CHAPTER 2: THE WEIGHT OF COMPARISON

The dawn wanted its welcoming presence to light everyone by heart—golden fingers of sunlight creeping over the ancient walls of Vajrangar, painting the sky in shades of coral and amber. Birds sang. Flowers bloomed. The kingdom stirred to life with the gentle hum of a new day.

But for Yuvraj Krivansh Vaajra?

It wasn't.

He stood on the balcony of his chambers, arms crossed, hazel eyes fixed on the horizon as if it had personally offended him. The morning breeze played with his long black hair—still loose, still wild, still refusing to be tamed. His jaw was tight. His shoulders tense.

Because again.

Again, he had heard it.

"The Senapati is truly remarkable."

"Dhurvavindra Dev is the backbone of this kingdom."

"What would we do without him?"

Words. Just words. But they burned—like acid dripping into an open wound that never healed. Every single day. Every single conversation. Even the servants whispered about Dhurvavindra like he was some kind of god carved from stone and steel.

Krivansh's fingers curled against the stone railing.

"That pathetic, poor bastard," he muttered under his breath. His voice was venom wrapped in silk. "He doesn't even have royal blood. He's NOTHING."

But the kingdom didn't see that. No. They saw the muscles. The beard. The calm, infuriating serenity that made Krivansh want to scream.

"I am the Yuvraj," Krivansh hissed to himself. "I am the future Maharaj. And they compare ME to a street rat Maharaj found in the dirt?!"

He slammed his fist against the railing.

The stone didn't even crack. Neither did his rage.

---

"Yuvraj!"

A sweet voice interrupted his spiral. Krivansh turned, his expression shifting from fury to forced indifference in the span of a heartbeat.

Two women stepped onto the balcony—his elder sisters, draped in silks and jewels, their long hair adorned with flowers and gold.

Princess Varnashi Vaajra, the eldest, was twenty-eight. Graceful. Wise. The kind of woman who could calm a storm with a single smile. She moved like a river—gentle, but with an undercurrent of steel.

Princess Kamini Vaajra, the middle sister, was twenty-four. Mischievous. Sharp-eyed. She had the same hazel eyes as Krivansh, but where his burned with fury, hers sparkled with amusement.

Both of them looked at their youngest brother with knowing smiles.

"What?" Krivansh snapped, his tone harsher than he intended.

"We were looking for you all morning!" Kamini pouted, sweeping onto the balcony with her heavy anklets chiming. "You missed breakfast. AGAIN."

Varnashi followed more gracefully, settling onto a cushioned seat near the railing. She studied her brother's face—the dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his jaw.

"You didn't sleep well," she observed. Not a question. A fact.

Krivansh looked away.

"I slept fine."

"Liar." Kamini grinned, poking his arm. "You're thinking about HIM again, aren't you? That handsome Senapati—"

"DON'T." Krivansh's voice cracked like a whip. His eyes blazed. "Do NOT mention him in my presence. That old bastard has ruined my morning—and now YOU are making it worse."

Kamini raised her hands in mock surrender, but her grin only widened. "Oh, I LOVE when you get angry! You look so—"

"Kamini," Varnashi interrupted gently. "Let him breathe."

Kamini huffed but fell silent. She twirled a strand of her long hair around her finger, her eyes still dancing with mischief.

Krivansh turned back to the horizon, his shoulders rigid.

---

The silence stretched for a moment.

Then Kamini—because she could NEVER stay quiet—sidled up next to him and looped her arm through his.

"Fine, fine! No Senapati talk!" She smiled sweetly. "Instead—let's talk about YOU."

Krivansh raised an eyebrow. "What about me?"

"Well..." Kamini's smile turned sly. "I heard Princess Anahita of the neighboring kingdom has been writing POEMS about you. POEMS, Krivansh! She called you 'the sun that sets the sky ablaze.'"

Despite himself, Krivansh smirked. A small, arrogant curl of his lips.

"Of course she did. After all, I AM the Yuvraj of the Vaajravansh dynasty. Who wouldn't write poems about me?"

He puffed out his chest slightly, his long black hair swaying with the movement. The morning sun caught his hazel eyes, making them gleam like liquid amber.

