𝒀𝒂𝒌𝒔𝒉𝒂 (𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖴𝗇𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖬𝗂𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗅𝖾)

19. The Hidden Face

A/N: This chapter will contain a brief description of blood and degradation. Please don't report it because you don't like it.

Rashid's POV

"Sultan! Are you not listening?" Amir nudged me from the side.
"No. I am. Please continue."

I nodded at the advisor. His voice again became distant and unclear. Honestly I wasn't listening. He was back to worrying about the supposedly war.

While I could only think about my recently found new obsession. I could only think about Yaksha.

That little teaser thought she could put up the act of being strong in front of me. Little does she know she is nothing in front of my dominance. One look, one touch and she melts like a little baby.

She is like a little prey I found in the woods. One that I would like to tame, control, dominate. And I would. I am almost there. She likes to be chased and I like hunting. What are the odds! She keeps forgetting a prey is to be hunted down by a predator and get devoured.

She belongs to me now. Where would she run off to? Wherever she goes, she would still be in my territory.

But I don't like how my hands still burns from touching her last night or how her skin reminds me of the finest silk, which is to be praised or wrapped around my hands.

"Sultan. He is here. It's done." Amir whispered to me.

I rest my hand on the arm-set of the throne,putting my fingers in a fist letting my face rest on it and cross my legs awaiting for the moment I was ready for.

Finally. It was only a matter of time before it happened.

"Bring him in. And not with respect,drag him down here."

I stood up from my throne and stepped down. I could see my attendees dragging a man without any respect as told. I could see the fear and frustration in his eyes. But I was done giving them chances. I was done showing respect. He looked distraught,all messed up.

Dried blood was all over his face and body. His clothes now coloured in dried red crimson colour. My soldiers listens to me so well. Unlike my disobedient little wife. But it's not a problem,she will learn that soon.

I bend down slightly to face the said man. "So, how does it feel to be here,on your knees and stripped out of your position?"

"Ma-maafi,sultan. Humein maaf kar dijiye. Humse bhul ho gayi hain. Hu-"
( For-forgive me sultan. Please forgive me. I made a mistake. I-)

"Tsk,tsk,tsk. Bohot der nehi ho gayi hain Vikrant ji? Dubara mauka mile toh aap toh wahi gustakhi karenge. Baki aur char bar ki tarah."
(Isn't it too late Vikrant? If given a second chance you will repeat the same mistake. Like other four times.)

"Nehi! Esa kuch nehi hoga. Hum vachan dete hain." He sobbed touching my feet.
( No! Nothing such will happen. I promise to you.)

"Don't touch my feet. You are older than me." I nodded at Amir. He knows what I want. He hands me my sword.

The edge touches the neck of the man who is currently kneeling in front of me. Oh how I love the look of a defeated man,keeling in front of me. The look of defeat,the look of giving up, the look of begging to spare him mercy.

"Kitne saal ho gaye hain Vikrant ji?" I asked lifting his chin with the head of my sword.
( How many years has it been Vikrant ji?)

He look at me with confusion.

Kitne saal ho gaye hain aapne pehli dafa humse kaha tha dobora ye gustakhi nehi karenge? Aur kitne baar kaha hain aaj tak apne? Sach puche toh hum khud bhi ginti gawa chuke hain aapke is jhut ke.