Page 17 of A King's Oath

“Oh my gaawd, Samarth! Come to the poi…”

“My serious is for a long time.”

Her rant was cut short. Her jaw hinged back up and those cherry lips pursed into a thin line.

“See? Scared, Ava?”

“How long?”

“Pretty long.”

“You mean… marriage and all?” Her eyes widened.

Samarth chuckled — “You would say yes to marriage at 15?”

“If Siddharth Malhotra asked then yes.”

Had she always been this adorable? Samarth controlled his features with years of practise as Kunwar and got himself to utter the next few words very seriously.

“No, Ava,” he said. "I am not saying marriage and all. I am saying… it’s not for a term or a year. Or even until school ends. I am not… that type.”

“I know.”

“That is why — think. It will be all fun and games later, but this one thing, be serious with me, please. I don’t want something that doesn’t last.”

She looked out into the rolling fields behind him, the sun slowly softening in the sky. He could feel the rays go cooler on the side of his face. Time ticked, birds cawing as they crossed the sky above them in a wild flock.

“I am leaving for Rajsamand Open tomorrow,” Samarth informed her. “My tournament starts this weekend and ends next Wednesday.”

“Oh…”

“I am telling you so that you get the space to think.”

“Space?”

“If I am around, we will again start acting like we did before. And I love that and want to be like that. But now you have time. Until this weekend, and even after that. Whenever you want to let me know.”

4. Whipped

Samarth saddled Bodhi’s back and patted his neck. The smells of hay and sun and manure lifted the air around him, bringing the hustle and bustle to a quiet halt inside his head. He grabbed a brush and ran it down Bodhi’s mane, nuzzling him there and quietly winding his arms around him to give him a hug. After this, he would be all tough love.

“Let’s start with a bang, Bodhi,” Samarth murmured to him. “First chukker is yours, set the pace.”

Bodhi nickered — his soft, easy acceptance of the strategy.

“Good boy!” Samarth patted him just as Coach strode into the stables. They had been given the smaller stables in the Rajsamand Polo Club but this one had more lighting.

“Boys, line up,” Coach Singh clapped his hands together. He was a massive man, 6 ft something — broad shoulders, bulky chest. Samarth used to pity the horse when Coach got on top of one. But when he tended to them after, Samarth wouldn’t find them too strained. Then Coach had taught him the tricks of managing weight, balancing the centre of gravity, and keeping the mount from getting tired too easily.

“Samarth, done babying them?” Coach demanded, and his teammates burst into chuckles.

“Done, Coach,” Samarth came and took his spot at Number 2, clasping his hands in front of him, right hand over left wrist.All three of his teammates had already lined up, hands clasped in front of them. Number 1 was Kush — Kushal Singh Bedi of Patiala. His job was to play in the opponent’s half of the field, attacking aggressively. He had to be fast, and Kush’s reflexes were unmatched.

“Did you kiss him good luck?” Kush elbowed him.

“He was traumatised by the last one to kiss him,” Samarth ribbed back, nudging his elbow.

He played Number 2, owing to his superior riding skills and the ability to control offence as well as defence. Number 3, their Captain and senior — Gopinath Gaikwad strategised on the go and brought his experience to the field. While their Number 4 — Vishu, or Vishwadev from the Mysore Royal House, played the defender. He shadowed the Number 1 of the opponent and blocked his goals.

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