The morning was dull to say the least after the never ending nightmare of yesterday.
Rudra sat at his desk writing detailed reports to his father about the 'incident' of yesterday. Teresa Williams' letter sat at one corner of his desk. He didn't know why he brought it with himself when he had come. He had told himself the letter would help him to remember the appointment in the evening. Three times. He had told himself this same excuse three times.
"Your Highness?"
By the door stood Kesh. He had been patched up. Mostly. There was a tape across his nose. His lips split. There was a purplish yellow bruise right on his cheekbone. But his eyes were clear.
"The Royale Healer had examined the bodies of the shapeshifters, including Suba."
"This fast?" Rudra asked. He didn't look up, he kept writing the report- number of casualty- both of animal and human, distinct feature of the shapeshifters, Suba....
Any talk about Saroth made Rudra uncomfortable. But Kesh didn't need to know that. So Rudra kept his head down, working or pretending to work.
"Atleast that is what he claims," Kesh said carefully, "He is eager to summerize you about the report in person."
There it was.
"Tell him I am busy."
"Understood, Your Highness," bowed Kesh. But he didn't leave. He remained stood, waiting. Rudra looked up, "Anything else?"
"Thank you Your Highness," said the Hunter, "Because of you I am alive."
"It was my duty," Rudra reasoned.
"You chose human beings over shapeshifters."
".. don't make me regret," he looked back to the papers before him. Something in Kesh's eyes made him uncomfortable. Something soft and tender- like a patch of cloud. Rudra didn't know what to do with that.
"Your Highness, your mother..," Kesh started.
"Is dead," Rudra finished flatly.
"Ofcourse," Kesh whispered. He stood quiet for few moments again. And then asked, "...How....?"
"Jumped." One word. Adequate explanation.
"...Is that why your quarter doesn't have any windows, Your Highness?" Abruptly asked Kesh.
The writing feather in Rudra hand broke with a snap, "Careful," he warned, "You are prying too much, Head Hunter."
Kesh understood. But he didn't look afraid. He took three steps back, bowed, "My humblest apology, Your Highness," he bowed, "I shall leave you to attend to your business."
And then he was gone. But Rudra sat frozen. Kesh had been too close, far too close to seeing who Rudra actually was. And he hated it, hated how it made his chest tighten. He looked away at Teresa Williams' letter.
His heart felt a little lighter.
Another knock, "Your Highness?"
It was Saroth. Creep.
"I am busy," Rudra said. He couldn't help but look at the closed door.
It was quiet. Too quiet- not the kind that follows from absence of a departure but the kind that comes with someone patiently waiting.
"You are being childish," said Saroth, conversationally from the other side of the door, like he was talking about weather. He didn't sound angry or even offended. His tone was a mixture of mild fondness and fascination. There was no heat in it- the words sinking into Rudra's chest like a cold smooth blade.
Rudra couldn't argue, couldn't speak. He wasn't afraid because Dragons didn't feel fear , they didn't feel the need to flee. But he found himself getting frozen. And he felt a heavy weight on his chest like someone has put a wet blanket on him- making it barely hard for him to breath. Barely.
"Your Highness," Saroth spoke again, there was a softness in his voice, not like how Kesh had spoken, it was different , "You mustn't treat Healers like we are mere staffs of the palace. We are miracle workers, Your Highness. People worship us as gods."
Rudra didn't speak. Couldn't. Just yesterday, Rudra had faced things which should have terrified him and felt mostly interested, battle-calm. But now he was sitting in his own office, in his own chair, his own territory- and his heart was beating faster than it should be over the voice of a man he could kill in just a breath.
And then the handle moved and Rudra stopped breathing.
He wouldn't. He couldn't....
The handle didn't move enough for the door to fall open but enough that it was clear that Saroth was just testing the lock and he knew Rudra hadn't locked the door.
But Saroth didn't open the door- which was somehow far worse than any physical sound he had caused Rudra.
It was the fact that he had the power to walk into the room going against Rudra's order while Rudra would sit there frozen letting him do what he wanted- a fact he was well aware.
"You will come around," spoke Saroth, satisfied, "You will feel grateful to healers. To me."
And then he was just gone.
Rudra heard south of Saroth's footsteps-unhurried, even, completely unruffled. But Rudra couldn't look away from the door- long after Saroth had gone, long after the corridor outside had gone completely still.
The rest of the morning Rudra stared at the reports without reading a line. He hadn't gone hunting all day, didn't have the heart for that. He skipped the lunch- his appetite had left with Saroth.
Late afternoon, he headed to the garden not out of curiosity but from pure sense of duty. He had made a promise and he was determined to keep it.
He sat on the stone bench under a Neem Tree, waiting.
Rudra knew the exact moment Teresa Williams had entered the garden, he could hear her quiet footsteps all the way from the gate. When she finally neared him Rudra didn't look up- not immediately - letting her close the distance first.
He had learned a long time ago that looking up immediately might give the other person power over you. He let her think she hadn't noticed.
When she was close enough, Rudra finally looked up. She was .... different. Not a bad different, just different. Like someone seeings sandstone, sea and Jasmine all his life seeing the mountain tops and snow for the first time. She was the colour of something that didn't belong in Partha. Her hair was pale gold- not the warm gold of harvested wheat or rice - but something paler- like it was coated with dying moonlight. Her eyes were blue - not sky blue - but something colder.
She was small. Well, most people are small from his Vantage point and Rudra had stopped registering shortness of height as a remarkable trait years ago, but Teresa Williams was small enough that Rudra could look at her at eye-level just by fully sitting on the bench. In her hand was a box which she held like she couldn't decide whether she should keep it or throw it away.
This was the girl who had thrown away six unfinished letters from her window on Rudra yesterday.
Rudra felt something in his chest. Not fear. Not delight. Not anger.
Just a sense of calmness one feels when faced with something inevitable.
This was Teresa Williams - and somehow somehow Rudra knew this woman would be end of him.