A man leaned against the glass wall, his left palm pressed above his forehead as he squinted at the villa's pool below. His jaw was tight, a faint crease between his brows.

The office door was opened by the same man who had escorted Yuvaan.

Yuvaan stepped inside as the door clicked shut behind him.

"If it isn't the loverboy," the guy snorted.

Yuvaan smiled, suave. "How are you my friend? Long time no see."

"One way to put it, yes," the guy turned out. He was wearing a simple, elegant blue button up paired with beige chinos, "and another way to say, you want a favor. What brings you to my summer abode?" He observed him sharply.

"Do you think so low about me?" Yuvaan asked, suave, tilting his head with feigned hurt.

"I think worse."

"Touchy," Yuvaan tutted.

"Why are you here? Cut the crap." The man was unamused.

Yuvaan smirked. "Fine. I want you to look into a code."

The guy snorted. "Wish for something possible. I've vowed to mum to leave hacking."

"And? Will friendship be enough?" Yuvaan tossed a pendrive.

His ex-best friend caught in with his left hand, eyes arching in mild surprise at the black device in his fist.

"There's a saying..." Yuvaan leaned forward. "Everything is fair—"

"In love and war," his friend completed. He nodded, looking up. "Everything comes with a price, Prince Yuvaan Rajvansh."

"What's the price then, Prince Varun Singh Chauhan?"

Varun's dark eyes flicked to the desk. He pulled back the executive chair and occupied it. "Thirty percent shares in Fortuna. That lousy fool is refusing to hand it over at the rate of 300. That's the best he can get. You will arrange it for me."

Yuvaan stared back. "Twenty five."

"Deal," Varun replied, plugging in the pendrive.

Yuvaan took a seat across from him. Varun put on his glasses, smacking his lips as he stared at the code.

"God..."

"Bad?"

"Worse. I love it." Varun grinned as their eyes met. He looked back at the screen, leaning in.

Yuvaan rolled his eyes.

"Stop admiring it. It was used to override our system. Where has it originated from?" 

Varun hummed, nodding. "Patience, patience." He typed in a few keystrokes. His eyes crinkled in concentration.

A while later, he typed in more keystrokes. Finally, what seemed like an hour to Yuvaan but were only ten minutes, Varun leaned back, fingers steepled.

"Okay, here it is. Someone has been here before us. Clean entry. Clean exit."

The words hung in the air.

"Someone has been here...?" Yuvaan leaned forward, frowning. 

Varun took off his glasses. "As in... look, let's speak in a language you can understand." His gaze was sharp like Yuvaan were dumber. It irked on his nerves, but he bit down on his frustration. 

"This code, which you gave me now is a very sophisticated. It's complex and quiet professional. Someone tried to read it, poke around it three days ago. With almost no trails left behind."

Yuvaan arched a brow. "Attacker? Maybe they're trying to cross confirm their own loopholes?"

Varun shrugged. "Can be anything. But you're paying me to track down this code, not this mystery visitor. So... here's the deal. It will take time."

Yuvaan stared back at him darkly, exasperated. "You're genius at this," he reminded.

"Your point?" Varun retorted. "This is not a techno movie, loverboy. It's real world. Just few random keystrokes won't make me back trace this code to the very atom it originated from."

Yuvaan pulled back, lips pursed. "How long then?"

"Two or three days. Give or take. Can be slightly before that. I promise nothing."

Varun grabbed his espresso and sipped. A notification went off on his phone. He opened it.

"Ask your princess to stop treating my men like his butler. My men get nervous when someone looks that relaxed at gunpoint," he said, after reading the message. 

"He's pampered. You can try teaching him some manners though."

Varun flashed a fake, cheerful grin. "No, thanks."

***

Harsh had finished another book by morning when someone knocked on his door. His red rimmed, sleep deprived eyes burned when he didn't blink them often. With irritation clouding his chest, he trudged to the door, unlatching it with a careless yank, before turning away toward the couch. 

"Morning, Your Highness," Yug greeted politely.

Harsh only hummed as he flopped onto the couch.

Yug cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly in the doorway. "Prince Prithvi requests that you change into mourning clothes and meet him downstairs with the ashes."

