The darkness of the night still clung to the opulent halls of the big palace of Udaipur, like a crimson refusing to lift. The moon outside cast eerie shadows on the walls, as if whispering secrets to the sleeping stones. In his room, a man slept fitfully, his body covered in a sheen of cold sweat despite the warmth of the night. His lips moved soundlessly at first, mumbling words in his sleep, the words incoherent but the anguish clear. Then suddenly, he woke up with a jolt, shouting in a hoarse cry, "Don't Take her please." The words echoed in the silence of his room like a prayer turned desperate plea.

He gasped for air, his breath uneven and ragged, as if he'd been running through the dark corridors of the palace chasing shadows. It was clear he was in the grip of a panic attack, his heart racing like a wild stallion out of control. With shaking hands, he opened the bedside drawer with practise as he times, fumbling for the small bottle of medicine he kept there for such moments. He gulped the pill down with water, the cool liquid doing little to calm the storm inside him. "Take a breath," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible. He was afraid - afraid that if he spoke a little louder, it would cost him... with his life. The thoughts were irrational, he knew, but in the darkness of his room, logic was a distant memory.

He started counting, breathing with difficulty, the numbers a mantra in the darkness -

1....

2....

3....

4....

5.....

With each number, he willed his breath to slow, his heart to stop racing like a mad thing. Slowly, painfully slowly, his breathing normalized. His gaze drifted around the room, a room that was an extension of his inner self - all black and grey, with minimal decor. There was just a picture of him and his dadu on a nightstand, smiling faces in a photograph taken in happier times. Next to it, an old flower vase, empty now, a relic of memories past.

Shaking off the lingering thoughts of isolation, he swung his legs off the bed and walked towards his bathroom. A mirror hung in front of the basin, and for a moment, he looked at himself - at the charcoal black eyes that held emotions like fear, longing, guilt. They stared back at him like windows to a soul he wasn't sure he possessed anymore. Abruptly, he looked away, unable to confront the depths of those eyes. He completed his business in the bathroom and walked into his walk-in closet. There, he got ready in his gym attire. His body, honed to perfection with discipline and steel-hard muscles, spoke of a regimen he never broke. He had 8 packs, a testament to hours in the gym. He never missed a session because he believed, "Once you learn to quit, it becomes a habit." A person looking at him would see only a gym person - focused, driven, unyielding.

He is none other than Devarsh Singh Rathore, The crowned prince of Udaipur.

He came out of his room, headed towards the gym in the silent mansion. It was 3:30 in the morning, a time when the world slept deepest, and in the palace, no one woke up this early except him. It wasn't that he didn't want others to sleep; he was an insomnia patient, cursed to wake when shadows ruled. The gym was his refuge then, a place where he could channel the turmoil inside into weights and sweat.

The gym in the Udaipur palace was a room filled with an array of black gym equipment. Weights, treadmills, and machines all sported a sleek black finish, giving the space a uniform, almost industrial look. The walls were painted a dark shade that blended with the equipment, making the machines seem to loom in the dim lightning. Devarsr's charcoal black eyes seemed to match the color scheme of the room.

The only sound is the soft hum of machines and Devarsh's heavy breathing. He moved with precision and intensity, his muscles working in the shadows as he lifted weights with controlled ferocity. Sweat dripped down his face, mingling with the determination etched there.

Devarsh pushed himself hard on the bench press, his charcoal black eyes narrowed in focus. He lifted the bar with a grunt, his biceps straining, the muscles in his abdomen tightening as he pressed the weight upwards. He did ten reps, his breathing growing heavier with each lift.

After finishing his set, Devarsh let the bar clang back into place. He sat up, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. For a moment, he stared ahead, his mind still wrestling with the remnants of his nightmare. The gym was his escape, a place where he could channel his turmoil into physical exertion.

Devarsh stood up and moved to the treadmill. He set it to a high pace and began running, his feet pounding the belt in a rhythmic beat. The exertion was what he needed - to sweat out the fear, the guilt, the lingering panic.

The palace gym was silent except for Devarsh's movements. No one else was there at this hour. He was alone with his thoughts, his body working hard to exhaust itself into some semblance of calm.

After one hour of intense cardio and weights, Devarsh slowed down. He stopped the treadmill and stood there, breathing hard, sweat-drenched. For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting the exertion sink in.

As he wrapped up his workout, he left the gym at 5 am, headed straight to his room. After freshening up in bathroom, he walk towards his walk-in closet where he dressed in a 3 piece black tuxedo, layered with a black blazer, exuding elegance and sophistication. He settled onto the couch with his laptop on his lap, started responding to pending emails.

When the clock struck at 6 am, he headed down to his car collection, his eyes landing on his one of favorite Black BMW. He slid into driver seat as he is possessive about his favorite cars. After 30 minute drive he arrived his destination, the ancient shiv temple. Parking his car in the parking lot.

He walked to nearby flower shop, where he picking up the necessary items for his morning pooja. As he entered the temple , the priest's face lit up with a warm smile, a familiar greeting. He gave Pooja thali to priest and he began his ritual chanting the scared Mahamruntunjay Mantra.

"ॐ त्र्यम्बकं यजामह े सुगन्ध िं पुष्टिवर्धनम्। उर्वारुकमिव बन्धनान्मृत्योर्मुक्षीय मामृतात्।

Omm Namah Shivaya

As he chanted, he felt a sense of peace and tranquility wash over him. After the pooja, he made his way towards pooja bhandar, where he lent a helping hand in serving food to the needy and devotes. With his duties fulfilled, he sat down with other ate with them, savoring the peaceful atmosphere.

As he finished his breakfast, his phone rang, piercing the serene atmosphere of the temple. He let it ring twice before answering, his voice calm and collected. "Yes?" he said, his tone neutral.

His PA's words on the other end of the line, however, seemed to have a profound effect on him. His eyes darkened, and his jaw clenched in frustration. For a moment, he seemed to be frozen in time, his face a mask of tension. He took a deep breath, unclenching his jaw as he counted to two in his mind. The anger simmering beneath the surface began to boil over, and his voice took on a sharp edge. "Wait for 15 minutes," he growled, his words clipped and precise. "I will be there." With that, he ended the call, his eyes flashing with irritation as he stood up, his peace shattered.

With that he left from there.