Demon or Devil?

Sangram

The air crackled with tension as sharp as the diamonds adorning Jayshree's lehenga. Every eye in the pooja hall snapped at her as she stood wayward at the top of the stairs, taking in the m******e Jalal had orchestrated with wary eyes.

"One move, Jalal," Jayshree hissed in a surprisingly steady voice, "and it ends with me."

Her promise was replied to by Jalal's anomalistic grunting. The demon stomped his feet like a child. A lustful glint in his eyes lingered far too long on the sway of her hips as she descended with the grace of a serpent.

Beside him, mute fury contorted Atreya's features. Though he remained outwardly composed, a war raged within him.

Jalal's startling presence was steering acid in his life, and his hungry gaze lingering on Jayshree was jolting feelings Atreya hadn't ever felt before.

Possessiveness and a strange urge to embrace her away from even the trifle threats.

Atreya didn't understand the full picture, but this unwelcome intruder was making him feel uneasy.

Jayshree was the wife of a crown prince. She shouldn't be on a first-name basis with potential terrorists.

"How does she know him?" Atreya thought with a clenched jaw and a deep frown. He inhaled a sharp breath as Jayshree stood between him and Jalal, with her back facing him.

"Weapons are vulgar things," Jalal admitted, the disapproval directed at his men. "You know I don't like to use them ... unless compelled, Shreeji."

"And yet it's the only thing my eyes have been able to see so far," Jayshree countered dejectedly. Her gaze wandered over the room filled with armed men and battered relics, occasionally stopping at familiar faces. Her mother-in-law, Maharani Tara, was shaking like a burnt leaf.

Her trembling hands were clutching her two equally petrified daughters-in-law, Veidehi, the wife of Dhantpat Singh (the eldest son), and Ahilaya, the wife of Dhree (the second eldest).

A human wall of royal guards and her five sons shielded them. Jayshree's eyes skipped past them, her heart heavy with the weight of looming dread and the promise of imminent doom.

Jayshree deliberately avoided meeting Atreya's accusing eyes. Her cheeks flushed crimson as a tide of mortification arose along with a reverie.

The crimson silk of her wedding sari glimmered with intricately stitched pieces of glass and pearls, brightly illuminating the Crown Prince's already embellished chamber. The room had been prepared for a romantic night between the young couple, not for the ugly confrontation.

"An illusionary seductress?" The bride spat on the brink of tears. Each word was laced with venom and loathing for the man she had to accept as her husband. "Is that what they whisper in the palace halls? A woman who uses men like stepping stones to luxury?"

Atreya's eyes, like chips of cold emerald, met hers. A flicker of something akin to pain crossed his features, quickly masked by disdain. "My thoughts," he countered, "are rooted in a truth far uglier than that."

Jayshree felt a familiar sting of injustice prickle at her skin. Once again, she wasn't given a chance to defend herself—just like every other time.

"The world knows your... proclivities, Dhanraj," her husband continued, emphasizing her family name.

Jayshree couldn't ignore the subtle jab at her outsider status. How she wasn't even worthy of being with him!

"It wouldn't be a surprise if a parade of former 'acquaintances' showed up at our doorstep, each with a tale to tell. You're an inerasable taint. Someone my whole lineage would be ashamed of!"

His words were a whip, cracking through the fragile truce of their forced matrimony. The continuous nibbling at her lower lip had nearly drawn blood. It still didn't soothe the urge to lash out a physical response that battled within her.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

"You're right, Your Royal Highness!" Jayshree roared, the sound echoing harshly in the vast chamber. "And when that happens," she continued, hurt and anger convulsing in strong waves. "just fling me in the arms of the first man who claims. At least you'll be rid of me for good."

"Oh, I'd be too fortunate."

Jayshree blinked, visibly ashamed. "He was right," her conscience acknowledged. The sting of the earlier slap had faded slightly, but the imprint and the contempt it left behind were still there.

"My apologies, Shreeji," Jalal said, bowing, pulling her back into the harsh reality she wished to escape. Her eyes snapped up and met her husband's dark ones, the intensity of his gaze mirroring her own. In that instant, Jayshree knew Atreya was reliving the same night.

"They wouldn't have let me in otherwise." The Mafia Lord whined like a child.

"But now you are in! Why are you doing here, Mr. Haider?" Jayshree demanded, ignoring the leering looks.

A ripple of unease passed through Jalal's ranks.

"Didn't you hear the woman? Stand down!" Jalal barked, though his gaze never left her.

"But sir," a nervous voice piped up, "their royal guard—"

"Stand down," Jayshree repeated, her voice ringing with unexpected authority. Her eyes, however, held a flicker of something else, a plea directed solely at Atreya.

He met her gaze, a storm of confusion brewing within him. But a hint of trust, hesitant but present, nudged him. He tilted his head slightly in mute acknowledgment.

Next, the weapons clattered to the floor, the metallic symphony noticeably easing the tension.

"What are you doing here, Jalal?" She repeated.

