping to each other.

His gaze fell on the archway at the end, carved stone and shadowed edges blending into the wall. He looked around at the thick, ancient walls. How wide were they? A metre?

He looked away boredly, moving on.

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

Next day, he was back in his lessons, another draining sessions of French and Spanish, the languages he chose to learn. He was losing his mind with Bonjour and Buenos días. ​

By the next class, his mind was all mushy. The tutor droned on about tone and inflection in speech, along with the "proper" way to greet delegates. He was slowly losing his mind, and instantly starting to curse his mother for signing him up for Prince diaries.

He tried to focus, but every word felt like it was crushing him. It made him smaller and smaller, like he was being cut down to fit a mold that didn't even matter.

When the session finally ended, his head was throbbing.

Kshitij appeared at the doorway, flipping through Harsh's illegible notes. "This handwriting should be a public offense," he said dryly.

Harsh rolled his eyes, looking away.

Kshitij tossed the papers back on the table, scoffing.

And just like that, he was gone.

Harsh stared at the door long after he had left. His eyes stung from the fifteen minutes naps he had been using to trick his mind to not yield into nightmares yet. He knew the moment he would sleep for anytime more half an hour, he would be trapped in his worst nightmares again. The memories of that man had begun to claw at the recess of his mind.

                Later that night, while crossing the same hallway again, he stopped abruptly.

A faint rustle broke the silence.

The same sound. The same low scrape against stone that he had heard two nights ago.

His breath caught. Ducking his head, he pretended it was just some rodent and scurried down the hallway.

He was lost in his thoughts when he turned the corner. He collided into something hard.

He looked up.

Kshitij.

For a second, neither spoke.

Harsh looked away, grinding his teeth and made a move to walk past him.

Kshitij didn't like the lack of apology from this brat who almost costed him his brother. It triggered him, twisting something hot in his chest.

"Watch where you are going," Jay snapped. "Or is it that you don't care who you run into? Maybe you're trying to finish what your friends started the other night."

He froze, and spun with a scowl. "What?"

Kshitij stepped closer, scoffing. "You want us dead, don't you? Admit it. You have been a curse since the moment you walked in here."

Something cracked inside Harsh.

"Yeah?" he retorted bitterly. "Isn't that what you all want from me anyway?"

Kshitij's face twisted, nostrils flaring. "You are pathetic. A stray we had to drag in out of guilt. You think anyone here actually wants you? You're just a charity show. That's all you're good for."

His eyes burned, hating the unwanted pity. "How about you whine about me to that fuctard of your brother, hm?"

"You called my brother- what?"

Kshitij shoved Harsh hard against the wall. He raised his fist, done with this bitch. The impack of his knuckles split the corner of Harsh's mouth, making him wince.

Harsh landed his punch against Kshitij's jaw, but it barely made the older boy wince.

Kshitij lunged again, slamming Harsh back against the wall.

The back of Harsh's head hit the wall, pain erupting before he raised his leg and kicked Jay's shin. Jay barely flinched.

"How dare you insult my brother after everything he's doing for you!" Kshitij growled, struggling to pin him down. "You ungrateful whore!"

Harsh's voice broke through gritted teeth, struggling in his grip. "Kiss my ass for all I care!"

"What the hell is going on here!"

Two hands grabbed both of them by their collars before either could protest, hauling them through the hallway and into the nearest side room.

The heavy door slammed behind them.

"You two have completely lost your minds!" Prithvi glared. "What is this? Slums? Half the staff can hear you!"

Harsh wiped the blood from his lip, voice shaking but loud. "Let them hear! Why should I care about your damn family when none of you ever cared about me?"

Prithvi's jaw tightened. "Harsh—"

"Stop pretending you're an angel," Harsh snapped. "You just want to play peacemaker so it looks like you still have this perfect family. You don't actually see anyone. You're fake!"

Prithvi recoiled back, face going blank as the words tore through the air.

Kshitij lunged again, slamming Harsh into the wall, fist connecting with his jaw. Harsh fought back, throwing a wild punch that landed square across Kshitij's face.

"You ungrateful brat," Kshitij spat. "How about you just die!"

"Kshitij!"

Harsh scowled back, eyes wet, fury shaking in his voice. "Then you should've left me where I was! Would've saved you the trouble of killing me!"

"Enough!" Prithvi shouted, yanking Kshitij off him and shoving him back.

Kshitij struggled, voice rough. "He talks like that about you, and you're—!" Prithvi's palm lashed across his cheek.

The sharp sound froze them both.

"I said enough! Do either of you even remember who you are? You're princes. Stop acting like street pigs in your own palace!"

Kshitij's chest heaved, cheek red. Though anger still burnt behind his eyes. "He doesn't get to talk to you like that," he muttered, eyes dark.

Prithvi swallowed his frustration, face red. "Beating him isn't right either."

Kshitij's jaw locked, chest heaving.

Prithvi panted loudly, trying to steady himself. He turned to Harsh who was frozen on his place.

Prithvi's face became less sterner, replaced by a flicker of vulnerability.

"If you... believe I'm fake, you can tell me instead of creating a scene," Prithvi spoke, face tired with a solemn heaviness.

Harsh's lips wobbled, eyes downcasting in shame. Tears sprung in his eyes. He inhaled, trying to blink them off.

He had hurt Prithvi, had he not?

Guilt pooled in his stomach, especially when the man ignored him, face taut, like Harsh didn't exist.

Maybe he didn't. He shouldn't. People like him shouldn't matter. He deserved everything bad that had happened to him and more. Maybe this was why he had always been alone in his life. Why was he hurt. Used.

He wasn't meant to be normal.

Somehow, he always found a way to ruin things. To scream. To create a scene. All of a sudden he realized, Kshitij had been correct. He only seeked attention. That was who he was deep underneath. Either he got what he wanted or he would ruin it himself.

Prithvi swallowed, his throat bobbing as he stared at the wall on his left for a moment longer than necessary. "Go away, both of you..." he whispered.

"Bhai," Kshitij began.

"I said, go. Or even you too want to defy me now?" The older male asked in a weary, sharp voice.

Harsh walked out first, his lip throbbing.

Sometimes he wished he wasn't born. If he hadn't been, then no one would have to be hurt, himself included. Everyone was doing right by not accepting him or trying to understand him.

What was there in him that had to be understood?

Only ruin.

He was the type of selfish who would burn the world down because he wasn't happy. He knew he was very spiteful, knowing fully well the world owed him nothing but he couldn't help the destructive tendencies that roused in him whenever he was cornered. He just wanted to destroy and ruin, and then die, so that nobody would miss him. He wished to always be hated, because that meant he never wanted love, that he never meant to be weak.

He didn't know why but a vice like feeling coiled around his chest, suffocating him. He choked on a sob, rubbing his eyes. He just wanted to sleep and let all go.

He never mattered anyway.