The Cursed Princess of Suryagarh: Book 1

28. Hot and cold

When Shreya woke up the following morning, she was suffering from a very severe case of hangover. Even Aryan next door was battling a case of intense headache, and by the time he freshened up and knocked at the semi-ajar door of his best friend's room, it was already well past noon, and Shreya was still languishing around her chamber with a scowl on her face.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he said.

She heard the rap on the door and managed to peek at him through her blurry vision. "Morning," she yawned, "Aryan. Slept well?"

"Okayish. Drank too much." He grimaced and entered the room. "Drank so much that I didn't even appreciate how nice the room is."

She hummed and gestured at him to take a seat on the exquisite couch at the foot of the bed. When he plopped down, she sat next to him too. "I have a blaring headache," she muttered, tugging at the base of her hair. "How about you?"

He shrugged. "Will be fine."

She blinked a few times and allowed her shoulders to slump while a groan escaped her mouth. "I will order coffee for us. And then we can freshen up. God knows how angry Aarush will be." She frowned when faint memories from the stupid conversation she struck up with him in the dead of the night flitted through her mind. "I think I invaded his office, and I think I said some weird shit."

He huffed. "What is his problem with me now? You did mention he is a bit too haughty for his own good, but dude, he is a rude man!"

"He is a rude, brute, insolent, arrogant, handsome Princey." She snickered behind her palms. "Let it be. We are only here for another day after today. I hurl that stupid necklace into the fire or whatever, and we take off the day after tomorrow. Who cares how rude Aarush Chauhan is after that, am I right?"

He shrugged again, but the frown lines didn't disappear from his face. "Whatever you told me last night... that's some of the weirdest shit I have ever heard."

She pouted and bobbed her head.

"I wonder why he can't die."

She rounded her shoulders. "I have zero clue. Not that the revered and venerated crowned prince will tell me everything in detail. So," she huffed, "I am left grappling for answers. I have asked him at least twenty times by now about the man who can't die but all I get in response is 'You don't need to know, Miss Awasthy'."

He chortled when he saw her mime the prince. "I won't blame him, though. You have a ghost living in you."

She picked up a cushion and lunged it at him. "Shut up!"

He groaned when the pillow landed smack dab on his face. Letting it slide back on the couch, he flashed his eyes at her. "Stop with this hurling stuff on people." His eyes narrowed at her. "Did you, by any chance, throw something at that arrogant prince too?"

Her eyes went wide for a moment before going back to normal, and she flipped her air. "Might have tried, but didn't do it yet. According to his minions, he is nobility, so I have resisted my temptation of chucking some very heavy vases at him." Her nose flared. "Don't know till when I will be able to keep my hands in check. He is a supremely annoying man."

He sniggered, and his gaze went around the magnificent room. Soft murmurs of appreciation slipped past his throat as he admired every corner of the regal chamber, marveling over every little detail he could lay his eyes on. The frescoes on the ceilings, the portraits hanging on the walls, the curtains with gold threadwork embellished on the fabric, the purple canopy—the fabric sheer—that had rubies encrusted every few inches, the crystal showpieces, the majestic furniture, and the exquisite gadgets of every kind grabbed his attention. The most striking feature was certainly the gigantic plasma TV hanging on the opposite wall and the home theater connected to it. "This Aarush Chauhan guy is filthy rich."