Empire of India: Rise of the Ruthless Prince

Farrukh was fuming in his chambers once again, the news of the Maratha-Vijayanagara alliance spreading like wildfire across the subcontinent. An alliance strong enough to shake the foundations of empires, including his own.

"Damn this hell!" he roared, his voice reverberating off the high ceilings. His pacing left a storm in its wake—torn curtains, shattered vases, and toppled furniture. Servants lined the walls like statues, their faces pale, their eyes fixed on the ground as they trembled under his fury.

"Those insolent dogs!" Farrukh bellowed, slamming his fist onto a nearby table, splintering the wood. "An alliance with each other? Against us?"

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"Those cursed kafirs!" He grabbed a porcelain vase, the last unbroken one in the room, and hurled it at the wall with a deafening crash.

Hasan leaned casually against the doorframe, watching the tantrum with a faint smirk, his sharp green eyes glinting with amusement. He yawned, scratching his ear.

'What a circus,' he mused, suppressing a laugh. 'The fool is at it again.'

The chaos didn't faze Hasan; it never did.

He'd seen these fits of rage often enough to find them tedious. Farrukh's temper was predictable; his intelligence less so. Still, the Emperor had summoned him, and Hasan had no choice but to endure.

'Such a waste of my time.' He sighed inwardly. 'I could be sleeping.'

Hasan's thoughts drifted back to the alliance itself. Unlike Farrukh, he wasn't surprised. The Marathas and the Vijayanagara Empire uniting was inevitable in his mind. What surprised him was the speed with which they'd struck their deal. He'd expected it to take months, perhaps even a year, for them to gain enough leverage before formalizing an agreement.

'They must have someone clever pulling the strings,' he thought. 'Central Subcontinent is practically a fortress under Vijayanagara control now.'

"Hasan!" Farrukh barked, breaking through his reverie.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Hasan replied smoothly, stepping forward.

"What do we do about this treacherous alliance?" Farrukh demanded, his face a mask of rage.

'Oh? Is he actually asking me for advice?' Hasan thought, raising an eyebrow. 'And calling them trash? The Marathas and Vijayanagara are no mere vermin. Fools never learn.'

"We don't need to worry too much about this alliance," Hasan said, unflinching. "By the looks of it, it's purely transactional. Temporary, even."

Farrukh's brow furrowed as he considered this. "Temporary or not, we must act. We cannot sit idle!"

"Indeed, but we won't need to act rashly." Hasan smiled faintly, the type of smile that barely reached his eyes. "This alliance doesn't just affect us. The neighboring powers will be equally concerned."

Farrukh narrowed his eyes. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting, Your Majesty, that the neighbors of the Vijayanagara Empire will already be plotting their own countermoves. Such a dramatic shift in power will force their hand. And when they plan, who better to include in their schemes than the Mughals?"

Farrukh's anger gave way to curiosity. "You think they'll come to us?"

"They will." Hasan nodded. "Who else can counter the Vijayanagara more effectively than the Mughals? With us, they'll have a chance."

"Good," he muttered. "Very good. Let them come to us."

Hasan allowed himself a small smirk as he watched the Emperor's mind churn.

'Dealing with this fool of an emperor is honestly tiring,' Hasan thought, stifling another yawn. 'I should just leave soon. This is nothing but a pit of chaos.'

Farrukh, oblivious to Hasan's inner musings, turned toward him with a forced smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Call for a meeting on this matter. We need a solid plan," the Emperor ordered. "Inform Karim and ensure he's present."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Hasan replied, bowing slightly.

"And one more thing," Farrukh added, his tone firmer, "speak with the other golden swords. They must double their efforts to prevent any rebellions. The last thing we need is internal unrest during this time."

Hasan's reluctant smile barely hid his disdain.

The golden swords were already stretched thin, working tirelessly to clean up the messes Farrukh's poor governance had created.

Whispers of discontent ran rampant in the streets, and Hasan had been personally overseeing measures to ensure those whispers didn't evolve into a full-scale revolt.

"Understood," Hasan said flatly. Then, before turning to leave, he paused and posed a pointed question.

"Can you convince Sir Zaid to align with you in this?"

