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Before that, he had known she was a princess from Gwalior, knew some history about her kingdom as he did about most kingdoms in India.

He knew about her uncle, the king. Not much about her father, except that he ran their family businesses.

He knew she had joined Saraswati Crest in Dehradun a few weeks before he had this year. She and her elder sister.

“Samarth, get up, let her pass,” Ms. Veda directed.

He frowned inwardly. He liked his window seat.

Even so, Samarth stood to his feet and slipped out of the bench to let her pass and claim his window seat.

He saw with yearning eyes as she sank down on the smooth lightwood seat, occupying that place which he had cherished all of his first term here.

It overlooked the hills and the stables in the distance, horses neighing all through the first four periods until they were let out by Hari Bhai to run in the pen.

Then onwards it was a wonderland. Horses running, being put through their daily trots, worked to get ready for polo practise.

“Your bag,” she called out.

Samarth reached down and dragged his bag away from near her knees, vacating the spot for her to stow her bag.

He hated doing it, but he did it anyway, because Ms. Veda was a downright strict teacher.

She was great, her periods were fun once she got started on her English Lit chapters.

But she commanded discipline. And as their class teacher, her new plan for discipline in this second term was to shuffle their seats.

Some backbenchers had gotten too ‘cosy.’

Samarth glanced back at the said backbenchers — the stupid couples who couldn’t stop sitting together and mumbling nonstop. Now he had lost his window seat with his horses thanks to them.

“Now if everybody has finished chitchatting with their new partners, can we have our Rapid Readers open?”

The chatter in the class began to settle.

Samarth reached inside his bag for his copy of The Happy Prince and Other Tales by Oscar Wilde, eyes on the window.

His bench partner leaned forward with her books and his view got cut off.

A loud neigh reverberated. Samarth’s hackles rose.

Another neigh followed. It must be the twin horses.

Cherry and Chakor. They weren’t really twins.

In fact, Hari Bhai had to keep them away from each other because they were…

attracted to each other that way. Cherry was a brown stallion and Chakor was a milk-white mare.

Both were the same height and build. Samarth dreamed of riding them both, but especially Chakor. She had a mean temper.

“Why are you staring like a creep?”

“Huh?” Samarth frowned.

“Why are you looking at…” she scratched her cheek, eyeing the spot sideways. “My jaw.”

“That’s it!” Ms. Veda’s loud holler cut through his response. Samarth turned, just in time to flinch as her book slapped on her table. She shot daggers. Not at him, but at the girl beside him.

“I made you sit next to the quietest child in the class and you got him talking too! If I let you, you’ll be talking to the walls next! What should I do with you, child?!”

“I wasn’t talki…”

“Quiet! Samarth, you move from there. Go sit with…”

Samarth felt the panic. His horses.

“No, Ms. Veda… I mean… I am fine here.”

“She will not let you sit in peace and I do not want another Ava-convert in this class.”

Samarth schooled his features, giving Ms. Veda his most reassuring smile. It always worked on his father, his Dadi, and his Dada Sarkar. The only person it did not work on was Hira ben. But Hira ben knew everything. He had no way of sneaking out of her radar.

“I will not talk,” Samarth promised. Ms. Veda gave him a look, torn between helplessness and pity. Then looked past him and glared.

“Ava.’

“I will not talk,” her small voice echoed from beside him. Some snickers from benches behind them and Ms. Veda’s attention shifted.

Samarth turned to sit straight, his back going ramrod erect, just as he had been taught in his homeschooling all his life in Nawanagar.

That’s how one studied. Back straight, shoulders taught, neck relaxed.

That’s also how one sat. As a prince, as the heir apparent, these were lessons so ingrained in him that sometimes it became difficult to separate them from his natural movements.

In fact, they were a part of his natural movements, just like his father.

For Samarth, his father was the ideal — how a man should behave, how a king must conduct himself.

Upright, confident, walking and sitting with the right set of shoulders.

He never remembered his father teaching these things to him.

But he remembered observing all of it and trying to ape him, right down to holding his hands behind his back while standing casually. His Papa did that all the time.

