|| - lesser evil - ||

And of cause
Something must end
For something to begin...

Cold stone that could not be warmed by her shadow paved her way. A trail of dark lace dragging after her the princess walked on. Black she wore from head to toes, the colour of mourning looked anything but that as it clung to her figure. The courtiers made way, parting like sea in front of her and a breeze of whisper rose and fell.

Ice blue eyes lined thickly with darkest kohl shifted to each face. As if frozen from her mere glance each man her gaze fixed upon fell silent. Red lips twisted into a sneer that could be passed for a smile. The spectators held their breath as she lifted her skirts delicately and ascended the steps leading to the golden throne.

With a sweep of skirts she turned to look at them. Nails painted in the colour of blood sinking into the armrests as her pale hands gripped into the throne. There was a pause in which she looked over the court - inviting them to challenge her next move. The wise men held their tongues and the princess sat down.

A hush fell over the chamber. A palpable silence that could be cut into pieces with a blade. The red nails tapped the metal and finally she spoke.

“The king might fall, but the nation cannot. The father will be mourned by the daughter but the princess has far greater duties to fulfill. I will not see my father’s years of hard work becoming obsolete. I will not let you forget him…”

“Forget what he did, forget what he made out of me.” The words she did not speak hang heavily in the air.  

“Speak out if you must - or take me as your rightful queen….”

“As if there’s a choice. As if any of them would dare to choose.”

One by one the assembly knelt, heads bowed and hands clasped against their hearts. In the shifting shadows of the falling twilight it was hard to notice the beads of sweat running down their temples, or the slight tremble in their fingers.

“Long live the queen!”

She smiled a slow, twisted grin eyes gleaming silver with a hint of malice. No matter how well it was hidden behind polite faces, bows and greetings - she could taste the fear in the air. It was thick and salty like a tinge of blood. The power she had over these fools her father had ruled for ages surged through her veins like a drug, fueling her senses, sharpening her eyes. Fear, doubts, greed and lust she fed on each of those dark thoughts and this pit of vipers her dear father called court was brimming with them. Her powers pulsed as the darkness fell and the princess turned queen on her own might rose to her feet.

Gone was the father who shunned her in the hopes of getting a son. Gone was the ministers who will not have a woman presiding over them. She stood there - clad in darkness and red lips sneering finally where nobody imagined she could reach.

In the new moon night the court chanted her name.

“Jai Suvanna the queen of Anjanis!”

**

It was neither a dream nor a vision. Mohan swayed between sleep and wakefulness. A wary hand inked with symbols of forgotten loyalties wiped over his face. However he could not wipe the images burned into his mind. Mohan was no oracle. He had no ability to foresee the future. But it was not the first time he had been exposed to such revelation and he doubted it would be the last. Once you swear your allegiance to the eye and become one of the Akshasena it was a point of no return. The duty would follow you over time and space like a twisted blessing or a wicked curse.

Members of Akshasena were shown events of the future - the visions foreseen by the eye - when the eye decides there is a possibility that the said individual’s meddling might change the course of events for good. They were warriors who battled with time and fate. Deadly and precise but not always right. Mohan sighed, a vein throbbed at his temple. It had been centuries ago.

A weak watery sun tucked itself into the shadows of the buildings in the skyline, leaving only a handful of candy pink clouds scattered across the bleak ash blue sky. From his vintage point the city looked busy and tasteless. The streets packed with cars, air tainted with smoke and the roadsides were beginning to light up for the evening.

Mohan had been a prisoner before, imprisoned by the same race of rowdy Vajras. He still remembered rotting in their isolated prison called AgniMandal - where the stone walls slowly squeezed the magic out of you and drove you insane. But he had never felt as restless as he did right then in that 25th floor suite room the impeccable prince of Vajra’s has chosen as his new cell.  

He could hardly blame anyone but himself for his current difficulty. He taught the prince the beginnings of the psychological warfare that the man in turn was entrapping him into. It kept him on the toes, sleepless and puzzled for Mohan had expected fires, whips and executions not feather pillows and delicacies from around the world. He kept wondering what the prince hoped to achieve that he was willing to sacrifice so much without a word of a bargain.

The more days he spent the more gruesome his imagination became. Mohan was nowhere near believing this luxurious treatment was a sign of his old student’s good will. No - he will never trust a man he taught the tricks of survival. Then there was the vision that troubled him. The vision about the princess of Anjanis becoming the queen of her people.

Mohan wondered why the eye would think he would interfere with that. There was no love lost between him and the king of Anjanis that he would try to save the man from his approaching demise. It would not be the first time though - Mohan frowned. He had been paid with imprisonment worth a century for trying to save an unworthy king before. They were occupational hazards like humans would say.

His thoughts were interrupted by the click of the elevator doors shutting. Immersed in his thoughts he did not hear them opening. There were footsteps along the corridor and a knock on his door. Mohan raised his eyebrows knowing full well that the door was unlocked and no lock in the world could keep the man who stood at the threshold at bey.

“Good evening your highness!” He said pleasantly somehow making the title sound perfect and mocking at the same time.

Adhir ignored him, unbuttoning his cuffs as he walked in. Agni his ever present shadow lingered at the door.

“That will be all Agni, you can leave us to discuss the matters in private,” the prince addressed his bodyguard and watched him leave before turning to his old master.

Mohan did not say anything for a moment. Adhir dressed to the norms of humans was nothing like the Adhir he had encountered at the vajra camp. His hair was shorter, styled in spikes. His eyes were hazel and his features somehow looked softer and boyish. To someone who had never seen the prince in his battle - wear he looked perfectly human.

“Don’t look at me like that Mohan as the people around here say you’ll fall in love…” Adhir chuckled but his eyes remained untouched by the humour. He sank appreciatively into the sofa across from where Mohan stood and gestured Mohan to do the same. “Sit - old master, we need to talk.”

“Am I finally going to find out why you are kidnapping prisoners from your own kingdom?”

“Kidnap?” Adhir raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure there’s been some miss -communication. I helped you escape.”

Mohan folded his arms, refusing to take the seat he was offered.

“Have it your way.” He said. “May I know the reason of your benevolence, your highness?”

There was a pause in which Adhir’s eyes narrowed. When he spoke next it seemed he choose his words carefully.

“You don’t trust me.”

“Observant as always.”

“I’m not the enemy - Mohan!” There was something desperate colouring his tone that Mohan’s eyes snapped up to meet his hazel gaze. He could read nothing in them, the prince was too good at maintaining his neutral expression.

“You are not a friend either.” He replied shortly.

“Perhaps we can agree that I am the lesser evil then?”

“Define other evils…” Mohan said coldly. He knew he sounded like a petulant child but there were ages of discord between the master and the pupil that he was certain Adhir would understand where he was coming from. Only - it seemed Adhir did not have patience or time to do that at the moment. Instead of speaking he reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of photographs slamming them into the gleaming top of the low table in front of him.

“For the love of Aksha - sit down will you?” His eyes glued to the gruesome images that seemed to depict a crime scene Mohan sat down. He did not need Adhir’s next words to recognize that face. “Jo Jo is dead. And you don’t need me to tell you who is behind it.”

**
A glimpse of the darker world and the real beginning of trouble.
Mohan's story you see glimpses of in his monologue is told in Agni (a story I'm yet to write.)
So are you excited? Will the two join hands or will Mohan find a way to escape? And what exactly does Adhir want with him?
Tell me in the comments, I'm always waiting to hear!
Vote, as you go - make me a happy soul!
Thanks for reading!