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-• confession •-

Rudra

Taranya,

How do you think a twelve year old boy would react upon seeing the first sunrise of his life?

Do you think he'd rejoice?

Do you think he'd smile?

Would his arms go up, towards the sky, to embrace the sun?

How bright do you think he'll beam?

Enough to light up the room?

What do you think he'll say?

"Oh, that's more beautiful than I imagined."

Or, perhaps,

"This world is really pretty."

Isn't that what you always say?

No, you call it pretty sad.

Pretty and sad.

But no, Taranya, that's not what that twelve year old boy thought.

Pretty didn't cross his mind.

And sad didn't even begin to surmise that feeling.

But he did watch every second of it, marvelling how powerful the sun was. It woke up the world. And he sat there, on the top, as every empty street, every deserted neighborhood, every abandoned building began to swarm with people. The city came alive, right in front of his eyes. And he couldn't believe it.

"Oh, this is how the world works."

He thought.

"This is how time plays these naive people."

He realised.

The beauty of the morning was lost on him, for he was too enchanted by the trick of time. Twirling the world on the tip of its finger, commanding it, ruling it, quietly, making them slaves of their own desires.

He fell in love with time.

He worshipped it.

And he remembered that morning as he went back inside his dark cell.

There was a small hole on the ceiling, light beamed through it.

Ever since he had witnessed the sunrise, he woke up earlier to see with his own eyes, when the beam of ray would sneak in through that tiny hole.

"The world's awake.

So am I."

He was no longer an outcast. He understood the world. Its schedule. What wakes it up, what runs it, what exhausts it, what wears it down, and what puts it back to sleep.

He followed that ardently.

His first sunrise was an awakening, an awakening of a new soul inside of him. He began to think of light with a different perspective. The dark was safe, but he needed the light to survive.

He can't be a night forever.

He was afraid he'd disappear and no one would ever notice.

The new soul inside of him was greedier, more selfish, and it fed off the old soul to keep itself alive, nibbling and biting at the innocence until the old soul was simply a hollow shell that could be the perfect vessel to hide the brewing corrupted desires.

People who make other people suffer are worst, but people who endure that suffering are pathetic.

And pathetic is what he was all his life.

The dark cell wasn't a happy place.

He wasn't always safe in there.

One night, a monster with fangs had creeped in. And the boy didn't even know. He laid asleep, on the cold floor, bare knees pulled to his chest, hair rough, dusted, tangled. His skin harsh, gritty, flaky. His lips pale, cracked, swollen. His nails chipped, uneven, dark. He must be the ugliest child to ever exist. Nothing about him was remotely nice. But why would a monster with fangs care about it? After all, he was a monster himself.

I wonder if he looked like one too.

Grotesque.

Ugly.

Is that why he chose him?

Because he found the boy similar to himself?

Or was it the fact that he was discarded. Like he didn't matter? Did the monster with fangs think nobody would care? Nobody would bother with this unnamed, orphaned, abandoned child?

But the child did, didn't he?

He did care about himself. He existed for himself. He lived for himself.

So why weren't his feelings considered?

Why wasn't his innocence, his fragility, his emotions considered?

Because he had nobody watching over him, caring for him, he wasn't worthy to be saved?

He doesn't remember anything of that night. He wasn't awake to see the horrors of it with his own eyes.

Pity.

He should have seen it, felt it, remembered it. If he had, he'd know which monster did it. So when he grows up to become a monster himself, he'd have his first victim.

Unfortunately, his first victim wasn't the monster with fangs. None of his victims were. But still, every time he meets a new life that's to be stolen away, he closes his eyes and imagines it's the monster with fangs in front of him.

Are you scared, Taranya?

You didn't imagine the twelve year old boy to be so cruel, did you?

He wouldn't defend himself.

He wouldn't get up and say the world was cruel so he had to become crueler.

He won't say he never got a chance to escape and start anew, fresh. He won't say he ever considered cutting off the painful past and living for the present.

He didn't.

Not even for a split second.

In that cell, after that night, revenge was all he lived for. He couldn't find the monster with fangs. But he knows it's somewhere close. And he'd keep finding new victims, all those who once wronged him, intentionally or unintentionally, and he'll become a monster in front of them. He'll grow new, sharper fangs, and he'd plunge his jaw through their flesh, relish as they bleed on the floor and die, pathetically.

He isn't sorry.

He never was.

Until..... Until, he met you.

You call the world pretty sad. You're the pretty part of his world. He has no idea how it happened, when it happened, but it somehow did. He wanted to use you. You were an asset in his eyes. He thought acquiring control over you will weaken the Chauhan Empire.

How stupid of him.

For the first time, I think he was naive.

