Chapter 4

Vasuki carried Rishi through winding corridors. Serpent slaves and guards lined the walls, heads bowed respectfully, avoiding even a glance at the struggling, panicked human.

Rishi wriggled violently on Vasuki's shoulder. "PUT ME DOWN! I—UH—CAN'T—BREATHE—THIS IS—OH GODS!"

Vasuki's smirk never faltered. "Patience. All in good time," he murmured smoothly.

Parikshit followed closely behind. His gaze was fixed on Rishi, cold and unyielding, yet he moved like a shadow—silent, precise, and ready—but the moment they reached the massive double doors of Vasuki's chamber, he stopped immediately, bowing his head in respect.

With a faint smirk, Vasuki pushed the doors open and stepped inside with Rishi still over his shoulder, each step measured and deliberate.

As soon as they were inside, Vasuki's hand slid over the massive, intricately carved door, and with a soft click, it locked from the inside. The chamber was large and dimly lit, faint golden light reflecting off walls decorated with serpent motifs and thorny vines.

Rishi's eyes widened in panic.

Vasuki set Rishi down roughly on the bed. Rishi's legs flailed helplessly like a live puppet, arms still tied behind him, bouncing against the mattress.

 Vasuki leaned against the doorframe, smirk widening, eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "Struggling suits you," he murmured smoothly, voice like silk wrapped around a blade. "So... adorable."

Rishi's face turned a bright shade of crimson, both from panic and embarrassment. He tried twisting to reach his bound hands, kicking wildly, and squeaked incoherently.

Vasuki stepped closer, circling the bed slowly. "I enjoy your energy," he said, tone low, teasing, and darkly amused. "So... lively, yet so helpless."

Rishi's internal monologue was a chaotic disaster:

Oh gods, he's walking around me... why is he smirking? My hands are tied! My legs are flailing! My toes are curling! I'm panicking! I'm embarrassed!

 Vasuki stopped at the foot of the bed, watching Rishi squirm and throw his legs like a panicked toddler. He laughed—low, slow, and deliciously evil. Each note echoed in the chamber, sending a shiver down Rishi's spine.

"I could leave you like this," Vasuki purred, voice teasing, "to contemplate your predicament."

Rishi froze mid-flail, eyes wide as he gasped. "You're evil!

Vasuki's laughter filled the room, wrapping around Rishi's panicked thoughts like a velvet trap. He leaned closer, eyes glittering with mischief. "Yes... evil," he murmured. "But you... are... fascinating."

Rishi's legs flailed faster, hands twisting helplessly behind him.

Rishi realized: he had zero control over anything—his words, his limbs, his fate... and somehow, that made him feel even more alive in this terrifying, intoxicatingly hot chamber.

Vasuki's heels clicked softly against the polished stone floor as he walked toward the door. Each step was measured, deliberate, and somehow impossible to ignore. His golden eyes glanced once at Rishi, who was still squirming on the bed, arms tied behind his back, legs flailing like a trapped insect.

He reached the door, smirked briefly. The heavy wooden door shut with a definitive click, and the chamber was plunged into silence. The faint glow from the torches along the walls did little to warm the room, and the shadows seemed to stretch, filling the space where Vasuki's presence had been.

Rishi's heart thumped frantically. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to process the fact that the terrifying, impossibly hot Serpent King had just left him alone. The absurdity of it all hit him at once. He actually just left me here, tied up, completely helpless. And I'm supposed to survive this?

He rolled awkwardly on the bed, trying to find a better angle to wriggle free. The ropes bit into his wrists with every twist and pull, and his legs thrashed uncontrollably. Okay, think, Rishi. You're twenty-eight. You're an adult. You can untie your hands somehow... maybe if I roll onto my stomach... or shimmy like a worm...

Minutes passed. He twisted, pulled, kicked. He tried dragging himself toward the edge of the bed, only to hit the mattress with a soft thump. The knot was impossibly tight, a masterful binding that seemed almost designed to frustrate and humiliate him.

He flopped onto his back, panting, staring at the ceiling, and muttered under his breath, "why did I think I could get out of this? movie logic does not apply here... nothing works... nothing at all..."

The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to stretch longer, and the faint glint of gold in the serpent motifs on the walls made the chamber feel even more alien. Rishi tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed, only to tumble clumsily onto the floor. His arms, tied tightly behind him, offered no leverage, and he ended up wedged awkwardly between the bed and the wall.

He groaned.

He twisted again, biting the edge of the mattress in frustration, then attempted to roll onto his stomach. The ropes dug painfully into his wrists, making him yelp. He gave up halfway through, lying flat on the floor, arms pinned and legs splayed like an overstuffed pillow.

"Why me," he muttered miserably, "I didn't even get to eat dinner."

He wriggled his shoulders again, testing the ropes. Still tight. His wrists ached. His arms were beginning to go numb.

Then, somewhere between his tenth groan and fifteenth self-pitying thought, a spark of stubbornness ignited in him. No. Absolutely not. I am not spending my first night in a snake palace tied up like some vegetable.

"Genius," he hissed through his teeth.

A few minutes later, he accidentally rolled halfway under the bed in his struggle. Dust bunnies greeted him like old friends. Well, at least I'll die clean, he thought grimly.

Then—by complete accident—his hand brushed against a loose nail sticking out of one of the bed legs. His eyes widened. Hope glimmered.

"Oh," he whispered dramatically, "a sign from the gods!"

He twisted his wrists, pressing the ropes against the rusty nail, sawing back and forth. It hurt. A lot. His arms shook. His shoulders ached. Sweat dripped down his forehead. But the faint tearing sound of fibers fraying gave him new energy.

He worked faster, muttering prayers, curses, and half-coherent encouragements to himself.

"Come on... come on... I'm Rishi from Mumbai, not Rishi the Idiot Human Burrito..."

Finally, with one last jerk, the rope snapped.

For a second, he didn't believe it. His hands sprang free, and he stared at them like they were divine miracles. "Oh my god," he whispered reverently, "I actually did it. I'm free. I'm—ha! take that, Parikshit, with your scary face and cold attitude!"

He rubbed his sore wrists, wincing at the red marks, and stood up shakily. His first step made him stumble, his legs having fallen asleep from all that wriggling. He shook them out, still muttering, "I survived thorns, I survived Parikshit's ropes, and now I survived rope. I deserve a medal. Or food. Mostly food."

He looked around the room, realizing it was the first time he'd really seen it properly. The walls were carved with serpents coiling in endless patterns, and a faint, musky scent—like sandalwood and something dangerous—hung in the air.

The thought hit him: This is Vasuki's room.

His victory grin faded instantly.

He swallowed hard, glancing at the massive golden bed, the scales embroidered into the dark sheets, the faint glint of armor resting on a nearby stand. Every inch of the room screamed danger and authority.

And here he was—rumpled, sweaty, disheveled, with rope burns on his wrists—standing in the middle of the Serpent King's private chamber.

He exhaled slowly, running a trembling hand through his hair. "Okay," he whispered, "Rishi, don't panic. You're free. That's good. Now... how about... not dying before morning?"

The door stayed shut. The silence stretched long. Somewhere beyond the thick walls, he thought he heard faint hissing, like distant serpents whispering secrets.

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