CHAPTER 11
The helicopter was quiet except for the steady thrum of its blades.
Yamini sat with her hands folded in her lap, her spine straight, her body tense despite exhaustion weighing on her limbs. Across from her, Bharat sat perfectly still, his posture controlled, his presence filling the small space without effort.
His sunglasses were back on.
She watched him in brief, careful glances. He hadn’t said a word since they’d left the mountain temple. Not during the short walk back to the helicopter. Or when the doors closed. Or even now, as the snow-capped peaks faded behind them.
She didn't try to break the silence.
At some point, exhaustion claimed her. The tension in her body loosened just enough for sleep to take her under.
When she opened her eyes again, the light had shifted.
For a moment, she didn't move, her mind slow and heavy with the particular disorientation of waking somewhere unfamiliar. The steady thrum of the helicopter blades filled her ears. Her neck ached faintly from the angle she had slept at.
Then her gaze drifted to the window.
Her breath caught.
The landscape below was wrong. There weren’t any familiar outlines of buildings or traffic.
Below her, catching the afternoon light, were sandstone domes, manicured grounds and stone walls she recognized.
Her stomach dropped before her mind caught up.
She sat up straighter, her heart beginning to thud.
He isn't taking me home.
She turned to look at him. He was already watching her, or at least facing her direction, his sunglasses back in place and his expression giving nothing away as usual.
“Where are we going?” she asked, though some part of her already knew.
“Rewa Palace,” he said.
Rewa.
That was where Rani Suchitra Devi lived. Bharat's mother. The matriarch of five royal houses. The woman whose approval mattered more than anyone else's in this family.
He wasn't keeping her a secret.
He was taking her to his mother.
The same day.
Yamini turned back to the window, her pulse loud in her ears. She had expected a secret marriage. But Rewa Palace wasn't a secret. It was a declaration.
She looked at him again, searching for hesitation, for calculation, for any crack in that unreadable composure that might tell her what he was actually doing.
His face gave her nothing.
He simply leaned back, adjusted his cuff, and looked away. As though this was entirely unremarkable. As though taking his new wife to meet his mother on their wedding day was the most logical next step in the world.
Which, she realized with a sinking feeling, it probably was to him.
She turned back to the window and said nothing.
Four times today, he had done the opposite of what she expected. And each time, instead of clarity, she had been left holding more questions than before.
She was beginning to understand that predicting Bharat Singh Jogra was not a skill she possessed.
The helicopter landed.
And then the door opened.
Bharat stepped out first. She expected him to walk away and leave her to follow.
But he waited.
She stepped out slowly, steadying herself against the sudden rush of air. Her gaze lifted, taking in the palace grounds she hadn’t seen in years.
When she stepped fully onto the ground, he fell into stride beside her, not touching or guiding, but unmistakably present. The awareness of him at her side sent a strange flutter through her chest.
They walked together toward the palace.
Memories stirred as her eyes traced the familiar stone paths and manicured gardens. She had been here years ago when her mother had brought her along on several visits during the summer.
The palace guards snapped to attention as Bharat approached.
Their eyes flicked from him to her and widened.
They bowed deeply, greeting them both, but surprise lingered clearly on their faces. It wasn’t every day that the Jogra maharaja arrived unannounced in wedding attire with a bride.
Yamini felt every one of those looks.
Right at the palace steps, she noticed movement ahead.
Three tall men stood waiting.
Her breath hitched.
Bharat Jogra’s brothers.
She hadn’t seen them much when she had visited the Rewa Palace with her mother. She had only been briefly introduced during the engagement ceremony five years ago. She knew each brother was a maharaja from a powerful lineage from south, west, and eastern India.
They stepped forward together.
“Congratulations.” The tall, dusky-skinned man who greeted first was Ram. Bharat's oldest brother and Devara maharaja from the south.
Another brother greeted with a curt nod. “Welcome.” Samar was the Keshwa maharaja from the west.
