These days the palace was more jubilant than ever before. Chaos occupied the kitchen at all times to serve the Shahamsaram her cravings. Fresh bouquets of flowers plucked from the garden made their way to her room. Sikander himself found time out of his busy schedule to meet Roshanak.

Nightly visits to Hridayank's room were put at a pause. The hazarahpatish wasn't ruined by the absence, or that was what he reminded himself. He had his own duties to do– roll out policies and oversee governance. Such things took most of his time. He engaged himself in the things of material significance. When all tasks were over, he went on to pinpoint loopholes in what was already perfect, and started all over again. This went on and on until it was time for dinner and then sleep.

Hridayank had begun to dread the night. It brought back memories of his youth, rather their youth. He reclined on a stack of pillows and reminisced the olden days.

Tracing back the memory lane, Hridayank was reliving the day he first met Sikander, then a prince always primly dressed. He had the smooth, blemish-less skin of a god and a glow akin to the moon. Honey dripped from his eyes. Sikander was already well-favoured in school when Hridayank had arrived with his burden, hands coated in blood and sin following him like a shadow. The prince was loved by all not just because he was a quick-learner, but also for his carefree attitude, blissfully ignorant of the royal heritage he possessed.

Contrary to that, Hridayank had been accused of killing an older boy. He knew he had done it in self-defense, for that boy, having his first signs of a beard, had thought of claiming Hridayank for himself. The beauty of the hazarahpatish was something both the sexes envied and admired. Perhaps beauty was indeed a curse, because when Hridayank had hit the boy in order to protect himself, it concluded in death.

That was the first time he had ever seen a corpse. It was his first kill, even before being a warrior-man, even before venturing into the battlefield.

The crime, as society labelled it, forced Hridayank's father to sent him on exile to Philip's place, who put him in school together with a few boys. Philip must have had seen something in Hridayank for him to send the latter to a school where only children of eminent families could go. Nevertheless, when Hridayank reached it, the students welcomed him with fear.

They skittered away from him, chary of sitting on the table together with the infamous culprit. Hridayank was always eating alone and playing by himself, until the day the merciful prince decided to shower him some attention– the royal-blooded boy wanted to share figs with him.

Initially, Hridayank was sceptical of the time the prince was giving him. He mistook it for some kind of fake humility or an extravagant show of benevolence. Hridayank didn't want pity, so he would try to run away from the prince. Soon, it was clear that the blond was not staying with him for petty political reasons, but out of some emotion Hridayank himself couldn't comprehend.

Sikander was a very lively boy. He mixed with Hridayank like there was no difference in their status and birth. The prince taught him many things, although Hridayank found himself staring at the prince most of the times. When he would be alone, he would daydream of the soft pink feet of the prince, the curve of his hipbone, the crook of his neck.

Things went out of hand when such thoughts caused a tingle between his thighs. Hridayank would allow his hand to wander down, and then return to class with a red face. If the prince asked him where he had been, he would lie. Sikander would narrow his eyes and try to have a peek of his best friend's feelings. Hridayank hoped he was hiding things well.

Until the day, when they were thirteen, and the prince thought a kiss was the perfect gift for his companion.

Hridayank smiled as he recalled the day. Sikander's lips were shaped like a plump bee coated in pollen. Even if he hadn't kissed before that day, he knew like an expert how to suck at the flesh.

It was only the beginning of things. By sixteen, they were wilder and more passionate. They would share a bed, waking up in the morning with a scarlet flush of spring and glistening sweat. The other boys would whisper about them being hand-in-hand.

"Are you asleep?"

Hridayank turned his heavy head towards the door. The prince was always very still in his steps and silent like a snake. He would walk and run like a breeze, never to be caught by anyone. Such skills were to be praised. Not all soldiers owned them. Now as a supreme ruler, people revered him for his otherworldly qualities.

"No," he answered, keeping aside his memories.

Sikander came and sat above his head, caressing his locks. Hridayank loved it when the prince–no, Shah– would grab his hair and bite his lower lip. But now, Hridayank moved his head away, rolling to the side.

"What happened? Do you have a headache?" Sikander asked. "I heard from Ptolemy that you are overexerting yourself. I really appreciate you working so hard, but take time to breathe."

