Ruban’s musings were interrupted by the arrival of Simani, Vikram, and the children. Hiya held three cheesy kebabs on sticks, handing one each to Ruban and Ashwin before taking a big bite from the third. Sri also held a stick of fragrant, cheesy kebab; as did both his parents.

“His speech is music to my ears.” Simani grinned, licking cheese sauce off her upper lip, her gaze fixed on the prime minister. “It’s everything I’ve been craving, since the beginning of this godforsaken year.” She turned to Ashwin. “But not nearly as much as you, I’m sure. How does it feel to be Vaan’s permanent official ambassador to Vandram?”

“The very first ambassador!” Hiya exclaimed, enthusiastic, before the adults could shush her.

Ashwin grinned around a mouthful of kebab. “No better than it feels to be the newest Chief Hunter of the South Ragah Division, I’d imagine.”

Simani gaped at him. “Huh?”

Ashwin shot a sly, knowing glance at Ruban. Who couldn’t help the broad grin that stretched his lips.

“It’s true,” Ruban said. “You’ll replace me as the Chief Hunter of the South Ragah Division, come the new appointment cycle.”

“And Zeifaa knows,” Ashwin sighed. “It’s high time you did. That poor Quarter deserves a chance to recuperate from Ruban’s years of iron-fisted misrule.”

Ruban rolled his eyes. “If you think Sim’s going to be the less iron-fisted of the two of us—”

“Ruban what—” Simani choked, her eyes widening in dismay. “What’re the two of you talking about? Are you—”

“Your dismay is justified, Simani,” Ashwin said. “And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Because Ruban is set to become the next senior secretary of defence.” He leaned in towards Ruban, whispering in his ear: “And if the past two years have taught us anything, it’s that that position is cursed.”

Ruban glared at the Aeriel. But before he could say a word, Hiya let out another excited yelp. “The senior secretary of defence,” she repeated, voice almost reverent. “Like Baba.”

“Yes.” Ruban knelt down, scooping her into his arms before rising to his feet once again. “Just like your Baba.”

The next few minutes passed with the four adults discussing their upcoming promotions, and the professional changes they’d soon have to adapt to. Simani kept glancing between Ruban and Ashwin, as if waiting for one of them to burst out laughing and admit the joke. Meanwhile, the children wandered off in search of more snacks.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

At the head of the room, the prime minister’s speech had finally concluded. And the queen of Vaan had begun her address.

Mercifully, hers was much shorter and to the point. Ruban suspected that was because Saikat Ranjan hadn’t left her very much to say, after his nearly hour-long exposition.

“Kushal Mayiti’s submitted a plea to be allowed house arrest, instead of jail time.” Vikram polished off the last bit of his kebab, wiping his hands on a paper napkin. “They might actually grant it, if the three of you throw your weight behind it.”

Simani shrugged. “It’s not my call to make.”

Ruban pursed his lips. “I don’t see why we should be expected to help Dhriti’s stepfather, especially after—”

“Yes, you do,” Ashwin interrupted him. “He’s an old man. And has a disabled son to take care of.”

Vikram nodded grimly. “The Mayitis are already ruined financially. They’ve become social pariahs. If he went to prison, neither he nor his son might survive.” He heaved a sigh. “Besides, his crimes were mostly white collar. And—”

“And you wouldn’t hesitate, Ruban.” Ashwin turned to look at him. “If it was someone you knew. Someone you cared about. You’d want this for them.”

You wouldn’t hesitate, if it was your uncle. If it was his family at stake.

That was what Ashwin had left unsaid. But Ruban heard it loud and clear. If his uncle hadn’t died at that villa in Ibanborah, if he’d been captured alive… This was exactly the situation he and Hiya would have found themselves in.

In that case, wouldn’t Ruban have wanted the same mercy shown to his own uncle? If not for his sake, then for Hiya’s?

Tej Mayiti, Dhriti’s stepbrother, may not have been a child. But based on everything Ruban knew of him, he lacked the ability to take care of himself, live independently. He couldn’t defend himself against the avalanche of social condemnation and stigma that would befall him, through no fault of his own. His father may deserve a prison sentence. But surely, Tej deserved even more the scant protection and solace that father could offer, after they’d both lost everything else.

After a long silence, Ruban offered a curt nod. Then looked away.

Safaa concluded her speech. She and the prime minister stepped off their respective podiums, moving towards the long signing table draped in rich maroon fabric.

As Ruban and his friends watched the ceremony, Hiya and Sri reappeared with two large plates of assorted snacks.

The six of them, adults and children alike, dug into the snacks – their eyes trained on the signing table at the forefront of the hall.

A hush had fallen over the room. Cameras flashed incessantly, capturing this historic moment. After what felt like an eternity stretched thin, Saikat Ranjan signed the gold-trimmed document with a flourish. Safaa followed suit, a flicker of satisfaction crossing her elegant features.

Thunderous applause erupted, shaking the grand hall to its foundations. Cameras flashed like a mesmerizing light show.

Ruban, ever mindful of his priorities, took advantage of the celebratory chaos to snatch the last jalebi from the plate of snacks. Just as Ashwin's fingers reached for it.

The Aeriel prince glared at him, silver eyes flashing threateningly.

Ruban grinned, triumphant, and bit into the luscious jalebi.

For the first time in what felt like years, he was content.

--The End--