Page 12 of Trapped By the Maharaja

The pillow under her cheek felt too hard and warm.

Her eyes fluttered open, and for a disoriented second, she couldn’t remember where she was. Then the soft, rhythmic whirl of rotor blades returned to her ears, and she realized she was in a helicopter.

Not just in a helicopter, she was sleeping on a broad shoulder. Ram’s shoulder.

Her cheek was pressed against the expensive silk of his wedding attire. She could feel a slight dampness where she must have drooled on him.

She straightened immediately, her heavy bangles and jewelry clinking with the sudden movement. Heat rushed to her face. She wasn’t supposed to fall asleep, especially on him.

How long have I been asleep?

She glanced at Ram, who was watching her with unreadable eyes.

“I didn’t sleep well last night and was woken up early by your hired team,” she mumbled. She didn’t want him to think she had willingly touched him.

Ram didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Her cheeks burned, and her stomach fluttered nervously, knowing there would be a lot more happening between them than just touching.

The sudden dip in her stomach indicated that the helicopter was descending. Tearing her eyes away from Ram’s face, she looked outside the window.

Sanjana’s breath caught when she a sprawling estate with a huge fortress-like structure next to a flowing river. From above, Sanjana could see gardens, water fountains and shaded courtyards.

It was a palace. She had never seen a palace before, except on the news or in magazines in the hospital staff rooms. And now, she was about to step inside a palace as Ram Devara’s wife.

The thought made her stomach twist nervously.

As the helicopter circled briefly before descending onto the palace grounds, she realized it wasn’t the Devara palace, which was situated on top of a hill.

This one was next to a river and fit the description Ram had described to her in the past as the place he had spent majority of his childhood in.

It was the Rewa palace.

Soon, the helicopter landed on the palace grounds. Ram stepped out first and then extended his hand towards her. She hesitated for a moment before placing her hand in his. His hand gripped hers as she stepped out.

She stumbled slightly due to her heavy wedding attire, but Ram’s other hand moved to her waist, steadying her.

Heat curled where his palm rested on the bare skin of her waist, leaving her breathless.

As soon as she was able to stand on her own, she tried to move away from him to keep some distance between them, but his hand remained on her waist in a firm, possessive grip.

She knew trying to push him away would cause a scene. So, sucking a deep breath, she allowed him to lead her towards the palace.

At the foot of the wide marble steps that lead to the entrance, a row of guards stood in formation, turbans neatly tied, swords gleaming at their sides.

Their eyes held unmistakable shock at the sight of Ram in wedding attire with a bride next to him.

The shock lasted only a brief moment before their expressions smoothed.

With palms pressed together, they bowed in unison.

Ram inclined his head in acknowledgement, then tightened his hand around her waist, steering her steadily up the wide marble steps toward the palace entrance.

When they reached the top, he stopped outside the doorway. The massive, carved teak doors loomed above them, but Ram did not lead her inside the palace. Instead, his grip on her waist tightened as he kept her close.

Sanjana’s heart raced with nervousness, and she stood outside the threshold, looking at the high-ceilinged, spacious hall with marble pillars and tall windows.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps echoing from inside.

Three men were approaching. They were tall and broad-shouldered, but they looked distinctly different from one another. They all carried themselves with a natural command and an air of inherited power that reminded her of Ram.

She realized with a shock that they must be Ram’s half-brothers.

They came to a stop in front of Ram and her. And all three brothers looked at Sanjana. There wasn’t any surprise in their eyes, just a hint of curiosity.

“Ma has been notified,” one of them said, looking at Ram. “Although I’m sure Ma guessed something was happening when the three of us arrived a while ago without notice or a reason.”

Sanjana realized with shock that Ram had told his brothers he was getting married to her.

Then why didn’t they attend the wedding?

Before Sanjana could process it further, there was a sudden shift in the air. A rustle of silk and soft footsteps pulled her gaze to the far end of the hall, where a group of women was walking towards her.

Sanjana recognized the petite yet regal woman at the center, who was wearing a pale, emerald-colored saree with a string of pearls around her neck.

Sanjana had seen the elegant woman many times on television.

It was Maharani Suchitra Devi who was a socialite, philanthropist, and royal matriarch. Ram’s mother.

Sanjana stood still while the regal figure of Suchitra Devi stopped in front of them.

The queen surveyed Ram and Sanjana, taking in the wedding attire. Her eyes, dark and calm, moved from her son to Sanjana, lingering for a long, loaded moment, especially the sacred thread tied around Sanjana’s neck.

“I got married this morning, Amma,” Ram stated, his tone firm and devoid of feeling. “This is my wife. Sanjana Shetty.”

The words hung in the air.

Sanjana’s heart pounded as she waited for a reaction.

Ram’s mother didn’t speak, and her face betrayed nothing. But Sanjana felt the disapproval. It was in the form of regal, heavy silence.

A long moment later, the queen’s voice cut through the air.

“Mira,” Suchitra Devi said to her assistant, “prepare for the traditional welcome of the newlyweds.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the assistant replied before leaving.

Within minutes, a group of palace staff, women in crisp cream saris and young male attendants in uniforms, stood ready with silver platters filled with flowers, incense, and other items used in ritual to welcome a bride home.

