Warrior Hearts

Drunken Mess

"Are you sure this is the one?" I ask, staring in disgust at the pub in front of me.

"Most certainly, Your Highness." The guard replies, sounding quite confident. However, regardless of the confirmation he's giving me, I cannot help but doubt the location he's brought me to. Surely, Malhotra cannot be in this pub. In front of me stands a poor excuse of a building. On the contrary, I'd compare this to a shabby, rundown hut, instead of a solid structure which is supposed to pose as a pub. What's even more unfortunate is that this dilapidated building is located in the heart of the town, which means it does good business.

"You may head back." I permit the guard, offering him a quick glance over my shoulder. Truth bet told, the longer he stays here, the more likely I am to attract unwanted attention, which is the exact opposite of what I wish for. After all, the plan of action is for me to head inside the pub I am currently facing, drag Malhotra out of there - without attracting much attention - and haul his behind back into the safety of the palace walls. It's as simple as that!

"A-Are you sure, Your Highness?" The guard asks me hesitantly. "You may need some help with His Highness."

"I'll be fine," I reply curtly. "However, thank you for your concern." Instinctively, my palm encloses around the hilt of the sword at my side. For some reason, I cannot help but be on guard, especially since I'm about to enter a building which seems like it would be the hub for all sorts of wrongdoers. In fact, I surely won't be surprised to find a handful of pirates, renegades, and a few thieves as well in there. Sighing, I bring my left hand up to the side of my face, allowing my fingers to glide across the pin that is holding my niqab in place. Once I'm assured that it is secure, I begin to head towards the entrance of the dreaded pub. As I do so, my gaze wanders towards the crooked sign, which is hanging onto its space above the door for dear life, with a few loose, rusted nails.

What in the world am I doing? More importantly, for who? After all, what has Malhotra done for me that I'm out here saving his respect? Just the mere thought of doing a good deed for that man has my grip further tightening around the hilt of my sword. As I near the entrance of the pub, its rackety door flies open and out steps a burly man. I don't have to know him in order to fully well understand that he's not showered in days. In fact, I doubt he's so much as washed his grime covered hands for a while now. My eyes trail across his stained apron, as he empties a bucket of murky water against the left side of the entrance.

Frowning, I hesitate, my steps slowing down. Lord, I'm about to step into a feeding ground for all sorts of diseases. However, I must keep this in mind that I am not parading into the pub in front of me for Malhotra's sake. This sacrifice of mine is for the people of our lands. After all, the only reason as to why Malhotra and I are in this marriage union is for their sake, and so I must fulfil my duty towards them, or else what's the entire point of the sacrifice I'm making by bearing with Malhotra on a daily basis? Tightening my jaw, I square my shoulders and march in the direction of the pub with newfound confidence.

With the pads of my fingers, I push the door open. However, instead of stepping into the pub, I hover at its entrance, as my eyes adjust to the sudden change of light. In comparison to the bright sunlight outside, the interior of this pub is shrouded in darkness. As I do a quick once-over of the building, I realise why; the lanterns are all dimmed down to a point where they're barely shedding any light, and the one window which is positioned right opposite to the entrance has been boarded up. Although, truth be told, whoever did this task isn't very good at his work, for the job has been finished quite poorly, with the boards slanting in all odd directions.

"No, that can't be him." I hear a woman say, as I step into the pub, the door gliding shut behind me.

"I'm telling you, that's our king," a man argues in return.

"Have mercy, John. If His Highness had to get drunk, I'm most certainly sure it wouldn't be in our local pub." Eager to find Malhotra as soon as I can, and exit this rotten place, I follow this couple's line of sight, hoping that I'll find my enemy at the other end of it. Unfortunately, the man is right; the person that they're watching is Malhotra.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I cannot offer you another drink." The bartender is telling Malhotra, as the latter's head lolls over the surface of the bar. Frowning, I watch as Malhotra loses control of himself, his forehead smacking onto the hard surface. For some reason, I wish to check up on Malhotra, for the sound that just echoed around the entirety of this pub wasn't all too pleasant.

"It's just a glass, mate." Malhotra drawls, his speech slurring. Lord, how much alcohol has he consumed? For crying out loud, if the man cannot handle it, then why in the world does he drink? "One...glass," Malhotra hiccups, rising to his feet. A gasp escapes my lips as he stumbles towards the left, knocking his side into a bar stool.

Thankfully, however, Malhotra had the sense to come out here in a disguise. Instead of his normal attire, he's dressed in an all black shalwar kameez, with a matching turban on his head. Bless the heavens that Malhotra was sober when he planned this outfit, for he's even had the sense to cover the bottom half of his face with the remainder of the turban's cloth. However, considering his current state of mind and drunken antics, I doubt that this disguise will hold up for much longer. In fact, I won't be surprised if a handful of locals grab ahold of him and begin to make a pulp out of his guts in the centre of this very pub.

"I'll even pay double." Malhotra slurs, trying his level best to persuade the bartender to fulfil his wishes. I watch as Malhotra pulls out a handful of coins and drops them onto the bar. "See!" He exclaims, a belch escaping his lips in quick succession to his speech. Grimacing, I stare at my enemy in pure disgust.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I'm going to have to refuse your offer." The bartender replies firmly. Rolling my eyes, I allow the corner of my lips to tilt upwards into a small smile. Well, Malhotra, I guess not everything can be acquired by showcasing your power, and wealth.

"Then I'm sorry, too." Malhotra says, as he reaches across the bar and grabs ahold of two empty mugs. Before I can even comprehend what he's about to do next, Malhotra hurls a glass towards the far corner of the pub. "I'm sorry!" He yells, as he chucks the second one in the same direction. Like a man on a mission, Malhotra leans across the bar once again. This time, he grabs a bowl of cashews. Eyes wide, I watch as he bangs this against the bar itself; shards of glass and pieces of cashews flying in every which direction.

"What the fuck?" The bartender hisses, grabbing either side of Malhotra's collar in his fists. With inhuman strength, the man shoves my enemy backwards. Thanks to the alcohol, Malhotra is unable to apply the brakes to his feet, so instead he goes stumbling in reverse, crashing into the wall behind him. Letting out a groan, I watch as Malhotra struggles to get back onto his feet. However, his hand keeps slipping, his efforts going in vain.

"Let me show you how sorry I can be." The bartender says, rolling his sleeves up, as he marches out from behind the bar, heading straight for Malhotra. Lord, I had surely underestimated this situation. Handling Malhotra - while he's in this state - is most certainly not the job of a single person. On the contrary, I'll be needing an entire army.