Page 80 of Trapped By the Maharaja

Ram’s face hovered inches from hers, his expression unreadable. Even in the soft garden lights, his eyes were dark and unyielding.

He leaned down, close enough that his breath was warm against her ear.

“Going somewhere, doctor?” His voice was low, smooth, but threaded with steel. “You can try to run, but I’ll always find you.”

Her pulse raced. “Ram, we don’t have to do this tonight. Postpone the announcement. Just a few more days—”

His grip on her waist tightened fractionally. “No.”

Her chest tightened. “You don’t understand—”

“I understand perfectly,” he cut in, his voice still quiet but carrying an edge that left no room for argument. “You are my wife. And everyone here is going to know it.”

Anger and helplessness tangled in her chest, making her feel cornered and trapped as he guided her toward the center of the gardens.

The moment they stepped into the heart of the gardens, she felt it. Every gaze turned towards them.

“Who is she?”

“Must be someone from the Devara family based on her dressing and her nearness to Maharaja Ram.”

“She is very pretty.”

Sanjana felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Ram’s hand remained at the small of her back, steady and possessive, a silent statement that she was exactly where he wanted her. She tried to steady her breathing, but the awareness of his grip only tightened the knot in her chest.

Ram didn’t slow. Without glancing at the faces around them, he led her through the crowd. His grip was unyielding as he guided her toward the far end of the gardens, where Suchitra Devi stood with a large group of royals surrounding her.

The queen’s posture was perfect, her silk sari catching the lantern light like molten gold. Her lips were pressed in a firm, unreadable line as she watched them approach.

Sanjana could sense the disapproval.

Ram stopped before his mother, and for a moment, the air between the three of them was heavy with unspoken tension. Suchitra Devi’s eyes swept over Sanjana.

Then in one graceful motion, the royal matriarch stepped forward. A subtle signal to the palace musicians had the strings and tabla soften into the background until the gardens were blanketed in expectant silence.

Royal heads turned and conversations hushed.

“Honored guests,” Suchitra Devi began, her words carrying effortlessly to every corner of the sprawling garden. “Tonight, we gather in the gardens of Devara Palace under the blessings of our ancestors and the watchful eyes of the gods. We welcome the royal houses of our beloved nation and beyond.”

A ripple of murmurs followed her greeting.

“It is my privilege,” Suchitra Devi continued, “to formally announce the marriage of my eldest son, Maharaja Ram Devara to Dr. Sanjana Shetty, now the Devara Maharani.”

Shocked gasps broke the stillness, followed by a surge of murmurs. Some masked their shock behind polite smiles; others made no attempt to hide their surprise. Sanjana caught fragments of the whispers.

Shetty?

Not royal?

A doctor?

Is that even allowed?

Sanjana’s face burned even as she tried to keep her expression neutral.

Suchitra Devi’s tone didn’t waver. “The Devara Maharani comes to us not from a lineage of titles and crowns, but witha heritage of her own making, one of service, intelligence, and dedication to the healing arts. In the tradition of Devara, where strength is measured not only in blood but in the spirit, she is worthy of the place she now holds.”

There were more murmurs, some skeptical and others grudgingly impressed.