Jealousy of prince
750 Words
The Princess angrily picked up the attire thrown at her, casting one last glare at the Prince before leaving the room.
The Prince stood awestruck. Though she had lashed out at him, he did not mind her words at all. To him, it felt as though she had confessed something far more intimate. Throughout her outburst, his attention had never been on her words but on her face—her movements, her anger, her presence. Her eyes, burning like red charcoal, soothed him rather than angered him.
When the Princess left, the Prince laughed wholeheartedly, amused by his own lovesickness and her fiery beauty. She was worthy of his attention in every sense.
Meanwhile, the Princess was seething. The Prince—worshipped by the entire nation—was, in her eyes, a p*****t; a shameless man with no regard for a woman’s dignity. She had heard whispers of his ruthlessness and cunning—not spoken aloud, but carried by the wind—and now she believed them to be true.
Not only was she his captive by circumstance, but she was also bound to him by royal obligation.
All she wanted was to leave the palace at once and return to her warm, familiar home. As dawn crept in, she prayed fervently that no one would see her wearing the Prince’s attire.
What will people say?
Am I the first woman to suffer his behaviour—or are there others?
What will the Queen Mother think?
Will my family be dishonoured?
Her thoughts spiralled as she slipped into her chamber, avoiding every passing gaze—or so she believed.
After bathing, she tried to steady her mind. The memory of her outburst resurfaced, and she clutched her forehead.
I’ve done it now. It’s only a matter of time before he summons me. Why did I yell? I was managing just fine until the very end, she scolded herself.
“Princess, the Queen requests your presence,” a servant announced.
The Queen? The Prince’s mother? Does she know?
With apprehension, Dhara made her way to the hall.
Upon entering the Manodwar, she saw the Queen seated, watching swordsmen practise. The Queen was as elegant and graceful as Dhara had heard.
She greeted her respectfully. The Queen kissed her forehead and invited her to sit beside her. They spoke briefly before both became engrossed in the display before them.
Dhara’s gaze fixed on one swordsman whose movements were precise and deadly, as though the sword were an extension of his body. Every strike was deliberate. She found herself captivated.
The man was Prince Yean of Thar, a kingdom allied with Amartya.
Her eyes followed the line of his arm to his torso—pure strength, undeniable presence. She smiled, rising to get a closer look.
She did not realise she was being watched.
From above, the Prince of Amartya observed her—his expression darkening. He was no longer merely irritated; he was furious. Her smile, directed at another man, ignited something dangerous within him.
“Prince Yean,” he called out from the upper level, “care for a fight?”
The Queen looked up, surprised by the sudden challenge.
Prince Yean smirked, confident in his skill.
“Gladly, Your Highness—if you’re not afraid of losing,” he replied with a laugh.
Dhara stiffened. She glanced up and met the Prince’s gaze—raw anger. She swallowed and quickly looked away.
Seeing her ignore him only fuelled his fury.
He tore off his upper garments and leapt down into the arena. Cheers erupted; women gasped and swooned.
Prince Yean twirled his sword mockingly.
The Prince of Amartya looked once more at Dhara.
She grew tense, her palms damp. What does he want now?
The Queen followed her son’s gaze and understood instantly. It was the same look the King wore when jealousy consumed him. Observing Dhara’s unease, the Queen suppressed a smile.
Fate has its own games, she mused.
The Princess reminded her of herself—young, uncertain, frightened once by her own husband’s intensity. But her son was even more possessive than his father. He ruled with control, protected what he claimed, and demanded absolute authority. That was why no one dared speak against him.
The crowd had noticed Dhara as well.
The Prince tore off his necklace and flung it toward her before raising his sword. In his mind, Prince Yean had challenged not just his skill—but his claim.
And that, he would not forgive.
- Writer