A tense silence fell, broken only by the whimpering and rapid breaths of the gathered crowd.

Jalal scowled when he opened his mouth but Atreya beat him.

"You know this..." Atreya asked. "Gentlemen, Dhan–rma Patni Sahib?" The pun was noted.

"Jalal Haidar Bin Al-Said." Replied Jayshree, "from Al-Nazirah."

Atreya's brow furrowed as he racked his brain for recognition. The name hung in the air, foreign amidst the familiar ranks of diplomats, dignitaries, businessmen, and VVIPs.

"A special client fond of weapons, I presume?" he mumbled, skeptically.

Before Jayshree could reply, Jalal stormed with a sinister grin. Becoming as insane as he sounded.

"An obsessed admirer here to steal her," he declared proudly.

And just like that — the fragile peace was evaded.

In seconds, the room erupted into chaos again. Atreya's five brothers materialized around him—three older, their faces twisted with offended anger, and two younger, their youthful defiance masking simmering rage. Weapons were drawn in a heartbeat, their metallic glint reflecting the gasps of horrified dignitaries.

"Atreya—" Jayshree's shrieks were ignored as the crown prince clutched the Arab's collar, rising to his full height.

Their eyes locked, ablaze with fury. Either of refused to be intimidated.

"What? Did I offend your royal ass, dear Highness?" Jalal winked.

"I told your wife way before she met you," He continued. "That she's mine to be claimed and kept—"

The answering growl made vulnerable whimpers slip from Jayshree's lips. Her attempts to intervene were as futile as they had been when...

She shook her head, trying to clear the memory.

"Now isn't the time, Shree," she scolded herself.

"Listen closely, Sir," Atreya sneered, each word laced with venom and barely forced through clenched teeth.

"This is Princess Consort Jayshree Atreya Singh, my wife." He paused, eyes taking note of every raw emotion passing through Jalal's obsidian ocean-deep eyes.

Irritation, anger, lust, and challenge with vague tinges of respect!

"My wife," Atreya emphasized. "I may not know what transpired between the two of you that provoked your... undesirable presence but," The warning was loud and clear. "Unless you want your empty skull to end up on a spike, I suggest you never, ever speak of her with such... familiarity again."

The obsidian ocean-blue eyes narrowed: then blinked and blinked and blinked...

"Are you threatening me, Your Highness?" He breathed, stepping closer, shrugging Atreya's hands off.

"No." Atreya shook his head, folding his hand on his hips, refusing to cower.

"Very generously warning you. The woman is my honor and indisputably mine. It'll be only wise that you forget her."

Jalal snorted while Jayshree gasped.

His. Her heart somersaulted greedily.

"Atreya, he is—" She cried, trying again to interrupt before the matter slipped out of her palms.

"Let the man talk, Bhabhi!" A strained whisper tinged with both anger and fear, cut through the suffocating silence. It was Reyansh.

Not only him, but the whole palace was vibrating with it. Panic-filled wide eyes trying comprehending the confusing exchange.

No one, not even the most seasoned palace guards, could grasp the event that had erupted moments ago.

The name flung across the room, foreign and harsh on their tongues, held no meaning for them. Yet, the raw power surging between the two men was undeniable.

A single sharp word or a misplaced gesture, and everyone knew their carefully constructed lives could crumble irreparable. The air thrummed with a primal fear, gnawing at the core of their existence, leaving them all desperately waiting for a resolution—any resolution—that only one person could provide.

She squeezed her eyes shut, letting her whole life flash in a millisecond.

Images flickered: the successful law career, failed matrimony, her mockery in the royal society; Atreya's coldness, her parents' disappointment, Vanraj's support; Reyansh's friendship, the suffocating isolation of the palace. Then, there was Jalal – a face from her past, a materialized enigma of her present.

A wave of nausea washed over her. Was this her destiny? Flinging herself back into the arms of a man who was an anything but human?

"Whatever my state be, I won't be a cause of any bloodshed."

Just as Jalal aimed the loaded weapon at Atreya, Jayshree screamed.

"Drop it, Jalal,"

The men flinched, their heads snapping towards her in surprise. Clearly, mediation wasn't on their agenda.

"I'll go with you," she promised firmly despite the tremor in her heart. Gasps erupted behind her with a chorus of startled breaths and wide, bewildered eyes.

The dynamic shifted on a dime.

Jalal's face broke into a triumphant grin, contrary to the fury contorting Atreya's features. Betrayal burned hot in his eyes along with something unspeakable.

"Shree, mere bacche..." Vanaraj, who had been a silent observer from the corner, lurched forward, only to be stopped by a masked figure wielding a weapon. The threat was obvious!

"But...you promise, neither you nor your weapons would touch any one of them."

"You can't decide that on your own, Jayshree. Have you lost all of your senses?" Atreya hissed, turning her by the elbow.

A roar echoed.

"He is a demon in an exclusively tailored Armani. Trust me, this is the most sensible thing I've ever done in my life. You'd be happy—"

"I don't want to be happy!" Atreya yelled, throwing his hands in the air.