He was such a fool to believe it'll be him controlling you.

He was fake towards you, Taranya.

For the longest of time, he didn't care about your feelings.

But that's him, right? That was who he grew to become. He never felt guilty, he never considered the world a victim. He always thought of it as an open theatre, and considered the living, breathing, dreaming people his own puppets.

He scripted his own play and the curtains opened. The puppets all walked in, tied to the strings, webbed across his knuckles. The roles were clear, the story was written, the end was decided.

But then you barged in.

Blue oceans confined in your pearly eyes, raven locks free and unbound. Your limbs never learned to follow someone's will. Your feet never moved at someone's consent.

And he watched, perplexed, insecure, aghast, as you changed the play, the ending, and became the entire story.

He wasn't attuned with your actions. They were as unexpected to him as I'm sure they were for you. He struggled to tie the strings around you. You never stopped at one place. Ever changing like seasons, never-ending like an universe. Blooming, blossoming, wilting, and fading like gardens. He grew restless seeing your colours, they kept changing, and from being the side character in his story, you became the whole story.

Soon he was mesmerized.

He wanted to keep watching you, looking at you, getting surprised at your volatile pace in his life. Sometimes you were wobbling, stumbling. Sometimes you were walking. And sometimes? Downright bouldering.

He started to smile, laugh, blush, and all of it was so new to him, so new that he got scared. Scared of getting used to it. His revenge, after all, still searched for new victims.

And he tried to cut you off his life.

But the unexpected happened.

You started to accept him as he was, with his secrets and his darkness, you embraced him with all your might. His skin still tingles in the places you kissed him, touched him, acknowledged him.

For the first time, he felt safe, Taranya.

He felt safe enough to stay.

He felt safe enough to express.

And he felt safe enough to sleep.

Sleep, Taranya. He rarely slept.

His back always to the wall, spine straight, hands fisted, knees pulled up. He rarely slept.

And the first time he did, in your room, on your bed, with your head on his lap, he became so vulnerable, felt so naked, that he thought you'd look right through him.

But you were as clueless as him.

Are you aware, Taranya?

You emit a motherly warmth.

He doesn't have a mother, he never had one, but he can tell. Maybe that's one of the reasons why your brothers are so attached to you, are so crazily protective of you.

You've the woman's touch his life lacked. The gentleness of your fingers cannot be compared to his brass, hard skin. The soothing tone of your voice can never be harsh even if you scream.

You're a miracle to him, Taranya.

As if, one night he wished upon a fallen star, and you decided, you'd just break down and descend to the earth for him.

How did this happen, Taranya?

How did he go from feeling like the most pathetic, unfortunate man to being the luckiest and blessed man? How are you so powerful, Tara? And how are you still not aware of that power inside of you?

You made a man like him, who believed feelings had lost him, who assumed too many words were an overused tool to compensate a human's lack of intellect, sit at his desk today, writing this letter to you, and realising words can never be enough to express what he feels for you.

He's me, Taranya.

And this is my confession.

I love you.

Yours, and always yours,

̶S̶h̶o̶u̶r̶y̶a̶.̶ ̶R̶u̶d̶r̶a̶.̶

Me.

I bite my lower lip, folding the paper neatly before I slip it inside the envelope. Then I roll the glue stick and seal it gently. My eyes stray towards the wall clock. It's seven pm right now. Her flight takes off at nine am tomorrow.

I look down at the envelope in my hand.

I want her to read this before she leaves.

I had bided my time this entire semester, wondering when will be the right time to approach her. But the new year came, her birthday passed on, we finished the first year at University and it's when she's planning to shift countries that I geared up the courage to face her.

I had never been this slow.

But the woman makes me want to wait an eternity.

"Do you think she's asleep?"

"You've restricted me from checking up on her. I won't know what she's upto unless you permit me." Yara replies.

"Why did I expect a simple yes or no from you?" I mumble to myself. "I lack genuine people in my life, don't I, Yara?"

"Why do you think so?"

"Seeing how I rely on you for the most baseless conversations, I'm assuming I'm quiet a lonely guy." I nod.

"Apart from me, you talk most with King Yuvraaj Singh Chauhan." He consoles.

"If that's supposed to make me feel better, you failed. I prioritised the revenge so much that it's all I have to go on with my life now."

"You sound disheartened."

"I am."

"Humans are so complicated."

"Are we? Why?" I muse.

"Inconsistency is your inherent trait. I'm yet to decide whether it's good or bad."

I nod with a sigh. "True. We're inconsistent." I lean back in the chair and look at the clock once again. "Until this morning, I wanted to meet her right before she leaves, but now I'm suddenly missing her so bad it feels like if I don't see her I might go crazy."

"Then go."

I blink.

