Princess effect
801 Words
Later that day, the Princess was informed of the Prince’s intention behind his earlier appearance, yet she chose not to seek any vindication. She stood by the window, taking in the view outside.
The sunset burned low. Another day gone, she thought. One day less of the time we must remain here.
The Prince’s behaviour only confirmed what she already believed of him. She recalled the way he had looked at her while handing over her clothes—an unspoken promise that their encounter would not be the last. A promise she knew would bring her trouble. Even now, she could feel his gaze at her back as she had fled clutching her garments. The humiliation had been unbearable. She thanked the Lords above that no one knew of what she had endured that morning.
Deciding to distract herself, she resolved to visit her mother.
The Queen of Chiva resided near the opposite entrance of the Das Dwar. The King and Queen occupied separate quarters, as was customary. Reaching her mother meant crossing the entire palace grounds. She began her walk, three maids following at a respectful distance.
Soon, she saw the very man she wished to avoid at all costs. It seemed the universe itself conspired against her.
She froze.
The Prince had a servant pinned high against the wall with one hand. His eyes were murderous—no, worse. He was seething. The servant’s face began to pale as he struggled for breath. Sympathy stirred within her. Though she knew she was in no position to interfere, she could not stand by and watch a man die.
“Your Highness,” she said softly, yet clearly.
The Prince snapped his head towards the voice. The movement was so swift she feared he might strike her—or wrench his own neck. Recognising the Princess, he reined himself in. The fury drained from his eyes, replaced with unsettling calm. He released the servant, who collapsed to the floor, gasping.
Now the Prince’s attention rested solely on her.
Now it is my turn, she thought grimly.
She glanced at Arya, the commander of the military, standing behind the Prince like a statue. Arya—loyal to Prince Veer—understood instantly that the Princess had arrived at the worst possible moment. The Prince despised interruption; he demanded submission above all else.
Ashoka moved towards her.
Dhara flinched.
He noticed.
He also noticed her glance towards Arya. Though he had no intention of harming her, he resented the idea that she believed anyone could shield her from him. He shot Arya a warning look, then gestured for the maids to leave.
“But—” she began.
He silenced her, pressing a finger gently against her lips.
“Shh… let them go. Don’t you wish to know why I was punishing him?” he said quietly.
He stood too close—one hand at her lips, the other at her waist, his presence overwhelming.
Arya’s eyes widened. He had never seen his Prince behave this way—certainly not with any woman. The Princess was visibly shaken, and the situation disturbed him. Yet duty bound him to remain still, awaiting command. None came.
Ashoka wanted him to witness this—to understand that no one could intervene.
He pulled Dhara closer, noticing her parted lips.
She waited, tense, believing he would finally explain the servant’s crime.
Instead, he kissed her.
Dhara froze, overwhelmed. His touch set her senses ablaze.
Why can’t I stop him? she wondered, horrified at herself.
She knew the cost of defiance—she had already paid it once.
Ashoka, too, was losing control. The moment consumed him. When he finally released her, he noticed her legs trembling, her fingers clutching his garments for balance. His smile deepened. He steadied her and glanced at Arya.
The commander stood rigid, expressionless, more intimidating than ever.
Dhara peered past Ashoka to confirm Arya was still there. Meeting the commander’s respectful gaze, she instinctively pressed closer to the Prince.
Ashoka dismissed Arya with a victorious grin. The commander departed with a quiet sigh, suppressing a smile at the Prince’s unmistakable jealousy.
“Where is my lady headed?” Ashoka asked.
She gasped, mortified by how tightly she still clung to him.
“To the opposite wing of the palace, Your Highness,” she replied, gathering herself.
“I was going that way as well,” he said—though he had no such intention. “I will accompany you.”
It was not a request.
They walked together until they reached the far side.
“I shall take my leave now, Your Majesty,” she said quickly, fleeing before he could stop her.
Ashoka watched her retreating form and laughed softly.
Then he turned back towards the front of the palace.
- Writer