A young maid stepped forward, holding a silver tray. Sanjana could see the flicker of nervousness in her eyes as she reached up and pressed a small red dot of vermillion onto Sanjana’s forehead and then onto Ram’s. Another woman circled a silver tray with a lit lamp.

One of the older attendants gently placed a silver kalash filled with rice before the palace threshold.

“Please push the kalash with your right foot and enter.”

Sanjana’s hands curled tightly around the edge of her bridal saree. Her foot, bare and trembling beneath the anklet, rose slightly and kicked the silver pot just hard enough to send the rice spilling in a smooth arc across the marble.

Ram’s grip tightened on her possessively as they stepped into the palace together.

As soon as they stepped in, Ram bent to touch his mother’s feet. Sanjana followed, knowing it was a ritual to seek blessings.

Rose petals were showered from above by the attendants, but the fragrance didn’t soften the tension.

When Ram and Sanjana stood up, Suchitra Devi looked at Sanjana.

“Welcome, Sanjana,” she said quietly, her tone neither cold nor warm. “The Devara Maharani.”

The words were ceremonial, but Sanjana felt a cold chill.

I don’t want to be the Devara Maharani. I want to be free.

Sanjana wanted to shout those words, but she kept calm.

Suchitra Devi looked back at her son. “Take your bride to your grandmother.”

The words were soft. But they held the weight of a royal command.

Ram gave a nod, then led Sanjana.

Sanjana’s legs felt heavy beneath the weight of the saree and the pressure of so many eyes as Ram led her through palace’s maze of halls. She blindly looked ahead as they went past arched doorways, lit galleries, and age-old portraits of Ram’s ancestors.

Finally, Ram stopped before a carved door guarded by two palace guards.

The guards bowed without question and stepped aside. Inside was a waiting room.

“Tell Grandmother I’ve come,” Ram stated to an aging maid.

“Yes, yuvraj ,” the woman replied before disappearing into another room.

A few moments later, the aging maid returned.

“Rani Vasundara Devi will receive you now, yuvraj, ” she said.

The carved doors opened into a large suite with a sitting area.

Velvet drapes filtered the sunlight. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood, dried rose petals.

Sitting upright in a carved rosewood armchair, her posture as rigid as her stare, was a woman who appeared to be in her eighties. Sanjana knew it must be Ram’s grandmother.

Her presence dominated the room. Her silver-white hair was pinned into a braided bun, and a star-shaped diamond nose ring glinted against her dusky skin. Her silk shawl, dark maroon with gold borders, was draped over her shoulders. Her fingers rested on an ebony cane inlaid with gold.

Her eyes landed on Ram. And then on Sanjana.

Sanjana felt a presence behind her.

It was Suchitra Devi who entered the suite and bowed slightly.

“Ma,” she greeted her mother. “There’s an important announcement.”

“I heard,” Vasundara Devi replied, her voice sharp and cold. “But I want to hear it from your oldest son’s mouth.”

Sanjana’s heart raced as Ram spoke.

“I got married today at the Devara ancestral temple,” Ram announced. “This is my wife, Sanjana Shetty.”

His grandmother’s wrinkled face remained unmoved. Her gaze turned to Sanjana, assessing her with piercing scrutiny.

“You married a commoner,” Vasundara Devi snapped, her disapproval razor-sharp.

“She’s a doctor,” Ram said, calm but firm.

“Education or a profession does not make lineage!” she cut in, striking her cane once on the floor.

“This marriage is invalid . You’ve broken royal protocol.

There is an established vetting process, one that was approved by the Royal Trust. You are expected to choose a bride with a bloodline and a title befitting our royal lineage. ”

“I have already chosen,” Ram replied. “The wedding took place in the Devara ancestral temple with rituals performed by the royal priests, and was done according to Devara customs. There is also a registered certificate signed and filed with the registrar, making the marriage valid in every way.”

“You have broken the rules,” Ram’s grandmother hissed. “You are not allowed to make a spectacle of us. Of our family lineage.”

“I am the maharaja,” Ram said, his tone suddenly steel. “I get to make the rules or change them. And I get to decide who is worthy of being my wife.”

Sanjana froze.

Suchitra Devi said nothing. She stood beside her son, calm and silent. But Sanjana saw the tension in her jaw and the flash in her eyes.

Rani Vasundara Devi leaned forward, her voice now a low growl. “You may be a maharaja, Ram Krishna Devara. But even maharajas fall if they forget their duty.”

“Maybe so,” Ram replied. “But until that happens, Sanjana is my wife, whether everyone accepts it or not.”

Ram bent to touch his grandmother’s feet. Sanjana did the same, knowing Ram’s grandmother wouldn’t give her blessings to the marriage.

As soon as they straightened, Ram placed his arm around Sanjana’s waist and led her out of the large yet oppressive chamber.

Suchitra Devi followed behind them.

Outside the chamber, she spoke to Ram. “Before you return to Devara Palace, join us for lunch. The cooks are preparing a celebratory meal.”

Ram nodded.

Sanjana’s heart thumped hard.

She wasn’t usually the kind who backed away from a confrontation or a difficult situation. But at that moment, she wanted to get far away from Ram’s family.

She hated Ram for putting her in the current situation. But what she hated even more was the way her pulse leapt at his nearness and his possessive grip that declared her as his, no matter who opposed it. Including her.