"It's not so easy."

"Why?"

"I can't face her yet. Six months and she has ignored me like a plague. I'll be devastated if she walks past me as if I'm not standing in front of her with the sole hope that she notices me, acknowledges me, even if as a stranger, even if with just a glance." I whisper, clenching my hands into fists as I put my knuckles to my forehead.

"But you wrote the letter for her."

"I know," I sigh. "I've no idea how to give it to her."

"You don't have to give it to her personally. Deliver it."

I sit straight with surprise. That's right. I can just ask someone to deliver it. There are higher chances of her considering the letter worthy of a glance if an unfamiliar face gives it to her than me walking up and offering it to her.

But I don't trust anyone here.

I grab my jacket from the bed and fling it over my shoulder, turning off Yara on my way out of the room. I hurriedly descend the stairs and cross the spacious living room. The valet brings my car just as I exit the palace doors. I thank him as he gets out and keeps the door open for me. Sitting in, I pull it close and pull the car out of the porch.

Street lights glow, the city shimmers in the darkness of the falling night. I press on the accelerator to speed up. Soon enough, the board of Jaigarh welcomes me. I pass the toll and head directly towards Veer Mahal.

In less than thirty minutes, my car stops in front of the automatic gates. I lower the window so the guard behind the CCTV recognises me. But instead of the main gates, the small door on the left opens and a man dressed in black steps out. I frown.

"What's wrong? Am I prohibited an entry in the palace?"

"Of course not, your highness. I came out to inform you that no royal is in the palace right now."

My frown deepens.

"Why? Where did everyone go?"

"Prince Agastya, Princess Taranya, and her friend Miss. Williams are flying back to England tonight."

My blood runs cold. "What?"

He nods.

"But I thought she's leaving tomorrow."

"I'm just a guard, your highness. I know nothing about what goes inside the palace." He says politely.

"Alright, thanks," I quickly swerve the car around and drive towards Ahilyabai International Airport. On the way, I get stuck in the traffic.

Of course.

I blare the horn, continuously, over and over again. People stick their heads out of their cars to shout at me, but upon getting one glance of my face, they'd shut right up and go back inside. When the traffic police realises I'm one of the hundred, treated like a commoner, he works harder to clear up the way for me. But I get held back when an ambulance arrives.

"You can go, Your highness," the traffic police says when I don't move.

"Help the ambulance go first," I command him.

He looks behind my car, and his eyes widens in realisation. "Ye-Yes, your highness!" I drive to the side as he instructs the other cars to move and makes way for the ambulance. Behind the ambulance, I pull out as well. And behind me, the traffic slowly releases.

I reach the airport and throw the door open, barely even closing it as I rush inside. A hand slams on my chest at the security check. I take out my ID proof.

"What are you doing!? That's Prince Shourya!" His subordinate snarls at him.

"Oh- Oh, I'm sorry, your highness!" He makes a ninety degree bow.

Ignoring the needless apology, I run inside and look around for a second, absolutely frazzled and doused in overwhelming confusion. My eyes scan the sign boards, searching the directions to the private runway. It leads me down the familiar path, as I had gone three years ago, thinking I was the mastermind of this whole act, unaware the woman I was walking towards wasn't an opportunity, but my fate.

But this time, she wasn't waiting for me.

This time, I had no smiling face welcoming me.

This time, before I reached, she was already gone.

This time, I stand alone and watch, as she's whisked away from me by the same fate.

This is my confession.

I'm in love with Taranya Singh Chauhan.

How was the first chapter of Redemption of Royals!? Personally, I loved it. It created the impact I was expecting.

Hope you enjoyed it. Don't forget to vote and comment. Makes my day.

AN: I didn't think this needed to be addressed but I'm tired now, so here it is. Some readers, especially old ones (not generalising ofc) read my new books solely because they like my writing style, even if they hate the story. Now you're giving my works a chance, I'm grateful for it. But can you please stop complaining? Especially to me personally. "Taranya is so annoying, nothing like Jahanvi, can't you write another character like her?" No. I cannot. I want to write different characters, not copy paste my old ones. "Rudra is not it. He cannot be compared to Reyansh and Kabir's aura." Good. He isn't even trying anyway. "Taranya and Rudra are boring. Please write a couple like reyanvi again." No thanks, I decide what I write. "Royal series cannot match up to the Raichand series." Thanks, I didn't know. I thought I was writing Raichand series II with just changed names and different characters.

You don't like the story? You can always drop it. You can also give me criticism. But do not tell me what to write. I'm not an AI that you'll drop your keywords in and I'll whip out a story you want to read.

I hope you realise I'm an artist. Creativity is my forte. Let me do it. You can choose to either read it or drop it.