Chapter 28
The ocean became a thinner and thinner line on the horizon as we left Ullal.
We rolled over hills and past endless fields as we traveled along the Netravathi River and into Aru’s kingdom.
I’d known this river since childhood. It emptied into the ocean, making giant hills of foam as it crashed into the salty waves, but its ferocity was reduced to gentle ripples as we traveled farther and farther inland.
The Netravathi River formed Ullal’s northern border, separating us from Banghervari, but Banghervari was so vast that its southern tip dipped below the river and abutted our eastern border as well.
As we traveled, my hope that we might be staying near Aru’s seaside port in Mangaluru faded, and I realized we must be going to his palace in Nandavara, just south of the river.
Trumpets blared into the skies upon our arrival at the local temple, where we prayed and distributed alms. By the time we left, an endless crowd of people lined the road all the way to the palace’s intricately carved wood gate.
Guards held the people back as the gate opened, but their joyful screams and piercing whistles echoed over the walls as we approached the stairs in front of the palace’s imposing doors.
My family’s fort in Ullal had always felt austere compared to our palace in the capital at Puttige, but the palace in Nandavara made my home in Puttige look like a modest estate.
Here, enormous rooms were filled with ornately carved furniture, sumptuous pillows, and richly colored tapestries.
The painted gold on the palace walls shone in the sunlight, and when the building itself shimmered, the royalty had no choice but to sparkle.
The detailing on Aru’s emerald salwar shimmered in the lamplight, and my hibiscus-colored sari—which I had argued was ridiculously ornate when I first saw it—now felt barely adequate.
He guided me through the halls, chattering endlessly about the people in the portraits that we passed on our way to my chambers.
He didn’t seem to notice how cold my hands were or that I was completely silent as the realization of what was to come—of what was expected of a bride after her wedding—took hold of my stomach and squeezed it tight.
Amma had died long before we had to entertain any thoughts of marriage, and Ektha .
. . I was always supposed to have more time with her.
After she’d married Nikith, my sister had tried to hint that it would soon be my turn to live up to the obligations of a woman.
Ever so gently, she’d attempted to guide our conversation toward marriage and that first night.
I’d announced that I’d rather be literally beaten than listen to such nonsense, and I’d stormed off to the practice grounds with my sword, muttering about the inanity of such conversations.
But now I was here. In Banghervari. With a husband whose eyes betrayed his hunger.
And I didn’t have the faintest idea of what to do.
A pair of maids opened the doors to my chambers as I gripped Ektha’s bangle and stepped in, letting my mother’s payal bells squish into my palm.
The rooms were spacious, no doubt, and the large sitting room was filled with sumptuous sofas and chairs.
On the floor, there was an enormous plush carpet in shades of green and blue.
It was nothing like the dhurrie rugs from home—this was done in the new style of the northern rajas.
It was all very stylish and opulent and Banghervari in every way.
“I told them to bring you nothing but the finest things.” Aru looked at me anxiously as he awaited my approval. “I want you to feel completely comfortable here. This is your space, and if you want anything else, just say the word, my rani.”
“It is beautiful.” I let go of the bangle and reached for his hand. “You’ve done too much.”
“Never.” Aru stepped toward me, ignoring my hand and pulling me closer by my waist. “I would give you the world if it would make you smile.”
“I don’t need such finery.” I didn’t want him to see how much I missed Ullal, so I mirrored his gesture, putting my arm around his waist.
Aru beamed at my touch and pulled me even closer. Then he turned us toward another door. “That room has been set up for the women who accompanied you.”
That made me genuinely smile. The thought of having Parushi and Chaaya nearby was a great comfort.
Aru sensed my happiness but misunderstood it. “Ah! You’ve caught sight of your bedchamber as well!”
He swiveled me toward a set of double doors at the back of the sitting room, farthest from the halls. “You’ll have the most beautiful views of sunrise.”
Sunrise. East. Away from home. But this was supposed to be my home now. I managed to whisper, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me for that.” Aru turned me around so his arms enveloped my waist from either side. “I don’t intend for you to see it very often.”