He frowned. "Now?"

Yug nodded solemnly. "His Highness has arranged for the immersion today."

For a moment, his mind went blank. His eyes drifted to his mother's urn, before he remembered last night's conversation.

He nodded to Yug as he stood up slowly, unable to speak. 

Yug took the silent dismissal and wordlessly retreated. When the door clicked shut behind him, Harsh exhaled a shuddered breath. 

He did his routine with mind oddly empty, and heavy body. It was only when he hit the shower, unwanted emotions rained on him like the torrent of water.

Would the same would happen to him one day? And would anyone collect his ashes and bother to immerse them with respect? Or would he die nameless, like an orphan no one remembered. It was the fate of almost everyone from his mother's family. 

His mother, he realized, was exceptionally lucky. If Prithvi hadn't insisted on this ritual, he would have never bothered to care for her corpse or her ashes.

A dead body was just... a dead body. It wasn't a person. It didn't matter how many times Prithvi or the world would claim otherwise, he wouldn't believe in just a bunch of cells rotting to their fate. 

After stepping out of the shower, he dried his hair before the mirror. His pale, tired reflection stared back. Atleast still beautiful enough that people would use him.

Then what?

Loneliness.

When he would grow old, looks fading, he would be discarded like an outdated model. It was the curse of beauty and seduction, a fate not even the shrewdest of seducers in the world can't escape. It wasn't physical beauty only. Everyone and everything was replaceable. Every relation, person, love, feeling, emotion, could be filled in by another, something better.

He sighed, wrapping a towel around his waist before searching for mourning clothes. He scowled. Now even clothes had to be specific in this household. 

He put on a simple white kurta and pajama, damp hair falling messily over his forehead. He turned back the mirror. His split lip caught his eyes. Raising fingertips to graze the nearly healed scabbed, wound, the memory of last night sat softly in his chest.

How long would it last though?

His chest tightened. He didn't want to remember that softness. Good things never lasted in his world.

He walked out of the bathroom and drank a glass of water, the cool water sliding down his dry throat, before turning to the urn.

For a fleeting second, he had a weird, sudden urge to just open the lid and scatter to the floor instead. He just wanted it over. He didn't want her to pester him anymore.

He lifted the urn and walked out of the room.

                    Prithvi approached his brother. Agney sat at the tea table, absorbed in the newspaper, lips pursed in concentration. The sleeves of his linen blue shirt were rolled to his elbows. Birds were trilling from the trees surrounding the lawn, their songs weaving through the crisp, cold air. Prithvi shivered slightly, regretting the jacket he had left behind.

Agney didn't look up even when he heard Prithvi's quiet footsteps. His older brother had a weird obsession with reading newspapers first thing in the morning under their lawn's golden lampshades and the dark blue hue of the dawn.

"Good morning, bhai."

Agney hummed, eyes narrowing at something he was reading. 

"Harsh wants to immerse his mother's ashes, so I'll be taking him there. Do you—"

Agney raised a hand, silencing him. His neck craned towards him. "Don't talk to me about ashes. Do what you must do, but don't involve me," he snapped, and turned back to reading newspaper, eyes flicking to the next page.

His throat became heavy with regret for bringing this up. When their bhaiya passed away, his bhai had to set fire to his pyre and later immerse those ashes. Since then, Agney had a vehement hatred for death.

He inclined his head respectfully. "As you wish. I apologise for bringing it up."

"It's fine." Agney waved him off.

His mouth opened and clamped shut, conflicted whether to bring up the last night or not. He decided the former would be the best, since his brother was the eldest now.

"Harsh had a nightmare last night," he added.

That stilled Agney. He regarded him with a frown. "About what?"

Prithvi shrugged. "I don't know. Didn't want to pry either."

Agney nodded, and turned back to reading. "Take security with you. Be back in three hours. I don't want you risking your safety after the attack. Be vigilant, hm? Take a gun with you, just in case."

Prithvi nodded. "I will. I know the drill. By the way have you... have you heard from Jay and Yuvi? Jay is barely responding to my texts and I haven't heard from the security either. Is everything alright?"

