Rajdavan Royal Palace – 3:42 AM

The palace had never been this quiet.

Not when war cries rang through the gates.
Not when thunder cracked open the skies the night the prince was born.
Not even when Prior king left the world.

But now… it was still.

A haunting, sacred stillness.

The golden drapes were lowered.

The chandeliers remained unlit.

Only the soft lamps flickered against marble walls, their light trembling .

King Rivan Singh Devayan, the man who once led Kingdom and fight for it , now lay on an ivory platform in the Hall, dressed in ceremonial red and gold. He looked too peaceful — like a statue of a sleeping god, carved too soon.

Rani sa Alakhnanda sat beside him.

Still. Composed.

Unmoving.

She had not cried.

Not when they broke the news in the middle of the night.

Not when they bathed him in sandalwood and rosewater.

Not even when she touched his ice-cold fingers for the last time.

Her hands rested in her lap. Her spine straight. Her gaze fixed on his face.

She had sworn, once, to never let the kingdom see her broken.

Behind her, whispers brewed like poison in closed chambers.
Ministers spoke in hushed tongues behind silk curtains, voices low but venomous.

“She cannot rule alone.”

“She is young, but too rigid.”

“She’ll need a man by her side… for stability.”

“Vivaan Rajsingh was the King’s cousin—he has the bloodline. He’s rightful.”

“She’s just a Queen by marriage…”

But Alakhnanda didn’t move.

She sat like a marble carving of herself.

Strong. Distant. Alone.

From the other side , her mother-in-law watched silently — dressed in a plain ivory saree, a single pearl chain around her neck. Her eyes brimmed with age and understanding, but also pain.

She had lost a son but her heart was crying more for her daughter-in-law and her grandson.

At the far end of the hall, a small sniffle echoed.

A soft, broken sound echoes.

Riyansh.

He was held in the arms of a governess, dressed in a miniature ivory sherwani, his fingers gripping her shoulder tight. His large eyes, identical to his father’s, stared at the pyre as if trying to understand why his papa wouldn’t get up again.

“Is Papa sleeping?” Riyansh had asked earlier, voice trembling.

No one had answered.

And so, he kept waiting for someone to say yes.

Alakhnanda’s eyes finally shifted as her son’s whimper reached her ears .

Her gaze fell on her son.

The only reason she was still breathing.

She stood slowly, the weight of her silk gown dragging across the floor like chains. Her steps were soundless as she approached him.

The governess stepped back, gently placing Riyansh on his feet.

The boy stumbled slightly, confused and afraid.

Alakhnanda knelt before him.

Their eyes met.

She didn’t speak.

Instead, she opened her arms.

Hesitant at first… he ran into them, seeking warmth in his mother’s embrace.

And for the first time in all these hours, the queen crumbled — not loudly, not visibly — but her hand trembled as it rested on Riyansh’s back,a single tear fall from her cheek onto her son’s shoulder.

That was all the mourning the kingdom would be allowed to see.

The royal drummers began.

A slow, thunderous beat echoed across the palace grounds, marking the beginning of the final procession.

Guards in crimson and gold lined the corridor outside.

The ministers straightened their robes. The priest readied the chants.

Alakhnanda rose, her son in her arms.

One last glance at her husband’s still body.

Then she whispered — not to the room, not to anyone else — but just to him.

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect our son and his crown.”

_____________________________

"THE KING OF RAJDAVAN TOOK HIS LAST BREATH LAST NIGHT!"

The headline flashed on the massive digital billboard just outside the school gate, the bold red letters practically screaming at me as I waved goodbye to the last of my kindergarten students.

I blinked, trying to process it.

The same alert lit up every phone screen around me.

A few gasps.

A few tears.

Within minutes, the entire nation was informed—shutdown was immediate. Shops, markets, transport… everything.

The Prime Minister had tweeted it too.

We had to sent kids back to their homes early in the morning itself  .

My phone buzzed in my pocket, once, twice, and then continuously. I pulled it out. My father.

Again.

This old hag wouldn't let me breathe today. I cut the call.

I needed to catch the last metro before the city froze.

As I made my way through the crowd toward the station, the air around me shifted—like something thick and invisible had descended on the streets. People walked faster. Police vehicles roamed slower. White mourning bands were already wrapped around a few arms.

It was surreal.

Our king had been ill for two years… but things had gotten serious in the past few weeks. He was only in his mid-thirties. Everyone hoped—prayed—he would recover.

But I guess no one is stronger than God.

The metro screeched into the station, and I climbed aboard just in time before the automatic doors shut behind me. It was packed. Shoulder to shoulder. Noisy, but still hushed in a way that felt… respectful. The kind of hush that comes with collective grief.

