Page 64 of Trapped By the Maharaja

The way she said it carried respect, almost reverence.

Rukmini-amma led her past another series of sunlit courtyards and quiet corridors, her soft sari rustling against the marble. Sanjana followed silently, absorbing every new corner of the Devara Palace with the carved lotus motifs, the sandalwood-framed doorways, and the intricate Tanjore murals.

Eventually, they stepped into a quieter wing. Unlike the grander halls, this place felt untouched. The air smelled faintly of polish and sandalwood, as though the staff maintained it daily, though no one truly lived here anymore.

At the end of the long corridor was a small atrium where sunlight poured through latticed windows, bathing two large oil portraits in a warm glow.

Sanjana stopped in her tracks.

The first portrait was of a man. Tall, broad-shouldered and draped in traditional silk with a jewel-studded sword resting against his palm. His expression was regal, his posture commanding, his jawline cut like granite. There was somethingunmistakably familiar about the way he seemed to look out of the frame with a steady, piercing gaze.

Her heart thudded as she realized he looked like Ram. The same jaw. The same eyes. The same air of quiet dominance.

Only here, the hair was touched with grey at the temples, and faint lines creased the corners of his mouth. Age had left its signature, but it hadn’t softened him. If anything, it made the authority etched into his features more permanent.

Her eyes drifted to the portrait beside him.

A young woman. Barely more than a girl. Draped in silks, weighed down in gold. She was stunningly beautiful, but her beauty carried an innocence, a demureness that seemed out of place beside the commanding figure of her husband.

Her eyes were soft. Her smile tentative. Her shoulders sloped with youth and uncertainty, like a girl hiding behind duty.

Sanjana’s breath caught. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought the portrait was of a father and daughter.

“That’s Maharaja Rajaram Krishna Devara and Maharani Suchitra Devi Devara,” Rukmini-amma said quietly from behind her. “They were fifty and eighteen when they married.”

Sanjana was shocked by the age gap.

“Maharaja Ram was born two years later,” the housekeeper added. “Unfortunately, Maharaja Rajaram passed away before his son’s birth in a sudden heart attack.”

Suchitra Devi was married at eighteen. Younger than Sanjana had been when she got her first medical scholarship.

Her gaze lingered on the portrait of the young bride. Ram’s mother. She wondered what it must have felt like to walk into this palace at eighteen, already married, already burdened with expectations far beyond her years. And then, becoming pregnant and losing her husband within two years. It was heart-wrenching.

Rukmini-amma’s voice softened with memory. “I remember Maharani Suchitra when she was a young bride. She was soft-spoken, shy, and so innocent. But she learned quickly. She became everything the Devara family needed her to be as a maharani.”

The elderly housekeeper turned to Sanjana. “Just as you will, Maharani.”

Sanjana smiled faintly, touched. “I don’t know if I belong here, Rukmini-amma,” she said honestly.

The elderly housekeeper smiled. “You already do, child,” she said in a steady and sure tone. “More than you realize. You belong here because you hold the Maharaja’s heart with you.”

Sanjana’s chest tightened, her throat constricting with unspoken words. She didn’t correct her. Didn’t say out loud that Ram hated her. And that the marriage was temporary and based on a contract that would require her to give him an heir.

She forced a smile. “Thank you, Rukmini-amma.”

“If you need any changes, let us know, Maharani,” Rukmini-amma said gently, “the palace is now your home.”

Sanjana nodded even though she knew she wouldn’t be staying long enough to see the entire palace and estate, let alone make changes.

Just then, a palace maid came looking for Rukmini-amma, telling her she was needed in the kitchen to give instructions.

Sanjana looked at the elderly housekeeper. “Please go. Thank you all for your time. I don’t want to keep you from your work. I’ll return to the master suite to freshen up for lunch.”

The elderly woman nodded and then, bowing, she left with the maid.

Sanjana headed back towards the master suite. She turned a corner and instinctively slowed.

A corridor stretched before her, lined with tall arched windows on one side and dark wooden doors on the other. Sherecognized one instantly. She had seen Ram stepping out of the room that was at the far end. Her eyes fell on one particular set of double doors.