Historical 2
Author pov
The sun cast its golden spell over the royal plains, stretching shadows of ancient trees across the earth. The wind carried the scent of neem and wildflowers, rustling the vibrant pagaadis of the young riders galloping through the open stretch.
At the front rode the second prince of Surajgarh.
He wasn't shouting like the others. He didn't laugh or taunt. His eyes were focused, steady as steel, his hands gentle but firm on the reins of his horse—Vaagha, the majestic black stallion with a silver blaze down its forehead. Royal born, like its rider. Wild in spirit, also like its rider.
It was supposed to be a light-hearted race among princes and noble sons. A moment of fun between lessons in war and diplomacy. But for him, it was more. Not because he cared about winning… but because he never did anything without intent.
"Yugveer! I won't let you win this time!" called out Samar, his closest friend and oldest rival, the son of a noble general. His voice echoed through the trees as his white mare Brahmi closed in from the side.
Yugveer didn't look back. He didn't need to. He felt the heat of the chase. He heard Brahmi's hooves closing in like drums of battle.
But Yugveer only leaned closer to Vaagha's ear.
"Now, Vaagha."
And Vaagha understood. Always did.
With a mighty thrust, the stallion surged forward, wind curling around them like a cloak. The palace loomed nearer, golden in the afternoon glow. The guards at the gate blinked in surprise as the young prince charged ahead, dust trailing like fire.
One stride. Two.
And then—victory.
The guards stepped aside just in time as Yugveer crossed the invisible line, the first to reach the carved stones. Moments later, Samar skidded to a halt beside him, dramatically sliding off his horse.
"Not again" Samar cried. "you are a cheater."
Yugveer tilted his head, lips twitching into a barely-there smile. "Or maybe you have gained weight by eating too many ladoos."
Their friends laughed behind them—Raghav, tall and quiet, already climbing off his chestnut horse. Abhi, the one with a poet's heart, sang out a terrible song about losing in love and races. Devansh, younger than the rest, almost fell while dismounting.
"You're no fun to race with, Yugveer," Abhi complained, brushing dust off his kurta. "You don't even gloat properly!"
Yugveer shrugged, then slid down from Vaagha with practiced grace. He landed with a soft thud, the anklets on his boots chiming softly. He ran a hand down Vaagha's neck, murmuring, "Good boy."
Vaagha neighed softly, nudging him in the chest.
Yugveer smiled. It was small, but it was real.
He handed the reins to a stable boy, patting the boy's head gently. "Give him fresh water and jaggery. He's earned it."
The stable boy bowed deeply. "ji Rajkumar."
Dust still hung in the air as the other boys rode in, their laughter filling the courtyard. Samar was first, leaping off Brahmi with dramatic flair.
"Next time, I'll win," he huffed, pulling off his turban and shaking out his sweat-soaked hair. "I swear on your royal sword, Yugveer."
Yugveer glanced back, his lips lifting into the faintest smirk. "Then you better start praying."
Devansh chuckled from behind, brushing dust off his shoulder. "Let him dream, Yug. It's all he has."
"Save your breath," Raghav added, dismounting smoothly. "We all know how this ends every time."
Yugveer didn't say more. He gave them all a brief nod—a silent farewell—and began walking away.
"Where are you going now?" Samar called after him.
Yugveer turned his head slightly, his voice cool but kind. "Inside. Maa will be waiting."
With that, he turned and strode toward the palace.
As Yugveer turned to walk toward the palace, the guards at the gate stood straighter. Their spears thudded softly against the marble as they bowed. The maids passing by lowered their heads, their skirts rustling like wind against silk.
He moved through the wide corridors of polished red sandstone and carved arches. Sunlight filtered through jaali windows, casting delicate patterns on the floor. The scent of rosewater and incense lingered in the air.
Then, he saw her.
Maharani Ratanprabha, his mother.
She stood near a pillar, draped in a deep maroon lehenga and a golden choli, her dupatta covering her head in the royal style. Her bangles tinkled as she instructed a maid, her voice calm yet commanding.
