Page 15 of Trapped By the Maharaja

Sanjana sat hunched over her desk, medical textbooks spread out in uneven stacks, highlighter clutched between her fingers. The exam was tomorrow morning, and she had promised herself she would finish revising for the third time before midnight.

The first tap against the window made her pause. She frowned, ignoring it. Probably just a tree branch in the wind.

The second tap-tap-tap was sharper, deliberate.

Annoyed, she dropped her pen and pushed her chair back. It had to be her roommate’s boyfriend again. Last week, he had thrown pebbles at the wrong window and nearly gotten them both caught by the warden.

She yanked the window open, ready to snap. “Wrong room again, you fool—”

The words froze in her throat.

It wasn’t her roommate’s boyfriend standing below to sneak out his girlfriend.

It was him. The guy with the rusty, old jeep who had driven without question to the hospital to save an injured child.

Ram.

She had tried to pay him money for getting blood in his jeep, but he had refused. Now, he was outside her hostel room, as though he had every right to be there. In the dim glow of the hostel’s courtyard light, he looked just as handsome as she remembered.

Her heart stuttered, then raced with equal parts annoyance and something she didn’t want to name.

She reminded herself of her long-held dream. She wanted to be a doctor, not get distracted by handsome faces.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed, gripping the window frame.

“Came to remind you,” he said. “You owe me a coffee.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You… how do you even know where I stay?”

He tilted his head, a slow smile spreading on his face. “I enquired at the hospital who registered the injured boy and got your full name and address.”

Her pulse jumped. He had gone that far to find her? The thought both infuriated and, to her horror, thrilled her.

“You’re insane,” she said, crossing her arms. “Go home before you get me expelled. This is a girls’ hostel!”

“Not leaving.” He leaned back against the jeep, arms folded across his chest. “Not until you agree.”

Sanjana’s nostrils flared. “Absolutely not.”

She slammed the window shut and marched back to her desk. For a moment, she forced herself to stare at her notes, but her eyes refused to move past the same sentence.

Then came another tap-tap-tap. Followed by another. And another.

Her shoulders slumped. With a groan, she stalked back to the window and flung it open. Ram was looking up at her, stone already in hand.

“Fine!” she whisper-yelled. “Fine, I’ll take you out for coffee. Just stop throwing stones before the warden shows up and I get into trouble.”

The stone dropped from his hand as his grin softened into something far too satisfied. “Tomorrow morning,” he said softly. “Don’t make me wait.”

And with that, he slipped away into the night.

Sanjana shut the window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. Her heart thudded wildly in her chest.

Exasperated didn’t begin to cover it. She should have been furious at his persistence, annoyed at his arrogance. But all she could feel was the strange, giddy flutter in her stomach at the thought of tomorrow.

She was actually going on a coffee date with Ram.

Sanjana opened her eyes. For a moment, disorientation struck her.

Ram’s young, handsome face, standing below her hostel window with a slow smile, faded away.

Instead, she saw the carved canopy above, felt the silk sheets against her skin, and smelled the faint lingering scent of sandalwood and spice.

Her heart thudded hard.

She was in the Devara Palace. On Ram’s bed. As his wife.

Slowly, she turned her head and stared at the expanse of the king-sized four-poster bed. The other side was empty.

Ram was gone.

The silk sheets where he had lain were smooth with no wrinkles, as though he had never been there. But she remembered the previous night. Their wedding night, when he slept next to her.

But there were no words. No touch. Nothing except for cold indifference.

It should have relieved her, but it made her angry. She had tossed and turned at night until she fell into a restless sleep at dawn.

I shouldn’t care. I don’t care! He forced me into this contract marriage.

Taking a deep breath, she sat up.

Just as she was about to get out of bed, there was a knock on the door.

Before she could answer, the double doors opened, and two young women entered. They were dressed in red cotton saris with gold borders, their hair tightly knotted. She recognized them from the previous night.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” one said smoothly. “I am Lalita and she is Kumari. We’ve come to assist you.”

Sanjana forced a smile. “Thank you, Lalita, but I can manage.”

The women looked at each other, but didn’t leave. Instead, they moved with quiet efficiency, drawing curtains, setting slippers by the bed, arranging toiletries as though her protest hadn’t been spoken at all.

Suppressing a sigh, she rose, her body still sore from the previous day’s endless rituals and travel. She walked into the enormous bathroom and shut the door behind her, savoring the rare moment of solitude.