Agney exhaled slowly. "They think they know how to lead their lives better. Leave them. Besides, I don't believe the enemy would go as far as to tally them to Malaysia. It was a a spur of moment."

"Still—" he began.

"Your Highness," Yug called from afar. Both Prithvi and Agney composed themselves, backs straighter and face composed. "Prince Harsh is ready and waiting for you."

Prithvi tipped his head to Agney. "Excuse me, your Majesty."

He turned, and followed Yug.

"My jacket."

"Give me just a minute, Your Highness." Yug jogged away. 

However, the prince's mind was all over the place. He was anxious about what were his brothers upto? And why didn't bhai scold them?

What were they all planning?

Prithvi had always been on the periphery of his brothers' hearts since their bhaiya's death. He could hover near the threshold, but was never allowed to enter. Decisions, plans, and everything, nothing included him. At first, he tried to bridge the gap, inserting himself where he could, asking questions, offering thoughts and faking jokes so that everyone could smile. But every attempt met quick changes of topic or frowning faces. Over time, he learned to not ask more than necessary and smile to not bother anyone. He had accepted his place among his brothers with a heavy ache. But if protecting truth meant suffering this pain, then he would gladly live it. He couldn't ruin his brother.

When he entered the lobby, his heart sank at Harsh's tired frame standing by the foot of the staircase. His posture was straight though unlike a week before, but his usual spark was gone. He was holding the urn close to his chest, eyes vacantly fixated on the floor.

His throat tightened. He wanted to comfort him, but decided against it. Sympathy might only irritate the boy further.

"Let's go," he offered simply.

They walked out together and slid into the backseat, driving out of the palace, surrounded by their convo.

Prithvi looked away from the boy's pained eyes, unable to stop himself from comforting him if he looked at him any longer. He was worried how dull and broken the boy looked today, not even a semblance to the defiant, rebellious troublemaker earlier. 

Harsh sighed, and rested his forehead against the window, the urn steady in his lap. His mind had quietened, so empty he was afraid he had none. He couldn't think, couldn't feel, couldn't observe anything. The world was passing like a blur before him, but he registered nothing, as if stuck in a hazy dream.

              By the time they reached the place, the first light of the dawn had brushed the lake with a pale gold, mist gently swirling over the water. The car had stopped, but Harsh didn't dare step out yet.

Across the broad, barren wasteland, the palace on the highland loomed in the distance, sandstone walls catching the first rays. Between the lake and the palace, small, abandoned forts and crumbling archaeological sites dotted the land. 

His eyes drew back to the lake, the shimmer of gold light flooding him in a vivid memory.

They were in a sunny house. Not that man's place. Not even the one before it. They were somewhere else entirely, a warm, sunny and windy place.

His mother was standing by the open window, twinkling eyes at the lawn. Her hair caught in the wind, sunlight dancing on the thinner strands.

He waddled to his mother on his unsteady feet, and clutched her saggy pastel pink dress.

​​​​​​"Mama," he called, tugging at the cloth.

She looked down with her bright honey eyes. Sunlight peirced them, turning them a shade of molten gold. The corner of her eyes crinkled, face round and sanguine due to the pregnancy glow.

"What does my baby want now?" She cooed.

He hugged, hugging her round belly as he pressed his cheek against it, feeling his baby. "My baby," he said, his voice sweet and giggling. "My baby!"

Tina smiled softly.
"Yes, your baby," she spoke fondly, her fingers brushing through his soft hair. Her other hand rested over her swollen stomach, so tender and protective. "Our baby."

He squealed, voice tumbling out in laughter as he hugged his baby tighter. He couldn't wait to play with his baby. "My baby, mama! My baby!"

He didn't remember which part of their life that had been, where was that house or what time it was. He was around three at time, or a few months short of that. It was his first memory. A fairytale his mind had tucked away somewhere unreachable because it was too beautiful and sacred to be remembered. 

His baby sister never graced this world. She died before she even breathed, and the laughter in their lives died with her. After that, Tina never laughed like that. Nor, could he. 

His hands clutched the urn tighter.

"Are you sure you don't want to immerse her somewhere holier?" 