Yugveer's face softened.
Quietly, he walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
She stilled—just for a heartbeat—then chuckled and turned her head slightly. "Yugveer."
He smiled against her back and tightened the hug.
"Maa."
The maid standing nearby quickly bowed and left, a knowing smile on her face.
The Maharani turned in his arms, the folds of her heavy silk dupatta brushing against him. Her eyes scanned his face, then her hands gently cupped his cheeks.
"You're covered in dust again, my son. Where were you? There was no training today, right?"
Her voice was soft, but laced with motherly concern as her thumbs brushed the dirt from his skin.
Yugveer grinned, the kind that reached his eyes.
"Just having fun with friends. A little race near the hunting grounds." He paused and straightened his posture just a little.
"And you know, Maa... Vaagha gave me victory again. I won."
There was pride in his voice, boyish and pure.
Ratanprabha raised an eyebrow, a fond smile tugging at her lips.
"Oh? Again? Poor Samar must be pulling his hair out."
"He accused me of using black magic," Yugveer said with a short laugh. "Said no one can win that cleanly unless they've made a deal with the gods."
She laughed too, the sound rich and sweet. Her bangles clinked as she ran her fingers through his hair, trying to tame the mess the wind had made.
"Well... did you? Make a deal with the gods?" she teased.
"Only with Vaagha," he replied, voice low and proud. "He listens to me. No one else can ride him like I do."
She stepped back just enough to look at him properly, her eyes full of warmth.
"Then remember this bond, Yugveer. Horses, like people, give loyalty to those who respect them. Never forget that."
He nodded. "I won't."
She touched his cheek again, gently, almost as if checking whether he was still her little boy.
"You grow taller every time I look at you. Just yesterday you could barely reach my shoulder. And now you talk of loyalty and victories."
Yugveer leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on her forehead.
"And I'll always come to you first. Before the throne. Before the sword."
Her heart filled with warmth at his words, but she only smiled and said,
"freshen up. I will send your dinner in your room."
"ji ma" he replied with a gentle nod, before turning to head toward his chamber.
Yugveer walked through the palace hallways, his soft leather boots making light sounds on the smooth marble floor. The palace was quiet, filled with the soft rustle of silk curtains and distant voices. The walls around him were painted in deep red and gold, showing stories of old kings and queens—brave warriors holding swords, royal women in shining jewelry and flowing veils.
He reached his chamber. The guards at the tall wooden doors straightened when they saw him. They struck their spears to the ground together and bowed.
"Rajkumar," they said.
Yugveer gave a small nod, and the guards opened the large doors for him.
His chamber was big and beautiful. Soft golden light came through the carved windows, lighting up the room. The curtains were green and gold, swaying gently in the breeze. The ceiling above was painted with stars and skies, just like the ones in old books. The smell of jasmine and sandalwood filled the air from a small silver pot burning incense.
A soft divan stood in the center, with many cushions piled on it. A row of swords hung neatly on one wall, shining in the light. An ivory-framed mirror stood nearby, and in it, Yugveer saw himself—dusty from the race, but calm.
He slowly began to take off his weapons. First, the dagger at his waist. Then, the sword on his back. He placed them carefully on a low table. Next, he took off his turban, decorated with a gold brooch, and set it gently on a cushioned stand made just for it.
Soon, two attendants entered the room, bowing. One carried a jug filled with warm water, and the other held fresh white clothes folded neatly.
Three maids dressed in plain, soft orange sarees stepped in from the side room. They bowed their heads, waiting for his word.
"I need to get clean," Yugveer said simply.
The maids led him to his bathing area, just behind a carved stone screen in the corner of the room. It was private but still grand. The floor dipped down into a marble pool, already filled with warm water. Rose petals floated on top, and the water smelled of sandalwood and flowers. Small brass lamps lit the space with a warm, soft glow.
