Warrior Hearts

Boundaries Blurred

"I didn't realise we had a lack of servants on duty tonight," I grumble, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "Seems like it's about time we increase the palace budget." Shaking his head at my words, Rohit offers me a sideways grin.

"Manik is merely playing the part of a chivalrous gentleman." Rohit tells me, defending his friend as a true loyal man would.

"If only your gentlemanly bone of loyalty would've rubbed off on Manik," I retort, scoffing in disbelief at all that I've had to endure for the past half hour. Manik has danced with almost every lady in this room, young or old, married or not. I'm quite positive now that he has spent his fair share of female attention, he will next target the animals that live on our palace grounds, and draw them onto the dance floor. After all, Manik will gladly accompany anything and anyone who breathes and can move a muscle, except for me.

Ever since my second dance, my husband has refused to so much as cast a glance in my direction. He's not only busied himself with personally taking on the responsibility to fill each lady's dance card, who bears presence within this room, but he's also decided to write a memoir for each of them, given the way he's been strolling around the room with a new lady on his arm each time I turn to look at him, avidly hearing her prattle on in his ear as if they are sharing the most intimate of secrets.

"Maybe you should consider cutting off the supply of champagne," Alexis suggests, materialising at my side. "Because at the rate that your husband is pumping champagne into the ladies' systems, we're going to have a barrage of gossip to wake up to tomorrow that will last us an entire year." Glancing across me at Rohit, Alexis raises his eyebrows in a show of challenge. "Care to bet a few hands with me, Rohit, on who will be found with whom in the gardens tonight?"

"I'm not quite sure about who will be caught together," Rohit says, his tone alive with mirth. Well, it's good to know that at least these two are enjoying my torment. "But I sure as hell know who won't be seen together. Manik and Nandini, of course!" Loud guffaws erupt from the men on either side of me; the alcohol in their blood making them more jovial than usual.

"And there goes drink number ten," I announce, my gaze following Manik as he makes his way across the room and towards the refreshment table. Grabbing yet another flute of champagne, he traces his footsteps right back the way he came, all the way to a lady garbed in gold. Tipping his head at her, he offers her a smile that could bring nuns to his doorstep, and hands her the drink. The knots in my stomach tighten as I watch her fingers brush over his as he hands her the flute of champagne.

I may very well be making an outward mockery of this entire situation, and how Manik's treating me, but that's only because I don't know how else to cope with the fix I'm currently in. By now almost every guest in the room has noticed the lack of interaction between the two of us - especially his friend's - and so I can't possibly make a greater fool of myself by showcasing my displeasure outwardly. That in turn leaves me with merely one option - to make a jest of the jealousy that is burning in the pit of my stomach, before Manik's friends, or the other guests have a chance to do so.

"Wasn't it number fifteen?" Rohit wonders out loud, making me scowl in his direction.

"You two aren't very helpful," I observe, the frown lines in my forehead further deepening as I watch Manik bend his head closer to the lady's lips to hear what she has to say. With each passing second, it's more difficult to remind myself that Manik is my husband and king, and that beheading him in public is not a feasible plan of action for retaliation.

"Oh no," Alexis says, raising his index finger. "We are at your service, Your Grace. Just give us the command, and we'll get the task done. Wish for us to accidentally set that lady's hair on fire? We're on it. Want us to trip Arjun? We'll gladly do it. I mean, an injured man can't possibly play the part of a servant, or a dance partner." Shrugging as if he does such favours for married women everyday, Alexis raises his eyebrows at me in askance.

"Ask me again in five minutes, will you?" I murmur, although I'd be more than willing to jump the gun. Almost as if Manik wishes to give me more encouragement, he offers the lady his arm, her hand latching onto it more than willingly.

"Another stroll around the room, I'm assuming?" Alexis says, watching Manik as keenly as I am.

"No, they're headed towards the..." Rohit says, his voice trailing off at the same time that realisation dawns on me. I don't even have to look at the two men on either side of me to know that their heads just snapped to attention in my direction, gauging my reaction to Manik's actions.

You're crossing the line, Malhotra. Instead of guiding the lady around the ballroom as he has been doing with all the others, Manik is escorting this particular one out onto the terrace, and everyone in this ballroom knows the veiled motives behind a man doing so, without the lady's chaperone.

"I...I need a drink, excuse me," I mumble, unsure of whether my words were even coherent enough for Rohit and Alexis to hear. Without a word, they let me wind my way out from between their frames and towards the refreshment table.

Manik has taken our little game too far. Only couples, or those pairs who are courting each other, venture out into the gardens and the terrace beyond. The reason for that is simple - they wish to get physically intimate with each other. In fact, the mothers of debutantes are always so afraid of their daughters' reputation and honour being besmirched at someone's ball - on someone's terrace, in someone's garden - that they refuse to so much as blink in the other direction from their daughters.

By overtly escorting that lady onto the terrace, Manik has insinuated that not only is he interested in her, but that he intends to act upon those sentiments of his. As a result, of course, I'm made to look like a fool; a helpless wife, who can't satisfy her husband enough to make him keep his hands off another lady. Extra marital affairs are not a foreign practice in our society. However, I do not wish to be included amongst that list of pitied women. To think how society looks down upon them with condescension shining in their eyes for failing to fulfil their duties as a woman.

My footsteps falter ever so slightly as another thought takes shape in the tormented confines of my mind. What if Manik hasn't just taken that lady out onto the terrace to get even, and prove a point to me? Could he possibly -

"Clearly His Grace is looking for someone to warm his bed." A lady comments, her voice interrupting my wayward thoughts. "Apparently marital bliss is not a sentiment he can relate to."

"Every man seeks pleasure outside his marriage after a certain amount of time has passed." Another chirps up, the excitement in her voice proving to me that my torment is quite enjoyable for them to gossip about. "I just failed to realise that His Highness would get bored of Her Grace this soon. It's an all time new record, I must say." A venomous cackle follows this woman's malicious words as if she enjoys nothing more than speaking behind people's backs and tearing them down.

"Perhaps Her Highness should've stayed on the battlefield because that's clearly where her stellar skills end before they have the chance to so much as grace the bedroom." Having heard enough - my cheeks burning with raw embarrassment, enraged tears pricking at the backs of my eyes - I pivot on my heel and carve a path through the ballroom towards the closest door that I can find. I'm unsure of who my shoulder bumps into, or whose foot I step on. All I know is that I have to leave this crowded room before anymore scathing remarks bite into my skin.

Manik playing with my sentiments purposefully because of our childish, petty games is something I can bear with. However, embarrassing me in public and making me the laughing stock of the room is a wholly different matter, altogether. It is the last straw.