His heart became heavy. His head lightly shook. "This is the holiest she can get," he whispered, staring at his lap.

He realized it wasn't Tina- the addict he missed. It was that Tina- the one with honey eyes and wind-tossed hair.

His mother.

His baby sister.

Tears welled in his eyes, the ache in his chest tightening until it hurt to breathe. He sniffed, wiping at his face with the back of his hand as tears glided down his cheeks wordlessly. His lower lip trembled.

Oh, his baby sister.

She never even got a goodbye.

Prithvi stepped out of the car, chilly air grazing his face. He hinted to the driver who walked to Harsh's side and opened his side of the door. The boy stepped out and shivered from the chilly, damp breeze blew.

Prithvi took off his jacket, walking to Harsh's side and draped it over his shoulder. Harsh frowned, but didn't shrug off the jacket either as the warmth eased some of his ache. His shoulders melted with comfort. It had a subtle sandalwood fragrance as he breathed in the calming scent.

Weird.

He straightened, mentally scolding himself for being creepy.

They walked down the cool, stone steps after taking off their shoes, security taking the stances at the peripheries. 

A priest waited for them at the water's edge, hands folded as he whispered some mantra under his breath. Locals ascended the stone steps of the ghat, carrying small offerings or buckets of water. Those were the local villagers, he could tell. Some glimpsed the princes and joined their hands in flustered gaze. Prithvi nodded his head politely, ignoring them.

"Urn."

Harsh sighed as he handed the urn at the priest's sternly command. 

"Take these flowers," the man instructed, dropping them in his cupped palms. His eyes flicked briefly toward Harsh, a faint crease forming on his forehead. "Offer them to the lake with reverence for your mother's ancestors, your Highness," he said that part with a sour face.

His hand didn't move as he glared at the man. He understood the implications instantly. Why were they making it harder for him? He glared at Prithvi.

Prithvi leaned close apologetically, whispering in his ear. "He's younger brother of our Rajpurohit. Manage it for a while."

"But I told you I don't want this," he hissed back.

Prithvi pulled away with a mental sigh, smiling diplomatically at the priest. "I think we remember agreeing it should be brief."

"It is brief, your highness. I believe you will trust me on this."

Harsh glared at the old man.

He scowled at Prithvi who had quickly tapped on his shoulder, gently nudging him forward. 

His jaw tightened. He  didn't understand the royal family behaving like kitten before these orthodox people. Yet he obeyed, reluctantly dropping the flowers fall into the lake.

Thankfully, the ritual ended in under a minute and he was asked to immerse the ashes. He opened the lid and with trembling hands, turned the urn upside down, letting the ashes drop in a hurry. His breathing quickened, heart clenching. He looked at the end of the lake before tears could mingle with the ashes. 

His mother was finally free. He stared at the calm, listless water, trying to absorb it, feeling the strange weight of death press on his shoulders. He pulled the jacket closer as he suddenly felt cold. A second later, he turned towards the steps, slipping his arms into the jacket. 

"I'm done."

Prithvi watched him wearily, a pitiful expression on his face.

His heart soured. He jogged up the steps, Prithvi following the younger male with a slow, tired gait.

They had just put on their shoes when excited voices yelled over. 

"Prince Prithvi! Morning, your Highness. Just one question, please!"

Prithvi turned, jaw tightening. Two guards moved swiftly to intercept the rushing local journalists.

"This is family time. Please, another day."

"We're really sorry sir, but just one question, please! We've been trying to get an interview through your PA for the past six months, but haven't managed to get one. Please sir, just one question!"

Harsh tuned out the conversation when his eyes caught the sight of the most adorable, innocent and purest thing in the world.

Oh. My. God.

His honey eyes rounded at a baby cow straying near abandoned carts across the road, nosing a garland.

He nearly fainted when her large, doe eyes blinked at him from across the road, the half moon patch of white hair starkly standing out against her caramel brown coat.

Something in him cracked open. He couldn't stop himself. He immediately looked to and fro, and ran across the road like a headless chicken. The calf jumped back, startled as Harsh lunged at her, wrapping his arms around him.