One maid brought a silver bowl filled with sandalwood paste. Another slowly poured warm water over his back and shoulders from a long-necked vessel. The third gently scrubbed away the dust on his skin using a soft cloth dipped in fragrant water.
They worked quietly and carefully, their hands moving in rhythm. It was more than just cleaning—it was a royal routine, something done for princes for generations.
Yugveer stepped out of the bathing chamber, his skin still warm from the water, his mind quieter than before. Dressed now in fresh white angarkha with delicate golden embroidery along the edges, he looked every bit the prince—but felt nothing like one.
He padded barefoot across the cool marble floor to the divan, sinking into the cushions with a low exhale. His damp hair fell slightly over his forehead, and he pushed it back absentmindedly, staring ahead but seeing nothing.
Moments later, there was a soft knock at the door.
"Rajkumar?" came a voice from outside.
"Come in," he replied.
Two palace servants entered silently, carrying a low brass table between them. On it sat a thali, carefully arranged—steamed rice, soft rotis wrapped in muslin, bowls of dal, sabzi, paneer cooked in creamy masala, and a small silver katori of sweet kheer, its surface shimmering with saffron strands and slivered almonds. The scent of ghee and cardamom filled the air.
A third attendant stepped in behind them, placing a copper jug of water and a silver glass beside him.
They bowed and exited, leaving Yugveer alone in the warm glow of the chamber.
He didn't reach for the food immediately.
Instead, he sat still, elbows on his knees, fingers interlocked. The scent of sandalwood clung to him, and the silence of the room grew louder. His gaze drifted to the flickering flame of a nearby lamp. It danced in rhythm with the wind outside, bending but never going out.
He reached for the silver glass, taking a long sip of the cool water. Then, slowly, he picked up a piece of roti and dipped it into the paneer gravy.
He finished his meal in silence, methodically, almost ritualistically. Not for hunger. But because it was expected of him. Because tomorrow would ask more of him.
When the thali was empty, he leaned back, letting the cushions hold him.
The incense had burned low now. The jasmine had faded.
---
The royal chamber was cloaked in warm golden light, the soft flames of the lanterns dancing on the walls of carved sandstone. Rich tapestries swayed gently with the breeze that slipped in through the lattice windows. Yugveer sat on a cushioned couch near the balcony, the folds of his royal robe trailing along the floor. In his hands lay a thick book on court administration, the kind written in ornate, looping script with phrases that twisted more than the palace's corridors.
He leaned forward, brow furrowed, lips moving silently as he tried to make sense of the line he'd just read for the third time.
"A stable court rests on the loyalty of its pillars, not the weight of its walls…"
Yugveer sighed, tilting his head back. "Who writes like this?" he mumbled to himself.
Just then, he felt it.
A soft presence.
Not footsteps—but a shift in the air. A breath. The slightest creak of the marble.
He didn't look up. His eyes glinted with quiet amusement. The corners of his lips curved into a small, knowing smirk.
He waited.
As soon as the figure moved to grab him from behind, Yugveer smoothly slid to the side with princely ease, letting the cloaked form stumble forward—and just as quickly, he reached out, grabbing the figure's wrist and pulling him down onto the couch.
"Ow—Yug!" came the grumble as the person landed with an ungraceful thud.
The shawl slipped from his face, catching the light of the lanterns and revealing Samar—his tousled hair a mess, his expression somewhere between annoyed and impressed.
"Samar," Yugveer said, shaking his head with a smirk. "If you're trying to sneak up on me, maybe don't breathe so loudly."
Sameer groaned, rubbing the back of his head. "One day, I swear I'll get the jump on you."
"You've been saying that for ten years."
"I hate you," Samar muttered, half-sulking, half-laughing.
Yugveer chuckled under his breath and set the book down gently on a nearby table. The glow from the lanterns caught the silver detailing on the book's cover, casting shimmers across the room.
