🔅🔆Sequel of The Crowned Prince. Can't be read alone, kindly read The Crowned Prince first.🔆🔅
As he said, "It's not going to be peaches and cream,it's going to be roses and thorns."
And he was waiting to be torn by the thorns just to get a whiff...
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Adhiraj reached the Royal Polo Grounds dressed in a prussian blue polo tshirt and creme trousers. A sports watch coiled around his left wrist and sunglasses covering his eyes.
He reached there fashionably late, knowing well that Jayant had no options but to wait for him.
And my god, did he love making him wait? Hell, yeah!!
It was close to evening but sun was still shining. Jayant was seating on a table prepared by the ground management for their prince with shade protecting them from the excess sunlight.
He walked towards them in his usual stiff posture. Jayant couldn't help but got up from his seat after seeing him, so does Divya.
His pace was composed yet predatory.
He looks more dangerous than Rana Uday Singh Rathore. Jayant thought.
And that was the truth.
Adhiraj was much calmer than his father but more dangerous.
His silence sang the death note, his hooded eyes can give you the flashes of hell before death.
The moment he reached the table, Jayant clasped his hands in front of him in salutation and greeted him politely, "Khamma Ghani."
Adhiraj took off his sunglasses and looked at the aged man with grey hairs taking over the maximum area of his scalp with wrinkles showing on the sides of his eyes, predicting his age.
He sat down pulling a chair opposite to them muttering, "Ghani Khamma Mr. Chauhan."
Jayat awkwardly smiled at his less interest and sat down.
Adhiraj squinted his eyes, looking through the greedy smile of Jayant, straight through his facade.
He got flashbacks of his wife seating in his father's study room, stiff on the chair, looking beyond the infinity and her hands tightly clasped together , narrating the most terrific and brutal day of her life.
Another memory hit him, where she was seating in her bathroom, lifeless. Her head falling sideways, her body wet and blood trickling down from her nose.
Next, he felt the same old panic in his heart when he was running out of the palace with her dripping body in his arms.
The broken feeling in her eyes.
Her nightmares.
Her muffled cries.
Her faith in him and his family.
Her desperate need to get a closure.
He cleared his throat to shake them off. How much he wanted to take that gun from his car and shoot the bastard at point blank range, shoot that damned flattery and fake smile.
