Phool for You |Royal Retelling 1|

Chapter 8: Unjust Compromises

It's funny how anger can transform a person's face. One second, it's a depiction of serenity and calmness, and the next, it's like the devil himself has decided to make an appearance.

The only time I've seen Rafay's face calm is during the wedding, when we were surrounded by the citizens of Surajistan. His natural state of mind seems to be an endless cloud of anger, so I'm sure his tranquil facade was probably to avoid a public scandal.

I wouldn't wish my predicament on anyone. Rafay's towering presence looms over me, his face contorted in a mask of fury. The intensity in his darkening brown eyes sends my heart racing, and my breath quickens. Living under this roof might just cause me heart failure.

I take care to keep my face neutral, not giving away any signs of my consuming fear. First rule of bravery: never display true emotion.

Rafay advances toward me with the deliberate pace of a predator closing in on its prey. I retreat instinctively, attempting to put some distance between us. My efforts are futile as the back of my knees collide with a chair, causing me to awkwardly collapse into it. He closes in, pressing his arms against the armrests and leaning forward until our noses are mere inches apart, ensuring our gaze remains locked.

Second rule of bravery: figure out the opponent's scare tactic. The last three encounters with Rafay have shown me that he likes to invade people's personal space to intimidate them. Once a pattern is found, it is easier to anticipate the next move, decreasing imminent fear.

I force myself to calm down, recounting our previous confrontations. Not once did he raise a hand or physically assault me, so I would assume he is unlikely to do so right now.

"Is there a problem?" I manage to ask, keeping my voice as steady as possible. My breathing has slowed, but my heart continues its frantic rhythm.

"Yes," he answers glaringly, his gaze transfixed on mine. "You."

I take a moment to gather my thoughts before responding. "Alright, what exactly is it about me that bothers you?"

Third rule of bravery: appear composed and collected. Looking unrattled shows an absence of fear.

"You've barely been here a day and you're already spreading rumors about me to my servants," he accuses.

I reply quietly, irritation prickling beneath my skin. "They're not rumors if they're true," I counter, my tone firm. "And you shouldn't refer to them as servants, as if you're some superior ruler."

"I am a superior ruler," he says pridefully. "This entire kingdom is under my jurisdiction."

I regard him with disbelief. "Arrogance is a detriment to one's character. Sharam aani chahiye."

Rafay removes his hands from the armrests and rises to his full height, his eyes widening slightly in surprise, as if no one has ever dared to take a tone like this with him.

"How I treat my mehel workers is none of your concern," he replies coolly. I take care to note that he doesn't use the word 'servant' again.

I stare at him bewildered. "Rafay, these are people you are talking about, not animals. People who take care of you and make sure you are comfortable in your daily life."

"Yes, because I pay them to," he states insolently.

With each interaction, I uncover more about Rafay's volatile temperament. Any hint of criticism triggers his fury, leading to outbursts of deliberate rudeness and hurtful remarks. It's becoming clear that engaging with his temper only escalates the situation further.

My fingers cautiously tap the chair adjacent to mine. "How about we talk about this in a civilized manner?" I hold my breath, silently praying he agrees. If I can engage him in a diplomatic conversation with me, I might be able to negotiate some of my wishes.