I could feel his contours meeting mine, sending his heat into me and making my skin feel like fire. I inhaled his sandalwood scent and became suddenly aware of his broad shoulders and the strength of his chest. I could melt—give way and become nothing—and he would still hold us up.
My breath caught in my throat as Aru brought his lips to my ears. “I’ll leave you to get ready.”
After he left, a flurry of ladies’ maids descended, swirling around me with a sparkling silk sari and decorating me with jewels.
They tittered together as I held Ektha’s bangle, unsure of what to do.
I ended up just trying to make sure I wasn’t making anything more difficult than it needed to be.
Chaaya had the wherewithal to bring me a glass of thati kallu—and Parushi sneaked me a very generous refill of the palm wine—but I was aware of little else as the women fussed and finessed until they finally stepped back and deemed me worthy.
Paintings and doorways slid by in the unfamiliar halls as we walked to Aru’s chambers.
I desperately tried to remember something—any detail at all—from my conversation with Ektha, but I couldn’t.
I knew exactly which sword I had taken with me as I stormed to the practice grounds, but I had no memory of anything Ektha said.
Or tried to say. How many times had my past self ignored my sister’s warnings?
And how many times would my future self have to pay?
In both a blink and an eternity, I was deposited in front of Aru’s door. It stared down at me, making me feel even more a visitor. Even though I was fully dressed and covered in jewels, I’d never felt so bare.
But there was nothing to be done. I was here, and there was nowhere to go but forward. So I took a deep breath and stepped in.
That night was not as terrible as I expected. In fact, it was not so terrible at all.
Aru was an eager teacher. He delighted in discovering ways to light me aflame—exclaiming whenever he managed to draw goose bumps on my arms or elicit a new sound from my lips.
We finally fell asleep in the deepest part of the night, when the smallest stars finally came to light, our tangled bodies nestled in tangled sheets.
I awoke at dawn, as I always did, but our night together had not sated Aru’s appetite.
If anything, it seemed to have made him hungrier, and he eagerly pulled me back into bed when I tried to slip out.
Later that morning, when Chaaya came to escort me back to my chambers, I left walking on air, the warm trail of his kisses tracing down my neck, to my breasts and stomach, and down farther from there.
A flurry of activity exploded as soon as I entered my room.
Two maids escorted me to a bath, removing the smell of Aru’s sweat with their quick, efficient strokes.
While they worked, another maid laid out a rainbow of saris and blouses.
After I was cleaned and dried, Chaaya appeared at my side with a shawl and a warm cup of tea, which I sipped as I browsed the saris.
I passed by an indigo one with striking turquoise embroidery because I thought it too ornate, but every option after that was even heavier.
I looked at Chaaya, knowing she’d understand my discomfort with clothes like this, but she gave a small shake of her head and said, “The rani will surely look her finest in these beautiful saris. The raja is most generous.”
Chaaya’s tact was admirable—she’d managed to both compliment the raja and remind me that in Banghervari, it was important that I look my best.
After considering a few more options, I went back to the indigo sari.
No sooner had I pointed to it than a group of three women set to getting me ready.
They tugged on the blouse and the petticoat, smoothing away creases I did not even have a chance to see.
After that, they tucked and folded the sari around me, pleating so quickly their fingers looked blurry, but the folds fell in perfectly parallel lines when they were done.
They pulled out jewelry—heavy, ornate pieces that I never would have imagined wearing in Ullal—but I didn’t say anything about their choices.
Chaaya had just finished slipping on my bangles so they stacked in front of Ektha’s when there was a knock on the door to my bedchamber.
Parushi came in, dressed in her uniform from Ullal. “The raja would like to introduce the rani to his council. They will be meeting shortly, and he asks that you join them.”
The maids gave each other sidelong glances when they noticed her attire.
“I would be honored,” I said. “Chaaya, put the last of the flowers in my hair. Parushi, I would speak with you privately before we go.”
The other maids bowed and left the room, and Parushi shut the door behind them.
I whispered to her as Chaaya decorated my hair with white blossoms. “Maybe you should wear something else. It’s different here—they might not take you seriously if you’re not dressed as they expect.”