The train’s rhythmic clacking filled my ears, drowning out the news that blared from every mobile screen around me. I gripped the overhead strap, swaying slightly with the carriage.

A woman stood next to me. Older—maybe in her fifties. Her clothes were modest but well-tailored. Definitely upper-middle class. Her elbow brushed against mine gently as she shifted.

We caught eyes for a second.

There was moisture glistening in hers.

"The poor children," she whispered—not to me, but to the space between us. “So many of them will have to leave school now.”

I nodded faintly, muttering, "Yes, they had to go back as soon as they arrived in classes."

She gave a small, sad nod, her grip tightening on the strap above her head. “At least they’ll remember him. A good man, our king. God is not that Kind.”

Outside the window, the city was dimming. Neon signs blinked out one by one. The usual colors of the street had vanished, leaving only the muted amber of old streetlamps and the flicker of oil lanterns placed near temples and gates.

The train rattled on. I didn’t bother checking my buzzing phone again.

The reflection in the dark window showed solemn faces—mine included.

The woman beside me adjusted her position, her sleeve brushing against me again as she murmured, more to herself than anyone else, “The temples will be full tonight… the children who didn’t go home—I hope they find comfort there.”

I looked down at the floor.

Her words were not about kindergarten children but about Our King —she wanted him to find comfort.

There was a strange hollowness in my chest. Not grief exactly, but something heavier—something I couldn’t name.

A nation had lost its king.

----

By the time I reached my apartment, the streets had turned empty , like the city itself was mourning.

The iron gates of my building creaked softly as I pushed them open. My footsteps echoed faintly in the silence—barely anyone was outside. Everyone had either gone home or to the palace gates to light candles and murmur prayers for the late king.

I adjusted my bag on my shoulder, the tired weight of the day sitting heavier than usual.

And then—I stopped.

There, standing in front of my apartment door like he owned the place, was him.

My father.

He stood tall, in his usual sharp coat—nothing fancy, but tailored well. The kind that whispered influence. His face was older than I remembered from last month, lines deeper, hair streaked with grey more than before, but the gleam in his eyes hadn’t changed.

He looked like a man who always had a backup plan.

"Papa?" I said, my voice caught between confusion and disbelief.

He turned, that smile plastered across his face—a mix of smug familiarity and rehearsed warmth.

“Anay-.” His voice was smooth. “why didn't you picked up my call?.”

I blinked. “What are you doing here?”

He spread his arms slightly, as if the answer was obvious. “We lost the King of Rajdavan today. I’m going to pay my respects… and of course, attend the royal rites.”

Of course.

Of course he would.

Because Shreyash Sharma, Finance Minister of Rajdavan, never missed a chance to be seen at the right place, at the right time—with the right words ready and his spine bent in just the right degree of respect.

But not for the sake of loyalty.

It was always for leverage.

Always for power.

He stepped closer and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I need you to come with me to the Palace. The late king’s state mourning ceremony will be held before sunset. A lot of influential people will be there.”

There it was.

No “how are you, son?”

No “I missed you.”

No “did you eat today?”

Just politics. Position. Opportunity.

I took a step back, gently shrugging his hand off.

“I have school to attend ,” I muttered.

He scoffed. “It’s a national holiday now, Anay. You know that.”

I did.

Didn’t mean I wanted to go with him.

Didn’t mean I wanted to step into that world he lived for.

He looked at me, brows raised. “What? You’ll skip history in the making for a few kids' storybooks and scribbles?”

I clenched my jaw.

He always did that. Diminished what I loved. Reduced it to background noise while he built his empire of numbers and networks.

I glanced up at the apartment door. My space. My peace.

A wave of memory washed over me—of my mother.

She had once stood in that same doorway, eyes full of unshed tears, asking him to protect her from the cruel whispers and cold shoulders of his second wife.

He hadn’t listened then.

He was listening now only because it served him.

“I’m not going for the ceremony,” I said plainly, unlocking the door.

His smile faltered for half a second before returning, thinner now.

“You’ll regret wasting a chance like this,” he warned.

I didn’t answer.

I walked inside.

He didn’t follow.

For a long second, he just stood there—then pulled out his phone, already dialing someone. I heard his voice trail off into something polite, probably lining up a backup pawn now that I had declined.

I shut the door behind me.

Inside, the silence felt better. I dropped my bag, leaned my back against the door, and closed my eyes.

My father didn’t come to see me.
He came to use me.

Again.

And part of me still hated how much I wanted him to stay anyway.

To let him use me !

Why?

Because I am pathetic, this man broke my mother beyond repair ,he never gave her chance to live peacefully .

But still I was craving for his love and attention.

Which i know i would never receive, no in this life at least .