"Oh my god, you're so adorable!" He kissed her forehead.

By the time the security had managed to fend off the journalists, Prithvi turned, sighing at his everyday struggles until his eyes landed on the scene across the road. His pulse spiked.

"Harsh!"

The boy was peppering kisses on the stray animal's face. He ignored the yell with a grin as he cooed. "My mushy, cushy, pushy, sushie, baby!" He pinched the baby cow's cheek who licked his palm.

It wasn't that Harsh liked just any animal. No, his heart had a soft spot only for cow calves. There was something in their wobbling little legs, the curious tilt of their heads, their ears, their cute, wet nose, the way their big eyes blinked that could turn him into a pudding anywhere, anytime. His internet recommendations were filled with baby cows, besides 18+ stuff.

The baby cow bleated, nuzzling her soft, squishy nose in his palm.

"I love you too!"

"Harsh!"

He glanced at his right where Prithvi was fuming. His eyes rolled. "It's not my fault she's so cute!" He yelled over, pointing at the irresistible baby who tilted her head and flapped her ears when she was introduced to the older prince.

A truck crossed his view just as Prithvi and the security were trying to cross the road. "I will tell bhai about this. Try telling him what is adorable! You're grounded!" Prithvi yelled over, glaring at him through the beeline of passing trucks.

He rolled his eyes, mildly exasperated. "I'm already grounded!" He chuckled.

He could picture the King's heart attack at him wanting to play with a baby cow.

Self conceited pricks. He snorted.

He smiled as the baby cow began to lick his cheeks. "Aww, you want to play with me?"

Prithvi sighed with frustration as a line of rumbling trucks groaned between them, their engines drowning out everything. The guards tried to cross, but the vehicles boxed them in. However, his lips tugged up subconsciously at the boy's unrestrained joy. He had seen him innocently laugh for the first time.

A sharp crack split the air as Harsh stood up. The electricity pole on his side burst in a shower, plummeting his heartbeat as he jumped back, the baby cow bolting away.

"Harsh!" Prithvi yelled, eyes wide, heart in his throat.

Harsh flinched, but it was too late. His breath caught in his throat seeing a car speeding in his direction, only a few metres away. His body froze, mind going blank.

A hand caught his arm and yanked him back just as the car screeched past, wind whipping his sleeve. It missed him only by an inch.

"Careful, kid," a voice spoke, face half covered in a black scarf from under his eyes. The man's eyes were dark and consuming. 

White noise rang in Harsh's ears as his brain failed to process anything. The tall stranger left him, mingling in the crowd ahead, vanishing. Two seconds later, Prithvi yanked him, pulling him to his chest.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt somewhere? The car didn't hit you, right?" Prithvi's voice was shaking.

His brother exhaled hard, trying to steady the tremor in his hands. His pulse was still racing. He hugged Harsh tighter, his heart hammering against his ribs. The sound of screeching tires wouldn't stop ringing in his ears. The fear curdled into anger before he could stop it.

"You morons, what have we hired you for? To slack off? Couldn't one of you keep an eye on the Prince?" Prithvi snapped at the security. "All of you are getting fired!"

Harsh jolted at his brother's rumbling chest. His blood went cold. He shook like a leaf, gasping as the scene where the car had almost crashed into him replayed. His heartbeat slowed down.

He had almost died. Becoming forever numb and cold. No more breathing. No more world. No books, no sex, no drama. No more baby cows.
He would have died. Like his mother. Like his baby sister. He was terrified of becoming lost like them.

He sobbed, his face hiding against his brother's neck, his chest pressed to his brother's wildly beating heart. He clung to him fiercely, afraid if Prithvi let him go, the world would swallow him again. 

Prithvi rubbed his back. "Hush, it's alright, you're safe. That guy saved you in time. You're safe baby," he whispered sweet nothings, his own voice shaking as he held him firmly, gently rocking him. He thanked the stranger to the moon and back for saving his baby brother. He was their savior!

He rubbed Harsh's back, whispering until the boy's sobs eased. Then he drew in a long breath, forcing himself to calm down. He regained his composure.

"Find that man," he said firmly. "He saved the Prince. I want his name."