Page 13 of The Desert Prince's Jewel
I flinch from the force of Jaideep’s grip, only to hear something akin to sizzling in the air. My attacker’s hand slips to my hand, yanking, but it’s like an invisible explosion drives us apart this time around. As I whip around, I’m shocked to find a mask of terror mixed with venomous rage on Jaideep’s face, fangs flashing.
Why do I have a bad habit of pissing off nagas?I lament, silent and scared shitless.
“Hissssss?” Jaideep hisses in question—if that’s a thing. The upturn on the last few s’s and his quirked brow led me to believe that nagas can.
I flinch away, cradling my singed hand. I move my palm to my face slowly, as if delaying the sight will lower the cost of the medical bill. To my shock, it’s not burned. It’s buzzing like I slept on it wrong for a few hours, but my hand isn’t burned.
“Strange,” I whisper as I try to rub the pain away, backing up as Jaideep hisses low in his throat.
“Be gone from me,” Jaideep says, a smile on his lips and murder shooting from his gaze. “And don’t ssshow your face the rest of the night in my presence, ssservant.”
I don’t have to be told twice. I’m well versed in the art of avoiding asshole nagas and faithfully execute Jaideep’s order, slipping back into the background as the dinner party gets into full swing. I avoid him the rest of the night, keeping my head low, mouth closed, and ears shut, squeezing my hand every so often.
It’s not burned, but the sting ofsomethingbuzzes through my veins. And Jaideep looks sour every time I catch his attention. But I do what I do best, keeping to the shadows until I’m nothing more than an annoying gnat that’s forgotten. He’s staring at everyone else like their giant horse flies fluttering around shit, so a gnat goes unnoticed. And, after a while, I forget our strange interaction altogether.
After it’s all said and done and the catering van is parked at the storefront, it’s past three a.m. when I find a secluded motel to park in. I debate sleeping outside but decide against it, so I take my greasy burger and fries and get a room for three nights, using my own funds to supplement the taxes.
Once washed up and in bed, I curl up and pass out. I can’t help but dream of Ranbir’s golden gaze, cold hands, and stubbornlytipped chiseled chin, to push away the shadow of Jaideep’s angry expression haunting my dreams like a lingering nightmare.
In this dream, Ranbir’s sweet and gentle, not fucking me within an inch of my life in some awful wet dream, or cursing me out. He holds me too close for comfort, strokes my hair as I lie on his chest, and whispers about how he told me to stay away from evil men.
CHAPTER SEVEN
RANBIR
Adisaster is the understatement of the century when it comes to my first meeting with Mateo five weeks ago—five long weeks also spent observing hotel security footage, responding to suspicious bumps in the night, and getting no closer to the stone. All because I couldn’t keep my cocks in check in front of a suspected thief. If my father hadn’t already disowned me, I would soon have to commit ritual suicide from the shame.
“You’re being dramatic, my prince,” Kunal says, clapping my shoulder suddenly. “You’ll cause your skin to wrinkle with all your frowning, hemming, and hawing.
I jump from the shock, looking at him as he unclips his flashlight from his belt. It’s late in the evening, which means our shift has just begun. But the rest of the city, and the hotel guests, are winding down for the night.
Well, the ones with any common sense. I’ve already broken up an argument with a belligerent drunkard and his fuming girlfriend. And now we’re gearing up for our mind-numbing rounds.
“Where’s Rohan?” I ask, ignoring how intune Kunal is with my inner turmoil.
To my chagrin, Kunal presses the issue, keeping a respectable distance behind me while giving me a firm tongue lashing. You’d think he was fifteen years older than me, not five.
“Don’t be so down on yourself. Instead, attempt to make amends. That’s a better strategy to get the barista to talk now that we know Mateo’s an unlikely culprit,” Kunal says with the wisdom of a sage. “Otherwise, we’ll end up in this unfortunate position until when? Your father passes, and you return to slay your younger brothers and cousins? Nieces and nephews? Will you fend off a challenge from Princess Aarti when she’s older and seeking revenge?”
I flinch hard, then nod, knowing he’s right but resisting with every flexible bone in my body to do just that.
“But I must do it,” I murmur, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
It didn’t take long to find out more about Mateo Torres online. His parents’ murder, as hard as it is to admit, was a murder, and it haunts me more than I care to admit. I didn’t kill them, but ruling over their likely assassins doesn’t sit right with me. It seems that even if they were guilty, they were but a cog in a bigger machine. More than ever, I believe the two crimes are connected in some way.
It weighs on me, this knowledge, because the more I dug into his past while watching Mateo at the cafe, the more I realized I’d made a grave mistake. Other than being related to them, Mateo was and is utterly incapable of stealing anything from Thar. For one, he doesn’t even have a passport. I overheard as much whenhe was yapping away with the ombre-haired barista. And his digital footprint all but confirmed it.
He’s a child of Oregon and will probably die here. He has neither the money, resources, connections, skillsets, nor motive to destabilize the Thar throne. And like an idiot, I accused him of such without even considering how old he was when his parents died. A ten-year-old lower-class mortal, even as an older man with a fifteen-year-old grudge under his belt, does not have the means to pull off this heist. If I’d been thinking with my rational brain rather than my cock and rage, I would’ve seen that before I confronted Mateo.
And then, when Dimitri popped onto my radar, I realized I’d been barking up the wrong tree trunk all along. Or is it tree? I forget how the idiom goes. Anyway, his connections to an upcoming art exhibit have intrigued me, this art-loving mobster with international connections. And now I’m stuck with the knowledge that Mateo is owed an apology. He probably deserves one on my knees.
I suck my teeth, my mind wandering to the memory of the Coral Kingdom’s crown prince, Seero, and the words of wisdom I shared with him at the fountain on the art of seduction. I have met a few other runaway princes since taking up residence in the hotel, but Seero sees me as some sort of love guru, probably because of my playboy reputation that doesn’t end at the shores. What can I say? I like variety in my nest.
Bring him somewhere private, just you and him, and make the man comfortable, will you? Set a mood. Set the scene. And that will make it easier to admit your intentions.
I sounded like a real guru. I was proud of myself back then. But now, my advice is a bitter pill to swallow. I have to corner Mateo, take him somewhere quiet, and then…
And then I, Ranbir Vikram, former and future Crown Prince of the Thar Desert Kingdom, must grovel before the son of a thief and current barista.