It wasn’t that he never visited us ,he did whenever he had fight with his other wife or when he had to show off his son to someone or sometime when he needs something.

But after My mother passed away last year ,his visits declined ,his phone calls became once in awhile.

To check if I was still breathing .

To tell me how I am ruining my life because I don't like politics .

But his words never bothered me , I had promised my mother ,i won't let this men manipulate me to be something i didn’t want.

I won't be a man like him.

I had just changed into a plain grey T-shirt, kicked off my shoes, and sat on the edge of the bed with a glass of water when—

Knock.

I froze.

It wasn’t loud. But sharp. Calculated. Like it knew exactly when to strike.

It was easy to guess ,the knock belongs to my father .

I didn’t move. Maybe if I waited, it would go away.

Knock. Knock.

I shut my eyes. The sound dug into my temples. I exhaled slowly and stood, feet dragging against the cool marble floor as I approached the door. My hand paused on the knob.

He’s gone. He won’t stay long.

I opened the door.

And there he was.

My father.
Still immaculate. Still unbothered.

His grey bandhgala was crisp, shoes polished enough to reflect my frown. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back with precision. He looked like the kind of man who made a habit of walking through storms without letting a single drop touch him.

“Didn’t expect to see you again this soon,” I said, not bothering with a greeting.

“I didn’t expect to be ignored this easily either,” he replied, stepping past me into the apartment without waiting to be invited — like always.

I closed the door slowly, the click echoing louder than I meant it to.

He stood in the middle of my living room like it belonged to him. His eyes scanned the space — the unwashed dishes, the scattered toys I used for class, the crumpled lesson plans.

“No tea?” he asked, almost amused.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the wall. “what do you want ?”

He didn’t smile. Not really. Just that tight curve of lips that always meant he was trying to win something.

“You’re angry,” he began, voice softer now, persuasive like a salesman who knows his product is flawed but believes in the pitch anyway. “I get that. But this isn’t about us, Anay. This… this is about the kingdom.”

I blinked slowly. “I am not some God that if I refused to join memorial ceremony ,Rana sa would be kicked out of heaven !”

He paused, eyes narrowing just slightly — calculating. “You are my son , you are expected to be there . I don’t know – you are coming with me to the ceremony . Our Rana sa has left us . Think about it ! This is the least we can do .”

There it was.

The emotional guilt wrapped in nationalism.
This old hag's old tactics.

I looked away, jaw tight.

"I didn’t come to exploit this," he continued, stepping closer. "I came because you’re my son. Because your presence matters. People respect me, yes. But one day, they’ll know you too. You think I came here just for politics—"

“You did,” I interrupted, voice low. “Let’s not pretend otherwise.”

He didn’t flinch. Just smiled, that faint, unreadable curve.

“I came because I see the way the future’s shifting, Anay. And it’s shifting fast. Mark my words… we are standing at the edge of something far bigger than we can imagine.”

I let out a slow breath. His words had always felt like layered traps."since how long I have to pay for being your son?"

"As long as You are alive!"He said with a cocky smirk, patting my shoulder .

“Fine,” I muttered, after a long pause. “You want me there? I’ll come.”

His brows lifted, surprised. “Smart decision.”

“But not for you,” I said, turning to pick up my jacket. “Not for your contacts or handshakes. I’ll go… because I am sick of you roaming here at my house !.”

I didn’t look at him as I zipped up.

And when I finally did, I didn’t see a father.

I saw a man who was always two moves ahead — ready to risk it all for his powers .
___________________________________________

[Evening]

The palace smelled like camphor and silence.

Everything was spotless — polished, perfect, palatial. Even the grief felt curated here. Like mourning was just another part of royal protocol. Nothing out of place. No loud wailing. No chaos. Just low chants, white flowers, and hollow echoes.

I adjusted the stiff suit jacket my father insisted I wear and tried not to look like I was falling apart inside. This wasn’t my world. I was a kindergarten teacher, not a political chess piece. Yet here I stood—flanked by ministers in silk, security in earpieces, and stone-faced nobles who smelled like old money and power.

A feet away Rana sa's large portrait was kept on a large table ,surrounded by flowers .He was barely past 30 ,ruled only a year or two after our his father left the kingdom in his care . Soon, he fell in the arms of sickness . He spent his 2 years on his bed ,fighting all he could before he was defeated by the disease. 

The ministry or parliament never disclosed what was the actual problem or why the cure was never found .

I looked at the people around , dressed like they were in a elite party or something . More focused on meeting with this or that Neighbour king and ministers than showing their respect to their royal family .

I wasn’t sure why I came. Maybe guilt. Maybe curiosity. Maybe… some thread of fate was pulling me toward something I hadn’t fully seen yet.