Farrukh's face tightened at the mention of Sir Zaid.

Sir Zaid was no ordinary noble. His wealth, power, and private armies made him a force to be reckoned with, and his influence rivaled, if not surpassed, Farrukh's own.

Hasan didn't need to explain the gravity of the situation.

Sir Zaid's presence loomed over the court like an immovable mountain. His vast resources and the loyalty he commanded among nobles and soldiers alike had given birth to a faction that operated nearly independently of the Emperor's authority.

Farrukh scowled, his frustration evident. "Zaid has always been an issue. But he hasn't moved against the throne. He knows better."

'Does he?' Hasan mused silently.

The truth was more complex. Sir Zaid had no reason to risk his hard work within the empire—not yet. The man was patient, calculating, and infinitely more strategic than Farrukh could ever hope to be. He wouldn't squander years of careful maneuvering on impulsive rebellion.

Farrukh's jaw tightened. He was well aware of his precarious position, even if his pride wouldn't allow him to admit it.

"Zaid won't act rashly," Farrukh said finally. "He's too cautious. He's waiting for the right moment, but he won't get it. Not while I'm Emperor."

Hasan suppressed a smirk. 'If only you had had the foresight to prevent him from gaining this much power in the first place.'

"It would be wise to speak with him directly," Hasan advised. "A gesture of good faith, perhaps. Something to keep him neutral, at least for now."

"I'll consider it," Farrukh replied curtly, brushing the suggestion aside as though he had already thought of it himself.

Hasan nodded, his expression unreadable. He knew better than to push further. Farrukh's fragile ego was one of the few constants in this court, and it was something Hasan had long since learned to navigate.

As he left the chambers, Hasan's thoughts lingered on Sir Zaid. The man's influence had grown unchecked for years, creating a shadow within the empire. By the time Hasan had joined the Golden Swords and assumed leadership, the damage had already been done.

'It's too late to change the balance of power now,' he thought. 'All we can do is try to delay the inevitable.'

Zaid was a predator lying in wait.

Hasan left the emperor's chambers, his mind already far from Farrukh's desperate ranting. His goals were neither aligned with the Emperor's nor with Zaid's ambitions. Like Zaid, Hasan was a force that Farrukh couldn't fully control, though the emperor never ceased trying.

To Farrukh, Hasan was a paradox—an indispensable asset but also a dangerous liability.

The Emperor's paranoia manifested in constant surveillance, restricting Hasan's movements, particularly outside the capital. It was almost amusing how poor their efforts were. Hasan could spot the members of the surveillance corps without breaking a sweat.

"Time shall decide the fate of this skewed Empire," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head at the farce.

He dismissed the Emperor from his thoughts as he reached his residence, a sprawling villa surrounded by meticulously maintained gardens. Entering his study, he settled at the heavy wooden desk and began drafting a letter to the Golden Swords.

This was a routine task, but one he took seriously. The Golden Swords were his to command, and their presence was crucial in managing the empire's unrest.

Hasan carefully outlined plans for handling various rebel hotspots across the empire.

"I'll assign the strongest to Lahore," he mused. "Something unsettling brews there."

Sealing the letter with his personal insignia, he summoned one of the unit members stationed nearby. The man, a spy for both Karim and Farrukh, arrived promptly. Hasan handed him the letter without a second thought.

'Let them read it,' he thought dismissively. 'It's meaningless.'

After sending the spy on his way. The ever-present eyes of Farrukh's men trailed behind him, clumsy and obvious as always. Entering the lush garden, Hasan's gaze fell upon one of the maids tending to the plants.

With a sly grin, he approached her and gently grabbed her behind.

Startled, she turned to face him.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

"Lady," he said with a roguish charm, "why don't we spend the night together?"

The maid didn't protest. She nodded, allowing him to lead her inside.

To any onlooker, it appeared as though Hasan was indulging in a moment of hedonism.

Once in his private chambers, the doors shut firmly behind them, muffling all but the faintest echoes of their supposed intimacy.

The maid's voice carried through the walls, her feigned moans to mislead the spies who loitered just outside.

Hasan leaned close and whispered, "Send this message to them."

The maid nodded and replied softly.

"Yes, my Lord,"