Page 41 of Trapped By the Maharaja

Rewa Palace

The private sitting room was quiet, softened by the glow of brass lamps. Suchitra Devi sat alone at her carved desk.

Her fingers hovered over the phone for a moment longer than necessary before she finally dialed. When the call connected, she drew in a slow breath.

“I need your help,” she said, her voice steady, precise, yet holding the faintest strain beneath its surface.

There was a silence on the other end.

Her chin lifted. “Yes… both of them,” she continued, her words firm. “The situation has escalated faster than I anticipated.”

She rose from the desk, the soft rustle of her silk sari marking each step toward the window. With two fingers, she parted the drapes slightly, looking out over the palace gardens.

“I understand the risk,” she murmured, her voice lower now. “Discretion is paramount. I don’t want any trace of this leading back to me.”

The reply came as a quiet murmur, deep and measured. She closed her eyes briefly, something unspoken tightening in her chest before she forced it away.

“I need your most trusted people,” she said after a moment. “This time, there should be no lapses.”

There was another pause, and she listened, her gaze still fixed beyond the glass. The darkness outside pressed against the light like a living thing.

“If there is another incident,” she said, the words slower, heavier, “I expect a response before anyone else has a chance to act. Do you understand?”

A faint sound of acknowledgment reached her ear.

Her fingers tightened around the phone. “Good. I’ll send the details within the hour.”

She ended the call and stood for a long moment, the silence of the room pressing in. The phone remained in her hand, her knuckles pale, before she set it down with deliberate care on the desk.

Then she turned away from the window, her expression smoothing into that unreadable calm the world had come to expect from Suchitra Devi.