Or maybe I just wanted to prove to my father that I wasn’t heartless.

"Keep your head down. Don’t speak unless spoken to," he muttered beside me, hand tight on my shoulder. His grip lingered a little too long. “Smile when needed. And for God’s sake, don’t embarrass me.”

I clenched my jaw but said nothing.

The murmurs shifted as she entered.

Queen Alakhnanda.

Ivory saree. No jewellery. No crown. And still… she looked more like a monarch than anyone here. Not because of what she wore, but because of how she carried it.

Her spine straight. Her eyes unreadable.

Her hand held the small fingers of a boy beside her — Riyansh.

The little prince looked lost. His eyes searched the crowd like he was looking for someone to tell him this was all a mistake. That his father wasn’t really gone.

Even from a distance, I could see his grip tighten on her fingers. His other hand clenched the edge of her saree.

I felt my heart twist.

God snatch good fathers but forget to pick evils like my father .

Oh lord ! When will be the lucky day when I will join his funeral.

I shook my head as I looked at Our Rani sa. Her eyes were dry like dessert ,her face devoid of any emotions . She didn’t glanced at anyone present there .

Not once.

Soon the ceremony started . Everyone paid tribute ,showed fake condolences to family .

After the final prayers, my father leaned in with a strange calm in his voice. “Walk with me.”

He didn’t explain where. He never does.

Later – Inside the Rajmata’s Private Lounge

I don’t know why I was nervous.

Maybe because I never entered the Palace before or Maybe whole situation was absurd .

The Rajmata sat in a regal silver saree, her eyes sharp like someone who’d seen centuries of betrayal and still survived. She didn’t blink much.

I bowed to her with respect ,she just nodded her head " Please have a seat !"And when she spoke, her voice didn’t rise — it sank into the room like command.

I sat on the edge of a velvet chair, upright, hands folded in my lap like I was back in school.

Rani sa stood to the side. Not seated. Not relaxed. She didn’t look at me. Not even for a second.

The silence between us felt old. Like something I didn’t understand was already written in it.

My father was talking with Rajmata about something which I was not interested at all . My eyes were more interested in admiring the decorated walls .

"Anay-"I heard my name and I turned my attention to my father and Rajmata .

Then the Rajmata smiled faintly and asked, “Do you believe in serving your country, Mr. Anay Sharma?”

My eyebrows lifted. “Who doesn't madam ?"

"What are you doing in life at Present?"She asked curiously.

"I am a kindergarten teacher , I am working in New sunflower kindergarten school - does it count in serving the nation ?"I replied to her with a small smile .

Her smile didn't falter. “It does. That’s why we chose you.”

My throat went dry.

Wait—what?

Choose me ? For what ?

“I don’t understand,” I said slowly, looking between her and… my father. His arms were folded behind his back. Quiet .

She continued, as if reading a script that had already been signed, “The late Rana sa, your father, and I… had an agreement. In the event of his untimely death before the prince comes of age… a substitute would be needed. For the council. For the public. For stability.”

The word hit me like a slap.

Substitute.

My chest tightened.

Rani sa finally spoke.“You were chosen, Mr. Sharma.”

Her voice was cold. Official.

“To marry me. Temporarily for 12 years . To be the Rana sa in name — so the council remains intact and my son stays on the throne.”

My legs moved before my brain did. I stood up so fast the chair creaked.

“Rana sa—what?”

She didn’t look moved. Not an inch.

My gaze snapped to my father.

“what the hell is going on ?”

He tilted his head. “Calm down ,Anay ! Everyone is eyeing the throne ,Kunwar sa is a child ,so we need someone to Sit beside our Rani sa ,to keep ministers in control !”

“what nonsense ” I snapped. “I understand our kingdom is in a sensitive state but ,how can you all decide my future without my consent?”

No one answered.

No one had to.

Because in that moment, I realised — I wasn’t here to mourn a king.

I was already a pawn in someone else's game.

And the crown they were offering?

It wasn’t made of gold.

It was made of chains and problems...a lot of problems .

The air inside that palace suddenly felt poisonous.

My breath lodged in my throat like something was tightening around it — invisible, suffocating, slow.

"Forgive me Rani sa , I don't think I am capable enough to be Rana sa !"I refused their proposal as I took two steps backward.

I didn’t wait.

Not for the Rajmata to finish her sentence.

Not for Rani sa to explain.

I turned on my heel and walked out.

Fast.

The velvet halls blurred past me — golden chandeliers, marble pillars, royal portraits — all becoming nothing but noise in my mind. I didn’t care about the staff that turned to stare. I didn’t stop to be polite. I just wanted air. Real air. Outside.