"I-I am fine. How is Roshanak?"

"She is doing well. She told me that you send her fruits regularly."

"It is good for a woman to consume them now. It's healthy for both her and the baby."

Sikander's face turned pale. "I am sorry for the mess we are in."

"What mess?"

"This– the incompleteness. That I-I must share myself."

Hridayank sat upright and faced the Shah. "It's alright. I have made peace with it." His chest burnt, but he ignored the sting. "You are a married man and you need children."

"We could have adopted one."

"It's a very naive idea, Shah. No one will accept an heir who doesn't share the blood of the Shah."

"I could have been the first one to implement it."

Hridayank didn't want to argue. He was going to climb down the bed, when Sikander wrapped his sturdy arms around his torso. "Be with me. I wasn't able to spend time with you these days."

"I am not upset, Shah. I understand you have your responsibilities. I also have things to look after."

"When you call me Shah even when we are alone, it means you are bitter."

Hridayank chuckled. He didn't know if it sounded mirthless or genuine. He didn't care. He couldn't ensure so much polishing to his act. "I am not, Sikander. I am just exhausted."

"You ought to be tired. Come, let me pamper you." Sikander pulled him down on the bed and then spooned him from behind. "Relax your muscles. You are very tense."

How can I not be? I am sleeping with a man who belongs lawfully to another. "I-I would like to be left alone."

"What?"

"Nothing. I just wish some solitude. You should go and sleep too."

"I want to sleep with you."

"The ministers don't like it when you stay here night to dawn. As a Shah, you must understand."

"Are...are you poking me?"

Hridayank gently placed a hand over his. "I am not, Sikander. But I think it will be better if we maintain distance."

When Sikander flinched, Hridayank didn't draw circles on the back of his palm or jumped to hug him tight. Sikander had to learn to be on his own.

He had made Sikander rely on him, and now he had to make the Shah flutter away. It was his own fault that he wasn't a woman. That despite being a man, he loved another. He had fallen in love first, not Sikander. At least that was how he liked to think about it.

"I-I never thought we would be talking about this," Sikander's quivering whisper send shivers down Hridayank's spine. "We had promised to be together."

"We will be together, Sikander. I love you and you love me, but we must stay away. We are grown men now. We can't fool around." He got up and took Sikander's hand, pulling him towards the door. "See, you have a family. Roshanak is your wife, soon-to-be the mother of your child. She deserves your undivided attention."

"She is my wife, Hridayank. She is not my love."

"A temple has many visitors." A sheen of tears coated his eyes. "A heart loves many times, Sikander. If you try, you will be able to have a home with her. That is what you should strive for. It is good for all of us."

"But–"

"No, listen to me, Sikander. You are now a Shah. We are not boys. We are older, and we have weight on our shoulders. Roshanak must be taken care of. She isn't here to be a plain object to decorate the palace with. She has her rights and wants. One day, she will demand that they be fulfilled."

"I had made it clear on our first night that this marriage was of convenience and we would rather be friends."

"If you have done that, you have wronged her." Hridayank glared. "You can't hurt a woman so easily and yet not be guilty."

"We are victim of circumstances."

Hridayank heaved a sigh. Sikander cupped his face, desperately closing in for a kiss, but he placed a hand over the Shah's mouth. "No, Sikander. You have to be loyal to your wife."

His eyes widened, laden with shock. "You depart from me, Hridayank?"

"I-I don't." He gulped. "I love you and always will. But time has changed and we must do what is asked of us by destiny."

Sikander retracted his hands, clenching his fist in a fit of suppressed rage. "You betray me."

"I don't–"

"Good night, Hridayank. Sweet dreams. Nightmares." Sikander kicked open the door and stormed out.

Hridayank watched him leave, his shadow lingering in the corridor, the restlessness of his raspy breath a melody to the ears.

"It is for the greater good." Hridayank closed the door and then rested on the bed. "It is for the greater good."

When Sikander was nineteen and had won his first war, he had taken Hridayank to the temple of Hera. There, in secrecy, they had exchanged vows.

Sikander had then spoken confidently: we will weather every tempest.

After many nights, Hridayank cried without the embrace of his beloved's arms.

word count: 1777 words
Word count: 30,021 words

I had all and then most of you
Some and now none of you