Redemption of Royals (Royal #1: Book 3) | ✔

10

-• missed me, esther? •-

Taranya

Two Years and Two Months Later

Fiction fools us.

Real fights don't look epic. And they certainly don't last longer than five seconds. They're quick, aggressive and oftentimes sloppy.

"Ready to lose?" Agastya asks, smug in his stature. I unzip my bomber jacket and drape it over the ring fence. I'm only wearing a sports bra and leggings. My brother is bare from his hips upward, in his favourite black shorts.

"Three years, Agastya. It's time I win now." I shrug.

He chuckles. "Sure, try your luck."

I walk into the ring, facing off against my brother. We square off, I take my stance. He has his hands up and we begin to circle each other slowly.

Pride is an inherent part of Agastya's nature. He prances around, cocky, not giving his hundred percent because he believes he can defeat me with a flick of his wrist. That's what makes a fight more fun. The more you underestimate your opponent, the more wrong they prove you, and you grow impatient, almost desperate to prove you weren't wrong.

He throws a few test punches. I barely react.

Patience is the virtue.

He blows a few short punches. I duck. He throws another but pulls it back in and then does a spinning back kick that connects with my midsection, hard.

I recover, but God damn it hurts. He continues to dance around me, smirking victoriously. He waits for me to attack. I don't. I defend. He throws some more skilled punches and kicks. Professional, effortless, but I avoid them deftly.

Agastya grows impatient.

He starts riling me up.

Doesn't affect me.

I don't attack, until....

He boulders in hard.

Oh, I've been waiting for this.

I sidestep with a slick speed, block his attack, and counter with a hard-hitting clothesline.

He goes down in a split second, coughing hoarsely into the floor. His arms don't hold him up for more than a second. He drops. Breathing hard, fast, barely.

"And that's, what you call, a glorious win." I don't help him up. I pick up my jacket and walk out of the ring, approaching the bench where my water bottle waits for me. He sits up after a moment of break.

"That was good."

I take a sip, shrugging nonchalantly in response to his compliment.

"Tara, I think you need more professional training. WWE and I can only help until a certain point. What I've taught you is more of a street style. You need to learn some real deal. You've the potential."

I sit on the bench, hearing him patiently, taking his advice into consideration.

"And who can teach me that?" I cock a brow.

"Zoya."

I frown.

A faint memory knocks. The name's familiar, and the name has a face, a voice and a few moments in my past. "Yuvraaj Bhai's secretary?"

He nods, hopping out of the ring before he walks over to me. I hand him the water bottle. "She's best when it comes to physical combat. God, the ten year old me had this big fat crush on her when she rescued me from the kidnappers."