Page 1 of A King's Oath

PART I: THE PRINCE

— SAMARTH —

1. 7-B, 8-E, 9-A

The first time Samarth noticed her was on the first day of the second term of standard seventh. In the corner row of Class 7-B, as Ms. Veda stood shuffling their bench places, Samarth noticed her like he would anybody else. Just another girl, hair tied up in a high ponytail, white shirt tucked into her grey plaid skirt, a hot pink bag slung over one shoulder. She looked like all the other girls in their class, in their foyer, in their school.

Before that, he had known she was a princess from Gwalior, knew some history about her kingdom as he did about most kingdoms in India. He knew about her uncle, the king. Not much about her father, except that he ran their family businesses. He knew she had joined Saraswati Crest in Dehradun a few weeks before he had this year. She and her elder sister.

“Samarth, get up, let her pass,” Ms. Veda directed. He frowned inwardly. He liked his window seat. Even so, Samarth stood to his feet and slipped out of the bench to let her pass and claim his window seat. He saw with yearning eyes as she sank down on the smooth lightwood seat, occupying that place which he had cherished all of his first term here. It overlooked the hills and the stables in the distance, horses neighing all through the first four periods until they were let out by Hari Bhai to run in the pen. Then onwards it was a wonderland. Horses running, being put through their daily trots, worked to get ready for polo practise.

“Your bag,” she called out.

Samarth reached down and dragged his bag away from near her knees, vacating the spot for her to stow her bag. He hated doing it, but he did it anyway, because Ms. Veda was a downright strict teacher. She was great, her periods were fun once she got started on her English Lit chapters. But she commanded discipline. And as their class teacher, her new plan for discipline in this second term was to shuffle their seats. Some backbenchers had gotten too ‘cosy.’

Samarth glanced back at the said backbenchers — the stupid couples who couldn’t stop sitting together and mumbling nonstop. Now he had lost his window seat with his horses thanks to them.

“Now if everybody has finished chitchatting with their new partners, can we have our Rapid Readers open?”

The chatter in the class began to settle. Samarth reached inside his bag for his copy of The Happy Prince and Other Tales by Oscar Wilde, eyes on the window. His bench partner leaned forward with her books and his view got cut off. A loud neigh reverberated. Samarth’s hackles rose. Another neigh followed. It must be the twin horses. Cherry and Chakor. They weren’t really twins. In fact, Hari Bhai had to keep them away from each other because they were… attracted to each other that way. Cherry was a brown stallion and Chakor was a milk-white mare. Both were the same height and build. Samarth dreamed of riding them both, but especially Chakor. She had a mean temper.

“Why are you staring like a creep?”

“Huh?” Samarth frowned.

“Why are you looking at…” she scratched her cheek, eyeing the spot sideways. “My jaw.”

“That’s it!” Ms. Veda’s loud holler cut through his response. Samarth turned, just in time to flinch as her book slapped on her table. She shot daggers. Not at him, but at the girl beside him.

“I made you sit next to the quietest child in the class and you got him talking too! If I let you, you’ll be talking to the walls next! What should I do with you, child?!”

“I wasn’t talki…”

“Quiet! Samarth, you move from there. Go sit with…”

Samarth felt the panic.His horses.

“No, Ms. Veda… I mean… I am fine here.”

“She will not let you sit in peace and I do not want another Ava-convert in this class.”

Samarth schooled his features, giving Ms. Veda his most reassuring smile. It always worked on his father, his Dadi,andhis Dada Sarkar. The only person it did not work on was Hira ben. But Hira ben knew everything. He had no way of sneaking out of her radar.

“I will not talk,” Samarth promised. Ms. Veda gave him a look, torn between helplessness and pity. Then looked past him and glared.

“Ava.’

“I will not talk,” her small voice echoed from beside him. Some snickers from benches behind them and Ms. Veda’s attention shifted.

Samarth turned to sit straight, his back going ramrod erect, just as he had been taught in his homeschooling all his life in Nawanagar. That’s how one studied. Back straight, shoulders taught, neck relaxed. That’s also how one sat. As a prince, as the heir apparent, these were lessons so ingrained in him thatsometimes it became difficult to separate them from his natural movements. In fact, they were a part of his natural movements, just like his father.

For Samarth, his father was the ideal — how a man should behave, how a king must conduct himself. Upright, confident, walking and sitting with the right set of shoulders. He never remembered his father teaching these things to him. But he remembered observing all of it and trying to ape him, right down to holding his hands behind his back while standing casually. His Papa did that all the time.

“Chill, she is not looking,” his new bench partner murmured low. Samarth frowned at her.

“Ms. Veda,” she mouthed.

He kept his mouth shut. What would he tell this chatterbox, window-seat-thief that this was how he studied? What would she even understand — the careless princess of Gwalior. It was wasted on her, this explanation.

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