By the time I stepped out of the palace’s back corridor into the garden, my hands were trembling.

Me? Marry the Rani sa?

Me? A substitute husband?

For a throne I didn’t even saw with my eyes ?

“Anay!”His voice.
Of course. My father.

I didn't stop.

"Anay, listen to me!"

I kept walking — down the garden steps, through the line of palace roses — until he caught up and grabbed my arm.

“I said stop!”

I turned. "Don’t touch me!"

My voice was louder than I wanted it to be, but I didn’t care anymore. I looked at his hand on my arm, and for the first time in my life, I felt pure disgust.

"Is this some kind of game to you?” I spat. “How long have you been planning this? How long was I just a backup plan in your political circus?”

His grip loosened, but not his calm. He sighed and folded his hands behind his back again, that same composed posture he always used when delivering a threat with a smile.

“I did this for you,” he said, as if he believed it. “Do you know how many men would kill for this opportunity? To sit beside a Queen? To hold power in their palm, even for a few years?”

I laughed. It came out cracked and dry. “You mean sit on a leash. Obey the council. Smile for the cameras. Be her shadow until the day I’m discarded like an used tissue paper?”

He raised a brow. “Twelve years. That’s all. Just until Riyansh is of age 18. Besides you will get a lot of opportunities in your hands ,you can Kill Kunwar sa and start your own lineage. ”

I stared at him.Unbelievable “Do you hear yourself?”

He stepped closer. “You’re thinking emotionally. That’s what your mother did. Always soft. Always righteous. And look where that got her.”

That did it.

My jaw clenched so tight it hurt. “Don’t bring Maa into this.”

He smirked, voice dropping a pitch.

“Oh, I will. In fact, I’ve been thinking about that little house You lives in — the one barely surviving in South Iravali. It’s still under my name, technically. With a few phone calls, I could sell it to a hotel chain by morning.”

I went still.

He saw it. The shift. The crack in my armor.

“I wouldn’t want you on the street, of course,” he added with mock sympathy. “But real estate is real estate. And politics… comes first.”

I looked away, blinking fast. My chest was burning now.

He placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Don’t be stupid, Anay. No one's asking you to love the Queen. Just wear the suit. Smile for the cameras. Be a placeholder. Produce a son and boom we are royals !!”

My hands curled into fists.

It wasn’t just about twelve years.
It was about what he’d do with every one of those days.

Every minute I stood beside that throne, he’d be behind the curtain pulling strings — using my name, my position, my image.

And I… I would lose every piece of myself in the process.

"You can do whatever you wants to do ,I won't be either of yours puppet !"I spat out as I moved on my feet to march towards the car .

I sat inside the car as I glanced back at the palace , my father was still glaring at me but who cares about him ,what bothered me more was Rani sa's cold eyes starring at my soul from the balcony .

I averted my gaze and asked the driver to drive to my apartment .

I am not a toy !

I am a human being .

I kept repeating these two sentence to make myself calm down anyhow.

I slammed the apartment door shut behind me and stood with my back against it, breathing heavily.

What the hell was that?

She wanted me… as a substitute?

I scoffed bitterly, kicking off my shoes and pacing straight to my room. My father didn’t even bother asking me once before dragging me into that circus. Of course he didn’t. Consent and decency have always been too expensive for him to afford.

He used me like a damn bargaining chip. Like my life was just… property.

I threw myself onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open.
My mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
From the king’s funeral to her emotionless eyes to that disgusting word—“substitute”—I had no peace, no air, no control.

Was this how power worked? Like invisible chains pulling you into rooms you never asked to walk into?

I didn’t remember when I finally passed out. I just remember the feeling—
That I was no longer the owner of my own life.

Today or tomorrow ,they will either bent me or broke me .

-----------

The next morning, I was woken not by my alarm, but by loud, angry knocks on the door.

I rubbed my eyes groggily and stumbled toward the sound, still in the same shirt from last night. “Coming!”

But before I could fully open the door—two men in brown formal vests barged in.

"Mr. Sharma?"

"Yes?"

“We're here from the property office. This flat has been legally sold. You need to vacate immediately.”

I froze. “Excuse me? This is my house!”

“No sir. This house was owned by your father and he’s already transferred the deed. You weren’t listed on the documents. We've been told to clear the space today.”

My stomach dropped.

I hate him to the Neptune and back.

“Are you kidding me? He didn’t even tell me!”

One of them looked slightly sympathetic. The other didn’t care.

I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration as I exhaled sharply before looking back at them“I need some time. Please! Let me at least figure things out!” I pleaded.

“Sir, we can give you fifteen minutes. You can take your personal belongings, but the furniture, appliances—everything else belongs to the buyer now.”one of them informed ,making me even more surprised, even the furniture and appliances were sold?

