Empire of India: Rise of the Ruthless Prince

"Your Majesty, the youngest prince has returned home from the Gulbarga base camp headed by General Venkata," reported the butler. He was a man with a timeworn expression, his hair as white as snow and his eyes cloudy. His face bore the marks of many years of service, and his stooped posture reflected the weight of his duties.

Holding a small book with his crooked fingers, he continued with a solemn expression, "We also received a report from the Royal Doctor's disciple, Aditya. It appears that after suffering a head injury, the prince may have lost his memories."

"That child always finds himself in some trouble or another," sighed the Empress, her worried expression betraying the strained relationship. For the past five years, since the passing of the prince's mother, the bond between the Prince and the rest of the royal family had shown no sign of recovery.

"The prince is headed here, Your Majesty," reported the butler.

"Very well... I didn't even have to summon him," the Empress sighed, disappointment and a touch of bitterness in her voice. She remembered their past relationship, once filled with hope and now marred by misunderstandings.

"Do you think he truly has lost his memories?" she asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the butler.

"It appears so, Your Majesty," he replied gently. "The report from Aditya was quite detailed."

The Empress nodded, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. "Let's see what he has to say," she finally said, straightening in her seat as she prepared to face the prince.

-Present

The door swung open, revealing a spacious room cluttered with books and papers scattered across numerous tables. The earthy scent of old books mingled with the woody fragrance of polished furniture. As Harsha stepped inside, the soft mumbles and murmurs of those discussing various matters came to an abrupt halt, replaced by a heavy silence as all eyes turned toward him.

Sitting before him, engrossed in various papers, was a woman draped in a luxurious yellow saree. The traditional sindoor on her forehead and minimalistic jewellery enhanced her elegance further. She appeared to be in her early 40s, with long jet-black hair neatly braided and adorned with a beautiful golden hairpin.

Her dignified aura was complemented by a sharp, authoritative gaze that commanded respect.

The Empress looked up from her papers, her eyes meeting Harsha's. "So, you have returned," she said, her voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of tension.

Harsha inclined his head slightly. "Yes, Your Majesty," he replied, his tone equally measured.

The Empress studied him for a moment, then gestured to the sofa. "Sit. We have much to discuss."

'So this is the Empress. She certainly has quite a strong presence,' Harsha thought as he met her eyes. He then sat down on the plush sofa in the room.

Standing beside the Empress was an old man who looked as ancient as the palace itself, holding various papers in his crooked hands. He supported his weight with a hunched back, wearing a traditional white kurta and a turban on his head. His presence exuded the wisdom of many years, hinting at a brilliance honed through decades of diligent work.

The Empress broke the silence, her voice steady. "Harsha, you've returned from the front lines. I trust you are well?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Harsha replied, "I am well enough."

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "I have heard about your injury. The doctor's report was umm... concerning."

His expression remained unchanged. "I am managing, Your Majesty."

The Empress sighed softly, concern etched on her face. "Do you have any memories left? Is it all a blank slate now?"

'Hmm... Should I go along with this 'no memory' situation or just remain vague?' Harsha pondered silently, contemplating his response to the Empress.

"I do remember some bits and pieces," Harsha began, "like how you are not my mother."

The Empress's expression remained composed, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of sadness. "Harsha, you know your mother passed away years ago,".

He knew the Empress wasn't his mother from the way she reacted to him and the demeanour she portrayed. Such fundamental aspects couldn't be altered overnight.

'If she were truly my mother, there would be more concern in her expression, and her actions would show more emotion,' Harsha reflected silently.

'She's clearly someone who had a strained relationship with the previous owner of this body. Nonetheless, that was useful information to have,' Harsha thought, acknowledging the insight gained.

The Empress sighed softly as she leaned back in her chair, straightening her posture before speaking. "Hmm... Very well, you may retire to your room and rest. I will have Aditya assigned to look after you," she said calmly.

'I need more information to navigate this mess,' Harsha thought, stroking his chin.

"Your Majesty, would you be able to do me a favour?" He inquired.

The Empress regarded him with a hint of curiosity. "What is it that you need, Harsha?" she asked, her voice calm but guarded. "Hmmm .. As long as it's within my authority and there would be no granting of monetary favours,"

"It's not a big favour. I would love it if you could have someone deliver me books about the Empire's History and the current map of the Subcontinent while I rest," requested Harsha, revealing a wry smile on his face.

'Information is the ultimate key to navigating successfully through these situations,' Harsha thought, recognizing the importance of knowledge in his current predicament. As the youngest prince and in line to the throne, he understood there could be threats to his life amidst the power struggles within the royal family.

The Empress was rather taken aback by his favour, but she decided to grant it regardless. "Very well. I will arrange it and have someone deliver it to your room by tomorrow morning."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I shall take my leave now," Harsha said as he slightly bowed and turned around to leave the Empress's Study.

As Harsha was walking out, the butler signalled to a guard to escort him to his room. The guard promptly guided him through the corridors of the Royal Complex, bowing respectfully before quickly returning to his post.

Harsha stepped into a large, softly lit room with a spacious bed and elegant decor. The room was well-maintained and decorated.

"Quite a comfortable room," He remarked aloud, surveying his surroundings with a nod of approval.

As Harsha approached the bed, he heard a faint rustling sound coming from the sheets. Instinctively, He sprang into action, swiftly seizing the figure that emerged from the sheets by the neck and lifting them up to see their face.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Harsha demanded as he stared intensely into the startled eyes of the unknown intruder.

The intruder was a lightly dressed, beautiful woman with striking amber eyes and long black hair that flowed down her shoulders like a veil of midnight silk. Her face flushed red with exertion as she gasped for breath, her body wriggling futilely against Harsha's firm grip.

Harsha looked at her struggling with an indifferent gaze, quickly determining she posed no threat. He released his grip, letting her drop to the hard, tiled floor. She gasped and coughed for breath, clutching her pale neck where red marks now stood out starkly.

He sat back on the edge of the bed, crossing his legs as he looked down upon the gasping woman with a cold gaze. The dim light cast shadows across his face, emphasizing his seriousness.

"Who are you?" His voice cut through the tense silence, demanding answers. "And why are you here?"

"I am your Personal Maid, Rukmini," the woman managed to say in a hoarse voice, clutching her neck and looking up at Harsha with teary eyes.

"Why are you in my bed?" Harsha questioned sternly, his gaze fixed on her as he awaited an explanation.

"Your Highness," she began hesitantly, her voice strained from the earlier ordeal, "I was informed of your arrival after a long journey. I thought you might need "special" time to relax and rest, to heal from your injuries."

He quickly grasped the maid's implication. He had no interest in indulging in debaucherous acts. He analysed the woman with a calculating gaze. Lacking memories to verify any prior relationship with her, he remained cautious.

'Hmm, she's not worth the risk, at least for now,' he murmured to himself, shifting his gaze towards the window with disinterest.

"Get out of the room," he stated firmly, his voice devoid of emotion as he dismissed her without sparing another glance at the woman seated on the cold, tiled floor.

"But, Your Highness—" she spoke, her voice trembling slightly as she spoke.

"Don't make me repeat myself!" he interjected sharply, his eyes narrowing with displeasure.

Her hands shook as she hurriedly gathered her clothes. "I'm sorry, Your Highness," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, before hastily leaving the room. The memory of his cold, unyielding gaze lingered in her mind as she closed the door behind her.