Jalal chuckled, a dark, humorless sound that scraped against Jayshree's nerves.

"Don't blame you a bit, brother," he drawled, unfazed by the weapons bristling around him or the silent fury dancing in Atreya's eyes like a death invitation.

He paused, taking note of Atreya's clenched jaw, thick with unspoken accusations and a possessive heat that steered strange emotions in his heart.

"This selfish nymph does it to you!" Jalal pointed at a visibly pale Jayshree. "Intoxicating as she is! Like a forbidden fruit, begging to be devoured, but keeping you away. She is a torture in guise of woman. I get you."

Atreya's gaze burned into her, a laser through Jalal's broad form. His sculpted features were a mask, but the storm raging in his eyes mirrored the chaos churning within Jayshree.

"You can't do this. I won't let you." Atreya gulped, shaking his head. "I am your husband. I vowed to protect you."

Jayshree scoffed. "We also vowed to love each other. Didn't we?" Her words struck like a physical blow.

True, their marriage was a sham born of concealment and betrayal where every day was a battle. Yet beneath his icy contempt flickered an acceptance that had echoed the dangerous desire. She was his to fight with or be loved—loathed or accepted, preserved or perished. In any sense or word—she had promised herself to be his.

"Not him," Atreya stumbled, shaking his head. "Over my dead body. Shree." He conceded in a low rumble.

Jalal's smile widened into a victorious grin. "Good thing we see eye to eye on something."

Click. Clack.

The weapon was loaded.

"I SAID I'M COMING WITH YOU! PUT IT DOWN." Jayshree shrieked. Her trembling hands clutched Jalal's weapon filled hand.

And although he was facing Atreya and his angry brothers, he didn't take his eyes off her. He couldn't. How could he deny anything to this woman except her freedom?

The security guards, who were on high alert, watched him like hawks and twitched their fingers at their holsters.

"We go?"

"Without harming them."

"No... Shree... not him!" Atreya roared helplessly, his voice thick with a raw, primal fear.

He would ruin you, his eyes screamed at her, his gaze darting between Jalal's mocking smirk and Jayshree, who seemed to shrink under the predator's touch.

"Let's go." Jalal breathed. Jayshree nodded.

A traitorous tear escaped the corner of her eyes and rolled down her cheek.

Help me. Her eyes begged but there wasn't much anyone could do.

I will fight him. Just don't go. Atreya's dark eyes promised.

A single, desperate lunge was all it took.

In a blur of motion, Atreya strangled Jalal, a snarl twisting his features. But Jalal was faster. With a practiced ease honed by years of combat, he sidestepped Atreya's attack, his own fist connecting with a sickening c***k against Atreya's jaw.

The world tilted for Atreya as he stumbled back, the taste of blood metallic on his tongue. Before he could regain his footing, Jalal scooped up a bewildered Jayshree, her muffled cry lost in the chaos.

A wave of nausea washed over Atreya as he watched Jalal, a victorious grin plastered on his face, retreat towards the exit along with his heavily armed men who carelessly fired bullets.

The silence was interrupted by a deafening bang – gunfire.

Al-Nazirah's men took over in seconds. The attack was swift and brutal, meticulously planned for months and now unleashed. Chaos broke out. Alarms blared, shouts and screams filled the air.

For Jalal, it was the culmination of 365 days, 21,900 minutes, and 1,314,000 seconds. He could recite the sequences in his sleep. He pulled Jayshree close to him, her gasps muffled against his chest, and retreated amidst the hail of bullets.

He bundled her into the back seat of his armored vehicle. The roar of the engine matching the rush of adrenaline in his veins.

"I never wanted it this way." He wiped her tears as he tucked a wild strand behind her ear. "It isn't I, Shreeji. You did this to you."

He pecked her forehead. Only then did he turn around, meeting Atreya's gaze.

The prince, backed by Ishaan and the reinforcements, looked back angrily.

"We'll meet again." Atreya mouthed, a promise written for blood.

Jalal grinned. "I'll be waiting, Your Highness," he retorted. The promise written with blood.

Not Jalal Haider Bin Al-said's!

Raising his weapon, Jalal gave his rival sufficient time to process. But when Atreya still didn't cower, taking a careful aim, he pulled the trigger.

Bang!

A crimson bloom stained Atreya's white sherwani. A gasp, startled screams, cry for help.

He still didn't flinch. His tear-filled eyes were found hers and held till he finally sank to the ground.

The bullet had hit its target— Rana Atreya Singh had crumbled.

There was a cool promise in Jalal's eyes as he slammed the bulletproof door shut.

"To Al-Nazirah, Hadi where the Queen belongs." Jalal guffawed at his second in command, flinging his weapon in the air as the car drove off to Jayshree's new destin-y (nation).

Meanwhile, the four corners of the century-old palace were being set ablaze, following a carefully crafted plan that wasn't Jalal's.

The pious fire of Yagya had taken its oblation. This time, it wasn't only the crown prince. Rather, the entire royal was sacrificed.