I wanted to scream. But I swallowed it back,As I ran in my room – shoving clothes, notebooks, a toothbrush and my ID card into a duffel bag. My hands shook with fury. Everything I had built… my safe corner… gone.

"Your time is over !"One of them grumbled behind me .

I rolled my eyes deliberately as I motioned out of my Apartment ,not before showing them my middle finger .

By the time I stepped out onto the street, the sun was blazing and sweat clung to my spine. I sprinted to the metro station, bag in hand.

The train was just about to arrive.I moved to scan my card when a hand stopped me abruptly.

I looked up to find a guard .Am I looking like a scammer or thief?

"I have card!"I informed showing my metro card to him .So that he could let me go !

Because I was already late for my school .

But he held up a hand. “You are Mr. Anay Sharma?”

I frowned. “Yes…?”

“You’re not allowed to board.”

“What?! Why?!”My eyes were literally looking like bowl.

Because what the fuck ???

He showed me a notice.

Banned by temporary ministerial order. Subject to review.

“By order of the Ministry of Railways, sir. You're blacklisted for now.”

Blacklisted.

I felt like laughing. Or crying. Or both.

The crowd was watching. Someone even started recording.

I stepped back from the platform in disbelief. My head was spinning.

First I was Thrown out of my house ,now I am blacklisted for trains ,that too a METRO!!!

Suddenly my phone rang and I saw it was from the principal of the school I work at .

I was fucked up , i was beyond late .

So instead thinking anything or losing time in arguing , I ran.

Feet pounding the pavement, I hailed the first auto I saw.

“School, please! Fast! I’m a teacher, my kids must be waiting!”

But somewhere deep inside, I already knew—
Even the roads were being closed one by one.

And I wasn’t running late anymore.

I was running out of time.

I kept checking my watch again and again ,by the time I will reach school ,my first two classes would be passed .

The auto finally stopped near a crowded crossing just a street away from school. I handed the fare to the driver with shaking hands, clutching my duffel bag tightly like it was the last piece of my life that hadn’t betrayed me yet.

I adjusted the strap over my shoulder and began walking toward the school gates, my head down, my mind spinning. I rehearsed in my head what I’d say to Principal Ma’am about being late. Maybe I could blame the curfew, or metro suspension. Maybe she’d understand.

But something was off.

The closer I got, the more stares I felt piercing through me.

A group of college kids sitting on a bench stopped mid-laughter as I passed. A man walking his dog did a double take. An elderly woman standing near the tea stall actually folded her hands in a faint namaste and nodded toward me… like I was someone worth greeting.

My brows furrowed.

What the hell…?

I tried to shake it off. Maybe it was the funeral yesterday. Maybe they thought they’d seen me there. Maybe it was the beard I hadn’t shaved. Or the tired eyes. Or the oversized hoodie. Or maybe—

“Arey, ye wahi ladka hai na?”

[Arey! Isn’t He the same boy?]

I turned abruptly. Two newspaper vendors standing beside a delivery truck were whispering to each other, one of them even nudging the other with his elbow as he pointed at me.

The man holding the newspaper held it up like an offering.

My stomach twisted.

There it was.
Right there.

My face.

A grainy photo — slightly zoomed-in, slightly off-angle — but it was me, in the background of the palace courtyard during the mourning. Standing quietly beside my father.

And underneath?

“Late King’s Confidential Successor?.”
– Rumors spark as Finance Minister’s son spotted alongside Queen and Rajmata at secret royal gathering.”

I froze.

My breath got stuck somewhere in my chest.

I wanted to rip the paper out of the vendor’s hand, wanted to yell this is fake, this is insane, this is NOT real! But I couldn’t move.

The vendor just smirked and said, “Netaji ke ladke ho na? Hum toh pehchan gaye the.”

[Are you the Minister’s son ? We recognised you.]

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. I just turned around and walked faster.

People were staring.

Someone pointed a phone camera at me.
Another girl was whispering to her friend, and I caught the word "Rani sa" and "New husband" between the gusts of wind and honking traffic.

It was like… the world had decided who I was before I could.

Why did my father suddenly disclosed me as his son ?

Why did they freely let media houses spread the news .

Even if they were like Rumors for people but deep down everyone was believing.

I measured the small distance to school with a lot of difficulties.

I pushed open the school gate with too much force, the watchman blinked at me. “Sir, aap—”

[Sir ,You—]

“I’m late, I know,” I snapped, my voice cracking with exhaustion."Where’s attendance register?"

He looked unsure. “Uh… Principal Ma’am said to ask you to wait in her office. There was… some instruction from the office to not take your attendance.”