The steaming shower helped. She stood beneath the rainfall-like cascade far longer than necessary, letting the water wash away the ache in her shoulders and dull the tightness in her chest.

When she stepped out wrapped in a towel, the maids were waiting again.

Her cheeks heated in embarrassment at the lack of privacy. “I can get dressed myself,” she said.

There was hesitation. Then one of them stepped back and bowed. “Of course, Your Highness. We’ll prepare your wardrobe.”

Sanjana followed the woman into the massive walk-in closet, which was much larger than the living room in her apartment.

The walls were lined with rich silk sarees, gold-threaded lehengas, intricate shawls, and embroidered gowns.

Every piece looked like it belonged to royalty.

Nothing resembled the simple clothes she wore to the hospital.

Sanjana stared.

I can’t wear this to work.

With a frustrated sigh, she scanned the clothes and finally found an expensive yet simple blue dress. It was a long-sleeved, modestly cut dress with a high neckline and subtle pearl buttons. The material was clearly expensive, and the pearls must be real, but the design was clean and functional.

She put it on and tied her still-damp hair into a ponytail. She refused to wear jewelry and for makeup, she chose a tinted lip balm.

Making a mental note to retrieve her clothes and things from her apartment, she stepped out of the large closet and dressing area..

The two women looked scandalized seeing her, but they kept quiet.

“Where is… Ram?” she asked.

“Maharaja has requested your presence for breakfast.”

Sanjana highly doubted that Ram had requested her presence. He most likely commanded that she be brought to him.

Taking a deep breath, she followed the women out of the master suite and down the hall, making a note of the direction since the palace was big enough for her to get lost easily.

When they reached the dining area, her heart leapt at the sight of Ram. Her dream from earlier that morning made her remember Ram from the past with a slow smile on his handsome face.

He is no longer that Ram.

He was now the cold, ruthless Devara maharaja. Her contract husband.

He was seated at the dining table, reading from a sleek tablet with a gold-rimmed cup of steaming coffee next to him. He was wearing a charcoal business suit, which meant he got ready somewhere else.

He looked up when she entered the dining area. His eyes swept over her, taking in her simple blue dress and ponytail. He didn’t greet her or say a word.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled out a chair opposite him and sat down. Silver platters lined the table, filled with fruits, breads, and several steaming breakfast dishes . Her stomach growled with hunger because she hadn’t eaten well the previous day.

Ignoring his presence, she served a little bit of everything onto her plate and began eating.

The silence stretched, and it wasn’t a comfortable silence. Her stomach fluttered nervously as he watched her while she ate.

Finally, she spoke, trying to keep her tone neutral.

“I’d prefer to live in my apartment,” she said. “It’s closer to the hospital. I’ll commute here for… whatever royal duties I’m expected to fulfill.”

“No.”

Sanjana’s back stiffened at his curt reply. “No?”

“You’ll stay here with me,” he said.

Her eyes flashed. “I signed a contract, not a prison sentence,” she snapped. “I still have a life and a job. The contract says I can work full-time, which is impossible since it will take at least two hours to get to the hospital from here.”

Ram met her gaze.

“You can still go to the hospital,” he said. “A helicopter will take you to the city each morning. A car will be waiting to drop you.”

Sanjana blinked. “A helicopter?”

“Yes.”

“That’s ridiculous! I can’t go to work each day in a helicopter!” she said.

“You can and you will,” he replied. “There will also be security with you.”

Her jaw clenched. “No, I won’t agree to causing a spectacle at my workplace!”

“You are my wife,” he stated, his tone hardening. “For the next three years, you will allow the security to follow the royal protocol.”

Anger bubbled inside her chest. Even though she felt a strong urge to shout and argue, she controlled herself.

“No one knows yet,” she said carefully.

He didn’t say anything, only waited, his eyes steady on her.

Taking a deep breath, she continued. “Until there’s a formal announcement, no one needs to know about our marriage. I… need time to adjust before people find out.”

She could see a flicker of displeasure on his face.

Before he could deny her, she pressed on quickly. “Give me a few weeks, Ram. I’ll take the helicopter if I must, but I’ll drive myself to the hospital. Your security can remain outside the premises.”

Silence stretched between them. Her pulse drummed as she braced for his refusal.

Then, with a single curt nod, he said, “Alright.”

Sanjana let out a slow breath of relief. It wasn’t complete freedom, but she bought some time. A few weeks of anonymity before the world knew she was bound to Ram Devara.