He turned to face Samar properly, resting one elbow on the couch's armrest. "Tell me, Samar. Why are you creeping into my chamber like a thief in the night? Shouldn't you be sneaking into the kitchen for laddoos instead?"
Samar gave a dramatic sigh, then leaned in. "We want to take you somewhere."
Yugveer raised a brow. "We?"
"Me, Dev, Raghav and Abhi. We're all outside, waiting."
"Waiting? For what?"
Samar's lips curled into a mischievous grin. "It's a surprise."
Yugveer narrowed his eyes. "Every time you say that, someone ends up in the lake or bruised."
"That was one time," Samar defended, then quickly added, "Okay, maybe three."
Before Yugveer could respond, Samar whipped out another shawl—this one a deep midnight blue, soft and light, perfect for blending into shadows.
He leaned forward and gently covered Yugveer's head with it, tying it loosely around his neck.
"Come, Rajkumar," he said with a wink, "Tonight, the prince becomes a mystery."
Yugveer let out a quiet laugh, amused at his friend's theatrics. "If Maharani finds out…"
"She'll forgive you. Me, she might send to the desert."
Yugveer stood, adjusting the shawl and brushing off his robes. "Alright. Lead the way, thief of shadows."
Samar bowed dramatically. "As you command, Your Highness."
And the two slipped out through the side corridor, into the moonlit passageways of the palace, where adventure—and trouble—was always just a whisper away.
The cool night air greeted them as they slipped into the outer courtyard through a narrow passage used only by those who knew the palace like the lines on their palms. The stars hung low tonight, glittering like diamonds scattered across black silk. The moon cast a silvery glow over the marble tiles, making them shimmer underfoot.
Waiting near the stables, half-shrouded in shadows, stood a group of young men—laughter barely stifled behind their palms, eyes alert, and grins wide. They wore cloaks, veils, and mischief like a second skin.
"There you are!" Dev whispered, throwing his hands up. "We were about to leave you behind."
"Leave him?" Abhi scoffed. "He's the whole reason we'll get caught. The guards would part ways for Rajkumar Yugveer, but will slice the rest of us like melons."
Yugveer lifted an eyebrow as he approached. "So… I'm bait?"
"No, no," Raghav said quickly, raising both palms. "You're the charm. The distraction. The hero of tonight's tale."
Samar chuckled. "He just called you a pretty decoy, basically."
Yugveer smirked and pulled his shawl closer around his face. "So what's this legendary plan?"
"We're going somewhere," Samar said casually, already walking ahead with a sly grin.
"Where exactly?" Yugveer asked, falling in step beside him.
"It's a surprise," Dev chimed in, wagging a finger at him. "And surprises don't work if you keep asking questions."
"Just trust us for once," Raghav added from behind, nudging him lightly with his elbow.
Yugveer sighed but followed without another word, his footsteps quiet against the cool earth. The night wrapped around them like a blanket. Trees swayed gently in the breeze, and in the distance, the sound of temple bells faded into silence.
"So," Yugveer spoke after a while, "this surprise… does it include more paint buckets?"
Samar laughed. "No, no crimes tonight. We're giving our inner devils some rest."
"Just our devils?" Yugveer smirked. "What about your brains?"
"That," said Dev with a wink, "left the palace when you agreed to come along."
They all laughed softly as they walked through the quiet outskirts of the palace walls, lanterns swinging gently in their hands. Slowly, the road turned into uneven cobblestone, and the soft lights of the city dimmed behind them.
They had crossed into a different part of the kingdom now—one not spoken of during the day but whispered about with smirks at night.
The forbidden area.
The moment Yugveer realised it, he stopped walking.
Faint music echoed through the narrow streets—sitar strings, anklet chimes, low laughter. Curtains swayed in the breeze, and the warm, sweet smell of rosewater and sandalwood clung to the air. Every window glowed with colored lanterns, and shadows danced behind silk drapes.
Yugveer's brows furrowed. "Why are we here?"
"To enjoy," Abhi said with a wide grin, throwing an arm around his shoulder as if they were still little boys sneaking mangoes from the royal gardens.
