The twins stood frozen, their breath caught in their throats. The scene before them was beyond comprehension.
Arya—unconscious, bound, slumped against the floor.
"Oh, come on," Yatnish sighed. "As if you didn't know this was coming."
Smirking he nudged Arya's motionless body with the tip of his boot.
The casual cruelty in his voice sent chills through Raghav and Rudra.
"You never liked me," Yatnish continued, descending the steps of Arya's chamber with slow, deliberate movements. "But don't worry, the feeling is mutual. You rats have been sticking your noses where they don't belong since the day you set foot in this place. Such young boys—you should be playing in the streets, not meddling in matters far beyond you. Ruling, wealth, power—these are for men, not reckless children."
His boots thudded against the wooden floor as he approached them. The twins instinctively stepped back, their bodies tensed, their minds racing. Fear and fury battled within them, but before they could react, they felt a pair of firm hands clamp down on their shoulders.
"Going somewhere?" Marketu's voice was thick with amusement.
The twins stiffened. They had barely begun to process the sight before them, and now they were caught again.
Yatnish exhaled, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Marketu, you couldn't manage one simple task, could you? I asked you to keep these rats imprisoned so I could work in peace, and yet, here they are. What good are you?"
"My apologies, Master Yatnish," Marketu replied smoothly. "I was tending to our... guests, when they managed to slip away."
"Not to worry," Yatnish mused. "They are here now. Bind them. Properly, this time. They are troublesome."
The twins struggled as Marketu's men seized them, but resistance was useless. Their arms were wrenched back, ropes biting into their wrists. They were prisoners once again.
---
Yatnish sat back in Arya's chair, swirling a cup of wine in his hand, watching as Arya was dragged away by the guards. His breathing was slow, steady, unconscious but alive.
Marketu cleared his throat. "The guests—were they pleased with what we offered?"
Yatnish's lip curled slightly. "Yes. They were satisfied with the latest shipment. But they grow concerned about the dangers in the jungle. They've lost too many men. The killings haven't stopped."
Marketu hesitated. "The deaths... they have cost them greatly."
"And that is not my concern," Yatnish snapped, taking a slow sip. "Our deal was clear. We supply them with weapons and slaves, and in return, they give us control over Upendra's former lands. We never agreed to deliver their shipments for them. If they cannot protect their own men, that is their problem."
Marketu bowed slightly, but there was something behind his eyes—a fleeting thought, a consideration. But he said nothing.
Yatnish leaned forward, his voice dipping into a reflective tone. "This boy here..." he gestured lazily toward Arya, "he is the root of all our troubles. I thought our problems were over when he killed Upendra. Instead, they multiplied. Upendra was a brute. He knew how to fight, how to kill. But he lacked the mind for business. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to run a pit and a thriving empire at the same time? I handled it all. I was the real power behind Upendra. But he never appreciated me. So I had to do what I had to do. He caught me once, you know. But I handled the situation... and continued my operations."
Marketu smiled, shifting his stance. "I am truly happy for you, sir. Please, do not forget me when you sit on the throne."
Yatnish's smirk widened. "Of course! You will sit right next to me. In my chair. You will be the new record keeper of this place. But don't you dare walk on my steps."
The two men laughed, the sound filling the chamber as the guards carried Arya away.