“What now?” I muttered under my breath, dragging myself toward the admin building.

But before I could even make it halfway down the corridor, the Principal — who had always smiled when I arrived — stepped in front of me.

“I’m sorry, Anay sir,” she said politely, “but you’ve been asked to take a break… indefinitely. Until this... matter is resolved.”

“What matter?” I barked, and immediately felt guilty for raising my voice. But I was losing control. “I’ve done nothing. This isn’t my fault.”

Her expression softened, but her words didn’t.

“There’s a lot going around. Social media, TV… it’s political now, sir. It’s best if you step away from your duty till it cools down.”

“But I teach kindergarten,” I laughed bitterly. “You think toddlers are reading gossip columns now?”

She lowered her eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

That was it.

That was all anyone had to say today.

I stormed out of the school, each step heavier than the last.
I didn’t know where I was going. My house was sold. My school was taken. Even the train refused to carry me.

I was floating in the middle of nowhere–
And everyone somehow knew deciding mpre about my life than I ever did.

I wandered aimlessly for what felt like hours. My feet ached, my shirt stuck to my back with sweat, and my duffel bag was the only loyal thing left in my life.

Eventually, I spotted a lone bench beneath a giant neem tree at the corner of a Central Park. It wasn’t some grand monument or anything—just a rusty bench half-shaded by dry leaves. Forgotten. Like me.

I flopped down with a dramatic sigh, my bag thudding beside me.

It was already dusk .

I leaned back, closed my eyes, and let the wind rustle the tree above.

This was peace. For barely five seconds.

Until I heard the distinct thump of leather boots on grass.

I cracked one eye open.

Four police officers in navy blue uniforms stood in a semi-circle around me.

One had sunglasses on at dusk.
"Anay sharma?"

I blinked. “...Uh, how can I help you?”

The tallest one stepped forward, hand resting on the baton hanging from his belt like he was a Bollywood villain.

“You’re under arrest.”

I sat up straight. “For what?”

The shortest one spoke up like he’d been waiting all day for this moment.

“For breathing too loud in a public space.”

I choked. “WHAT?” what comedy serial is going on ?

Another officer stepped forward, very seriously pulling out a folded notice. “And for walking on ground you’re not ready to serve.”

My mouth fell open.

A third one, clearly the comedian of the squad, leaned in and added, “Also for sitting on Her Majesty Rani sa’s  park bench whic is made by Government's fund after disrespecting her.”

I blinked once.

Twice.

Then threw my arms up. “AM I ON A PRANK SHOW?! Where’s the camera?! Am I being punked?!”

No one laughed.

“Get up,” the first officer said, stern and emotionless.

“I just don't want to get married to yet!” I argued, holding onto the bench like it was my birthright. “I said no to the marriage—N-O, like a normal, sane person! And I’m getting arrested for that?!”

"No sir -you are getting arrested because you are disturbing people at public place with your loud breaths !"The sunglasses one spoke again .

"What people-"I looked around and trust me ,not even a bird was there .

"Us- we are people!"The villain face one answered .

I held the bench more tightly "Go to hell you dumbos! I don’t care !"I spat letting out loud huffs of breathe on purpose.

Two of them moved closer.

“I swear,” I muttered, backing away on the bench, “if one of you touches me—”

The next thing I knew, they had me by both arms.

My duffel bag rolled off the bench, and I was dangling helplessly between them like a sack of potatoes with trust issues.

“Let me go! I have rights! I’M A SCHOOL TEACHER!” I shouted, kicking my feet in midair.

“You’re a national responsibility now,” one of them said dryly.

“I didn’t even file my taxes this year! You want that kind of national responsibility?!”

No answer.

Just the sound of the jeep’s backdoor creaking open as I was shoved inside like stolen furniture.

I huffed, arms crossed as I sat on the hard metal bench, still stunned.

From teacher to trespasser in under 24 hours.

Apparently, all I’d done was breathe wrong, walk wrong, sit wrong… and say no to a Queen.

I was squished between two officers in the back of the jeep like some dangerous criminal, except the only crime I’d committed was existing at the wrong place, at the wrong time….

My hands flailed as I sat upright, glaring at every road we passed.

“What do you even want from me, haan? Are you people okay in the head? Breathing too loud? Sitting on Government bench? What’s next? Arrest me for having good handwriting?!”

The officer next to me sighed loudly.

I kept going.I was sure they will kick me out if I kept yapping !

“I swear to God, if this jeep hits a pothole, I’m suing the government. In capital letters. I’m done! DONE, do you hear me?! I said no to marrying someone, and now suddenly I’m criminal "

The jeep jolted as we took a turn. My head bumped into the officer beside me, who looked ready to cry.