"Enjoy what, exactly?" Yugveer's eyes scanned the alley, calm yet sharp, the weight of royalty never quite leaving his voice.
"You know it all, man. Come on," Samar said, pulling him gently but firmly by the arm, clearly prepared for resistance.
Yugveer paused. "This isn't my kind of place."
"And that's exactly why it should be," Dev smirked.
When he still didn't budge, they circled him like wolves—teasing, laughing, provoking.
"You scared, Yuvraj?" Raghav raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe you're too princely for common pleasures?"
Samar leaned in closer. "Alright then—how about a dare, Prince?"
That did it. Yugveer's eyes narrowed. "A dare?"
"Yes," Abhi said, stepping closer. "You spend the night here. With a girl. No running away after two gulps of wine. No sitting in a corner like a bored saint. You stay. All night."
Yugveer turned fully, his expression unreadable.
"You've lost your minds," he said, voice low. "I'm not some drunk noble chasing illusions."
"Afraid?" Samar taunted. "Or do we need to go find your royal babysitter?"
Yugveer's lips twitched into a faint, dangerous smirk. "You forget who you're talking to."
"Then prove us wrong," Dev said. "Spend the night. No rules. No excuses."
Yugveer was silent for a long moment, his eyes scanning each of their faces.
Then he exhaled through his nose and nodded slowly. "Fine. But if I win—if I stay till sunrise—each of you will polish Vaagha's hooves for a week. With bare hands."
They groaned in unison.
"Even the left hind leg?" Raghav whined. "That monster kicks."
"Especially the left," Yugveer said with a dark chuckle, pulling the shawl tighter around his face.
They laughed, still not realizing the night was about to take a turn none of them had imagined.
The night was alive here.
Alive with laughter that didn't reach the eyes. With clinking coins and hushed whispers. With women dressed in silks too thin for the cold and faces painted with practiced smiles that never reached their souls.
Men of all kinds wandered these alleys—rich merchants, high-ranking soldiers, nobles, and yes, even royals. Their expressions were glazed with desire or arrogance. Their hands grabbed, their eyes devoured.
A place where titles didn't matter—only appetite.
Yugveer's jaw clenched as he stepped through the lantern-lit haze, his friends walking ahead with wide grins and hungry eyes. His own were calm. Observant. There was a softness in him they couldn't recognize—a clarity they mistook for inexperience.
He didn't belong here, and it showed.
He moved with grace, but not greed. With curiosity, but not craving. The girls whispered as he passed—he was too different. Too untouched.
A group of drunk men stumbled past, one still dressed in a royal sash. "The queen's nephew," Abhi muttered with a smirk. "Even he comes here thrice a week. Guess sin doesn't care for bloodlines."
Yugveer didn't respond. His eyes were on the scene ahead—where women lined the balconies, draped in silks, offering smiles to the crowds below.
"Welcome to Swarn-Gali," Dev whispered dramatically. "The golden lane... where men forget who they are, and women remind them who they're not."
Samar chuckled and turned to Yugveer. "You look like you're about to throw up."
"I'm fine," Yugveer said simply. But there was something heavy in his gaze. Not disgust. Not fear. Just... sadness.
He paused for a moment, watching a young girl barely older than a servant back home coax an older noble toward her chamber. Her laugh was soft but hollow.
This wasn't pleasure. This was survival dressed as seduction.
"You still backing out?" Abhi nudged.
"No," Yugveer said, pulling his shawl tighter. "Let's end this."
The boys grinned and began scanning the line of women in the balcony. "Let's pick someone special for our innocent prince," Samar teased.
"Someone who'll teach him how to breathe wrong," Dev laughed.
But just then... a hush fell over the corner of the street.
He suddenly asked, in a low, curious tone, "Do you guys... always come here?"
Samar turned with a casual shrug. "Not always. Sometimes when we're bored. Sometimes when we're drunk. Sometimes when we just want to forget."