“Chill, she is not looking,” his new bench partner murmured low. Samarth frowned at her.

“Ms. Veda,” she mouthed.

He kept his mouth shut. What would he tell this chatterbox, window-seat-thief that this was how he studied? What would she even understand — the careless princess of Gwalior. It was wasted on her, this explanation.

“Samarth, eraser?” Jai nudged him from behind. He reached inside his pencil pouch, pulled out his newest eraser and passed it over his shoulder.

“Wow, what’s this?” His bench partner chimed again, reaching for the miniature wooden horse charm fallen from his pouch between them.

It was broken off from its keychain, a gift that his mentor, Maan bhai had given him after his victory at the Cartier Queen’s Cup.

Samarth had been lucky to witness that match live at Guards Polo Club in Berkshire.

Maan bhai — Kunwar Maan Sinh Devgadh and his horse Pawan had all but painted the ground in dust.

The shreds of his eraser blew from over his shoulder as Jai puffed his paper clean.

Samarth blinked out of his thoughts and tried to turn his mind from Maan bhai’s winning tail shot.

He had so effortlessly swung his mallet behind the horse’s hind legs and the next thing they knew — the ball was gone. Golden goal.

“Hello? I am talking to you,” his bench partner hissed again, under her breath.

“‘Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “far away across the city I see a young man in a garret,” Ms. Veda read out, all eyes into their Rapid Reader book. Samarth too focused his eyes there, in The Happy Prince. It wasn’t really the story of a prince but of a gold statue of a prince.

It was erected in the middle of a town square.

His smile was so bright that they named him ‘The Happy Prince.’ But he was also kind.

So kind that he was talking to a bird, urging her to pick the precious jewels embedded on his body and take them to help the poor of the town.

“Hello…” his bench partner tried again but her voice was cut off as Ms. Veda stopped reading — “Ava, why don’t you continue from here?”

“Me?”

“Let’s make another tradition for the second term. Everybody reads our Rapid Readers in parts. Why must you only study it. Read it here, enjoy it. Go on, Ava.”

She cleared her throat and pushed to her feet, his horse charm still clutched in her hand.

All eyes were on them, and his bench partner was confidently turning the pages of her Rapid Reader, smiling.

Samarth saw how she was crushing his horse charm in her hand.

He gently held her fist and her churning stopped.

If she went any harder she would break whatever was left of it.

“Twelve,” he whispered with his mouth closed and was successful in prying his horse charm out of her hands as she found the right page. But again, panicked eyes over a brilliant smile turned to him. Samarth rolled his eyes, pinning his finger over the line in his own book.

And without a hitch, with the most confident, impressive voice he had ever heard, she began to read — ““Alas! I have no ruby now,” said the Prince; “my eyes are all that I have left. They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out of India a thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them and take it to him. He will sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish his play.””

Samarth observed how the class was silent. Even those backbenchers had stopped snickering. But then, they had all been separated, one of them right by his side.

““Dear Prince,” said the Swallow, “I cannot do that”; and he began to weep.” His bench partner injected all the emotion into her reading, her voice contorting with every word, making her look different from all the girls in the class, in the foyer, in school.

Samarth forgot about his horse charm still clutched in his hand as he kept looking at her from his perch, his neck bent at an awkward angle.

“So the Swallow plucked out the Prince’s eye, and flew away to the student’s garret…”

She took a dramatic pause, her eyes now big as they opened fully. Had she been half-asleep all last term?

The shrill ring of the bell signalled the end of the period and she stopped.

“Alright, take a break. Have your water if you wish to. Ms. Nandini will be taking your Math this term. I have spoken to her, and all your other teachers. This seating arrangement will prevail throughout the term. Nobody will change their places, nobody will switch partners. And I do not want to hear complaints about my class from any other teachers. I’ll see you in the last period. ”

As the class loosened up around them, Samarth began to stand up and move away. She would want to go out and loiter until Ms. Nandini came. And he would get a few minutes by the window.

“Where are you going?” She pinched the edge of his tucked shirt and tugged.

“You will want to go and meet your friends, no?”

“Who friends?”

“Advay and Sanya and the lot.”

“They are not my friends.”