The Return Of The Forgotten Prince

The anger had passed, but the love remained. Later, as they sat in Vikrant’s chamber, a plate of food was placed before Viraat. He was about to pick up a spoon when Vikrant took it instead, scooping a bite and holding it out to him.

Viraat blinked. "Are you serious?"

Vikrant raised an eyebrow. "You have a problem with your elder brother feeding you?"

Viraat huffed. "I’m not five."

Aryan, lounging beside them, smirked. "But you did act like one by sneaking out."

Viraat groaned, but when Vikrant pushed the spoon closer, he begrudgingly took the bite. The taste of home-cooked food soothed something in him, something he hadn’t realized he needed.

By the time the meal was done, Viraat found himself lying on Vikrant’s lap, his head resting comfortably.

"Don’t think this means you’re forgiven," Vikrant murmured, running a hand through his hair.

Viraat yawned, exhaustion finally creeping in. "I know, bhai…"

His eyes fluttered shut, and for the first time in a long while, he felt at peace.

Despite the chaos, despite the unanswered questions—he was home.

----

Keshav had always been a free spirit, and rules? They were more like suggestions to him. So, when he saw the restricted area of the grand Rajvansh Palace, his curiosity had taken over.

"I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?" he had told himself.

But now, standing frozen in place with two guards pointing their guns at him, he regretted every single life decision that had led him here.

His usual lively brown eyes were wide with panic, his lean frame stiff, hands slightly trembling. Keshav wasn’t used to feeling scared—he was used to talking his way out of things, flashing his easygoing smile, and making everyone laugh.

But right now?

He couldn't even think straight.

His heart pounded against his ribs, and his hands slowly raised in surrender. For the first time in his life, he felt real fear.

One of the guards barked, "Who are you? How did you get in?"

Keshav opened his mouth, but his throat felt dry. He had seen guns in movies, sure, but this? This was different. This was real.

"I-I was just—" he stammered, his usual confidence completely shattered.

His messy black hair, usually falling casually over his forehead, now stuck to his skin with sweat. The tan complexion of his face had paled slightly under the sheer panic of having guns aimed at him.

"Intruder," the second guard muttered, eyes narrowing. "He might be a spy."

SPY?! Keshav’s brain screamed in panic. Dude, I get lost in my own city. How on earth do I look like a spy?!

But before he could even try to protest, a powerful voice cut through the air.

"Lower your weapons."

The guards hesitated for only a moment before obeying instantly.

A man stepped forward—tall, commanding, and carrying an aura of undeniable authority.

Vikrant Singh Rajvansh.

Dressed in a well-fitted navy blue sherwani, the fabric embroidered with intricate gold designs, Vikrant looked like he had just walked out of a royal portrait. His sharp jawline, neatly trimmed beard, and piercing dark brown eyes held an intensity that could make even the bravest men uneasy.