“Can’t believe you guys left your beds for this,” he muttered.

“I can’t believe you guys left station for this!” I yelled back. “Where’s your sense of humanity? You’re all kidnapping me! This is a kidnapping! And you’ll be very sorry when—"

The jeep jerked to a stop.

I was still talking.

“And if you think this little intimidation tactic is gonna make me change my mind, then let me tell you something, mister sunglasses-at-night— I am NOT some easy-to-bully, simple-minded boy! I'm—"

“Sir,” the driver interrupted, turning around to the squad leader. “We need to do something.”

The officer beside me gave up. “Go on ! File charges for speaking too–"

I blinked as they suddenly grabbed my hands and tied them together with a zip tie. “Hey! Hey! I’m not some robber! I can’t even fight and run , I don’t even run in the gym!”

Then came the tape.

“Don’t you dare—” I tried to protest, but they slapped a thick piece of duct tape across my mouth.

I sat there, eyes wide, muffled yelling into the silence.

“Mmm-mmph-mrrghhh!”

The jeep continued to roll, blissfully quiet now—except for the occasional groan from my taped mouth and dramatic glares I threw at everyone in sight.

One officer pulled out his phone and played music to drown me out.
Another muttered, “God save the Kingdom from this yapping Rana sa .”

And I sat there, gagged and cuffed, wondering how the hell my life turned into a royal meme.

After a eternity...

The police jeep screeched to a halt in front of the station gates, the engine hissing like it too was tired of my muffled screaming.

The two officers who’d manhandled me out of the parkin were now wiping sweat from their brows as if I’d done them a favour by getting arrested.

The motioned inside the station.

“Bring him in,” someone ordered from inside.

I was pulled out of the jeep—still cuffed, still gagged, still flailing like a drama queen with a PhD in being done with this universe.

And then I saw him.

My father.

Standing inside the station hallway, dressed in his flawless crisp white suit, talking to a senior officer like he owned the entire damn building.

He turned the moment I entered. That cunning, calm look on his face... the same one he wore when he lied to reporters, to ministers, to me. But this time, his expression was different. Colder. More calculating.

He stepped forward. His shoes echoed.

“Final answer, Anay,” he said, hands behind his back like a true statesman. “Yes or no?”

The officer beside me peeled the tape off my mouth roughly.

“OW! Damn it!” I cursed.

My father raised a brow. “Answer.”

I looked straight into his eyes.

My wrists hurt from the zip-tie burns. My pride was crushed. My morning coffee hadn’t even happened.

“No,” I said again, clear and bold.

The senior officer sighed, turned to his junior, and said calmly, “File the charges.”

“CHARGES?!” I blinked. “You said you just wanted an answer!”

My father didn’t even flinch. “You think the world will sit and wait for you, beta? It moves forward — with or without your consent.”

I began panicking. “You can’t file charges for sitting on a bench! For breathing!”

The officer came closer with a clipboard and smirked. “Actually, we’re thinking... defaming the royal council, trespassing, disrespecting Her Majesty , disturbing peace, and yes—calling on duty officers dumbos !.”

My jaw dropped as I looked at my father .

My father shrugged.

I looked around wildly, and then back at him.

“You’re bluffing.”

“Try me.”

I opened my mouth to argue again but a officer immediately slapped the duct tape over my mouth .

My heart pounded. The zip ties on my wrists were red and tight. My feet still ached from running. I had nowhere to go. No school. No apartment. No friends. And now no voice either.

"As my son ,you are given another chance –Yes or No?"

I clenched my fists and—

And I nodded.

Just once. A small, reluctant dip of the head.

My father signaled officer to remove the tape .

“Yes,” I whispered. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Everything stopped for a second.

And then… everything changed.

“YES! Rana sa has agreed!” the officer exclaimed like someone had announced Independence Day early.

“Remove the cuffs!” someone else barked.

My wrists were freed like they’d never been bound. An officer gasped at the red lines and began massaging my arms like I was made of glass.

“Quick! Get water!”

“Make tea—real tea! No packet nonsense!”

“Where’s the velvet cushion? Bring it here!”

I was lowered onto a chair as if I was too fragile to stand up.

The officer who’d earlier gagged me now offered me tea with trembling hands. “Rana sa, please have this… Sorry, the tape, it was... done by orders !.”

I blinked in shock.

My mouth still felt like duct tape glue, my head was spinning, but now I had a golden tray in my lap and someone was turning a fan over me .

I do need air to breath it down.

“Anything else you need, Rana sa?” one of them asked, still massaging my wrist like I’d broken it in war.

I just stared at the steam rising from the teacup in disbelief.

Did I just sell my soul… for this royal treatment.

To be continued....