Abhi chuckled. "And sometimes, just to see who's new."
Yugveer didn't reply. His fingers toyed with the edge of his shawl, his mind half here, half somewhere lost in thought. He couldn't understand it. Why did everything feel so heavy here? As if the walls whispered every name that had ever been forgotten inside them.
Just then, they approached a large wooden door set beneath a faded crimson archway. The door creaked open before they could knock.
A woman stepped out—wrapped in an emerald green saree with a dark maroon border. Her skin was wrinkled, but her eyes were sharp as blades. She wore her grey hair tied into a bun, and a heavy gold nose ring glinted under the lantern light. Authority hung on her like royalty.
She was Amma Bai, the mistress of this place.
Samar bowed slightly in mock respect. "We want to spend a night here."
Yugveer's heart thudded. It wasn't excitement—it was dread. The kind that comes when you know you are about to cross a line you can never return from. Every part of him screamed to turn around and walk back into the quiet, respectable part of his world. But he couldn't—not after the dare, not with their eyes watching him.
Amma Bai's gaze moved slowly across the boys, but paused for a long moment on Yugveer.
She saw it instantly.
The difference.
He wasn't like the others. Not yet tainted. Not yet broken.
Her brows lifted slightly, but she said nothing.
"It will be a huge amount," she said in a firm voice, her tone businesslike, not unkind.
Samar smirked and pulled a heavy potli from his waist—tied in thick silk and sealed with a gold pin. He dropped it into her palm with a light jingle of coins.
She opened it, counted with a flick of her eyes, and nodded.
She clapped her hands twice. Immediately, four young women appeared—each dressed in soft cotton sarees, their veils sheer, their faces tired but carefully painted. They didn't speak, only bowed slightly and gestured for the boys to follow.
Abhi and Dev eagerly walked ahead with their escorts. Samar winked at Yugveer before disappearing behind a red curtain.
Yugveer hesitated. For a moment, everything blurred—the music, the scent, the sounds of laughter and footsteps behind thin wooden doors.
Abhi and Dev eagerly walked ahead with their escorts.Samar winked at Yugveer before disappearing behind a red curtain.
Yugveer hesitated.
For a moment, everything blurred—the music, the scent, the sounds of laughter and footsteps behind thin wooden doors. His feet felt frozen. This wasn't pleasure. This was survival dressed as seduction. His heartbeat was loud in his ears, thudding against his chest like a warning bell. He felt like turning around and running far away. But he couldn't.
He had already stepped in.
The girl who guided him didn't speak. She walked ahead gracefully, swaying gently, her green dupatta trailing behind her like a veil of mist. Her anklets jingled softly, matching the rhythm of her calm footsteps. Her presence was quiet, almost ghostlike, but sure of itself. Yugveer followed, unsure of where to look, his hands clenching the folds of his shawl for comfort.
She led him to a small room and quietly stepped aside, leaving him alone inside. The door clicked shut behind him with a finality that made his throat dry.
He looked around the room—it was weird for him. Foreign. Uncomfortable.
The walls were a deep earthy red, cracked in places, the stone showing through beneath layers of worn paint. A large mirror stood on one side, framed in dusty gold, smudged with fingerprints of the past. There was a bed in the center—short, low to the ground, with a faded silk bedsheet thrown over it, embroidered with dull gold thread. A single brass lantern hung from a nail on the wall, its flame flickering softly, casting shadows that danced like ghosts across the room.
The air was thick. Heavy with rose oil, old incense, and something faintly bitter—perhaps wine. It made his head spin a little.
In the corner was a small wooden table with a glass of water and a covered plate he dared not open. Beside the bed lay a pair of glass bangles, broken.
Yugveer sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking beneath him. His shawl was still wrapped tight around his shoulders. He didn't remove it. He wasn't sure he even wanted to stay. Every second felt longer than the last. His eyes darted to the door, then to the window, then to the floor.
He didn't know what he was doing here.