Page 48 of The Prince Without Sorrow
Chapter Forty-Seven
Ashoka
R AHIL WAS UNUSUALLY QUIET AS HE SPARRED WITH Ashoka. Only his pants and grunts rung in the humid air as he ducked and attacked him with precise, lethal parries. Ashoka let Rahil dwell in his silence. He knew better than to pounce on him during these moments of quietude. However, the silence eventually became so suffocating that he stopped mid-spar, dropped his sword, and stared Rahil down, eye-to-eye.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, voice softening. It always did when it came to Rahil.
‘Nothing,’ Rahil said.
‘I can tell when you’re lying too, you know.’
Rahil sighed. His voice was tinged with concern. ‘Ashoka, don’t you worry?’
‘About what?’
‘That in trying to reverse everything your father has done, you’re becoming more and more like him in the process.’
That stung Ashoka more than it should have. Especially since it had come out of Rahil’s mouth.
‘Do you not support me, Rahil?’ he asked him.
‘My memory isn’t so far addled that I’ve forgotten where my loyalties lie, Ashoka. I’m still on your side, and I always will be,’ Rahil shot him a frustrated look, ‘but I hope you don’t destroy the best part of you in mutinying and trying to take the throne.’
‘You think I’ll lose myself,’ Ashoka remarked. It hadn’t been a question.
‘No, I—’ Gingerly, Rahil stepped closer to him, a hand outstretched as if to grasp his. After a moment of hesitation, he let it fall limply to his side. Ashoka closed his eyes, infuriated. He wanted Rahil to hold his hand, but he didn’t. He wanted Rahil to embrace him. He wouldn’t.
‘Don’t,’ he said quietly. ‘Don’t hurt me by comparing me to a man who built his life on hate and killed the mayakari. I am not him; I will never be him. Never, never compare me to him, do you understand?’
Rahil said nothing and threw his sword onto the ground.
‘Spar without weapons,’ he ordered. Ashoka followed and, before he could make any objection, Rahil charged at him with determined ferocity.
Ashoka grappled Rahil the first chance he got. He attempted to pin Rahil’s arms above him, but Rahil was stronger. He elbowed Ashoka’s chest, catching him off-guard and making him wheeze. Before he could blink, Rahil had turned the tide, latching onto Ashoka’s shoulders and rolling on the ground so that he lay above him, chest pressing against his.
Ashoka couldn’t breathe. There it was again – wrath and desire. The need to claim victory, and the need to kiss Rahil senseless. But all those thoughts were shattered and rendered mute when Rahil next spoke:
‘A cruel Ashoka is not the Ashoka I know,’ he said quietly. ‘Do not become him.’
Underneath Rahil, Ashoka stilled.
‘I will not be cruel ,’ he frowned, pushing Rahil off him, ‘but I will not be soft. I don’t need you to judge me for what I do, only to follow me without question like the soldier you are and keep your opinions to yourself. You are not my moral compass, so don’t pretend to be.’
Rahil’s expression shuttered, and Ashoka regretted his words immediately. He wanted to rewind time, to take back what he’d said, but the world did not work that way.
He stood up quickly. ‘Rahil, I—’ he began, but Rahil was already picking himself up, brushing the dust from his upper body.
‘No need, Prince Ashoka,’ he said. The use of his title as an address hurt him more than anything else. Rahil hadn’t referred to him as Prince Ashoka when they were alone for a long time. ‘I’ll return to the soldiers and oversee their patrols.’
‘Rahil—’ Ashoka tried again, but to no avail, as Rahil picked up his scattered broadsword and strapped it to his back.
‘Your offensive punches still need refinement,’ Rahil advised him flatly. ‘Sometimes your aim is off, so I suggest you work on that. Is there anything else you need, Prince Ashoka?’
Ashoka felt his shoulders drop. He wanted to argue, but he respected Rahil enough to let him go.
‘No, Rahil,’ he said. ‘You’re free to go.’
As Rahil left him standing on the grass, face streaked with dirt and dust, Ashoka felt his heart crack in two.