Kamini giggled. "Oh, and Princess Meera from the eastern hills? She sent a painting of you. She said she wanted to 'capture your essence on canvas.'"

"Did she now?" Krivansh's smirk widened. "Smart woman. Good taste."

"And the ambassador's daughter—"

"That's enough, Kamini." Krivansh held up a hand, his expression one of exaggerated patience. "I know. They all want me. Every single one. Why wouldn't they?"

He scoffed, flipping his hair over his shoulder.

"I am the Yuvraj. The most powerful man in the kingdom—after Maharaj, of course. I am strong. I am handsome. I am..." He paused, searching for the right word. "...IRRESISTIBLE."

Kamini burst out laughing. Varnashi smiled softly, shaking her head.

"Your humility is truly inspiring, little brother," Varnashi said, her voice warm with affection.

Krivansh ignored the comment, basking in the attention. This was what he needed. Admiration. Worship. Reminders that he WAS worthy—that he WAS loved.

But then—

"Oh! That reminds me!" Kamini clapped her hands together. "Yuvraj... don't you have any handsome prince friends? You know... just a little older than you? Maybe with a beard? Very tall? Very strong?"

Krivansh's smirk froze.

"No." His voice was flat. "I don't make friends from kingdoms that aren't as prestigious as ours. And besides—you should marry someone Maharaj wishes you to marry, NOT some random prince you find handsome."

Kamini pouted. "You're NO fun."

"I'm being PRACTICAL," Krivansh shot back. "You think marriage is about LOVE? It's about ALLIANCES. Power. The continuation of our bloodline—"

"Then in my case..." Varnashi interrupted gently, her eyes soft with nostalgia. "Maharaj once told me... he wanted me to marry Senapati Dhurvavindra."

The world stopped.

Krivansh's heart stuttered in his chest. His blood turned to ice.

He turned slowly, his hazel eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.

"What?"

Varnashi smiled, completely unaware of the storm brewing in her brother's chest. "Years ago. Before you were born. Maharaj considered it—he saw Dhurvavindra as a son. He thought... if I married him, the Senapati would truly become family. And besides..."

She paused, tilting her head as if remembering.

"He IS quite handsome. Very strong. And his eyes—that honey-brown—"

"STOP."

Krivansh's voice was sharp enough to cut glass.

Both sisters froze. Their eyes widened.

"Krivansh..." Varnashi began, concern flickering across her face. "I didn't mean—"

"You didn't MEAN?" Krivansh laughed—a bitter, hollow sound that echoed off the stone walls. "Of course you didn't MEAN. No one EVER MEANS to compare me to him. But you ALL do it anyway."

He stepped away from them, his hands shaking at his sides.

"It's ALWAYS Dhurvavindra this, Dhurvavindra that! Oh, how WONDERFUL he is! How STRONG! How LOYAL!" He spat the words like poison. "Meanwhile I—I am the YUVRAJ! The blood of this dynasty runs through MY veins! And yet—"

His voice cracked. He hated that crack.

His eyes burned with something wild. Something broken.

"If I WASN'T BORN!" His voice rose to a near-scream. "That pathetic bastard! That poor RAT IN DIRT! Would have taken my PLACE?!"

He laughed again—but there was no humor in it. Only agony.

"He would have married Varnashi! He would have become Maharaj! And I—" He pressed a shaking hand to his chest. "I would have been NOTHING. Just a ghost. Just a son who never existed."

Kamini's expression shifted from shock to guilt. "Krivansh, that's not—"

"It IS." His chest heaved. "Even you, Kamini. Even you look at him and see something I can never be."

He turned away, his long hair hiding his face.

Varnashi rose slowly, reaching out a hand. "Brother—"

"Don't." His voice was barely a whisper. "Just... don't."

He walked to the edge of the balcony, gripping the railing so hard his knuckles turned white.

Behind him, his sisters exchanged worried glances. Kamini bit her lip. Varnashi's eyes glistened with unshed tears.

But neither of them spoke.

Because what could they say?

Their brother—their fierce, proud, beautiful brother—was drowning in a sea of comparison.

And they had no idea how to save him.

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