The next brother greeted her formally, but she sensed a hint of amusement along with curiosity. He was Bharat’s youngest brother, Viraj, the Sahom maharaja from the northeast.
Yamini inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Thank you,” she murmured, feeling unsure.
Bharat responded with a brief nod to his brothers, nothing more.
She noticed that none of Bharat’s brothers seemed shocked by her and Bharat visiting the Rewa Palace in wedding clothes.
In fact, his brothers looked as though they had been expecting the visit.
Which meant Bharat must have told them.
Did they know after the ceremony or before?
If they had known before, why hadn’t they attended the wedding?
Before she could think of a reason, a soft chiming sound drifted from inside the palace.
The sound of anklets and footsteps.
A group of women emerged, dressed in traditional attire, carrying trays of flowers and lit lamps as part of a welcome ritual. At the center of them stood two women Yamini recognized immediately.
Rani Suchitra Devi and Mira, her longtime aide.
Rani Suchitra looked almost the same as Yamini remembered. Elegant, composed, and commanding without effort. Only the fine streaks of grey woven into her hair hinted at the years that had passed.
A sharp ache bloomed in Yamini’s chest.
One of her deepest regrets about running away five years ago wasn’t just the humiliation it had caused to their families. It was what it had done to the friendship between their mothers.
Rani Suchitra Devi had been one of the very few friends Yamini’s mother was allowed to have. Their meetings had been rare, but when they happened, Yamini remembered the way her mother’s face would light up. There would always be laughter, warmth, and ease.
She doubted that the bond had survived what Yamini had done.
Rani Suchitra Devi approached. There was no warm smile, and her eyes were guarded.
“Rani Ma,” Yamini greeted softly, using the term she had used since her childhood.
Rani Suchitra looked at her. And there was only a short regal nod.
Yamini felt her throat tighten at the cold response.
“Mouj,” Bharat said calmly. “I’ve married Princess Yamini.”
The words echoed in the open air.
Rani Suchitra Devi’s expression didn’t change. But her eyes flickered as though weighing the implications. Then she gave another regal nod.
“Pay your respects to your grandmother,” Rani Suchitra commanded softly.
Yamini’s heart beat nervously as they walked deeper into the palace.
They stopped outside a set of older doors that were darker, heavier, and guarded by attendants.
The palace attendants saw them and greeted Rani Suchitra with a bow. One of them quietly slipped through the doors to announce their presence.
Yamini glanced at Bharat, who appeared calm. Rani Suchitra also appeared calm. But Yamini was anything but calm.
The doors opened a moment later.
“Please come inside,” the palace attendant requested.
The room inside smelled faintly of incense.
And seated at the center was Rani Vasundara Devi.
She was smaller than Yamini remembered seeing many years ago. Her frame was thin but unyielding, wrapped in a dark silk saree with a gold border. Her hair was completely white, pulled back into a severe bun. Her eyes were sharp, cold, and assessing.
Bharat moved forward without hesitation. He bent and touched his grandmother’s feet. Yamini followed immediately, lowering herself beside him and touching her feet in the traditional gesture of respect.
For a long moment, there was silence.
Then the thick wooden cane with a golden handle struck the floor.
“You may rise,” Rani Vasundara Devi said, her voice clearly displeased.
Yamini straightened slowly.
The Rani’s sharp gaze moved on her. “I remember you. A wild child who always laughed too loudly and ran around the palace grounds like a street urchin. Even as you grew, you didn’t learn the manners of how a royal princess conducts herself.
Your true colors showed when you eloped with a commoner right before the wedding day. ”
Yamini’s cheeks burned because the words were true. She had been wild while growing up and even until her late teens.
The old woman then looked at Bharat. “You have shamed this family,” she said flatly.
Yamini’s breath caught.
“You married a disgraced woman,” the Rani continued. “A woman who ran away from her duty.”
Yamini wasn’t shocked by the harsh words. She had known that Rani Vasundara Devi was orthodox and a stickler for tradition. Yamini’s own grandmother was the same. The Gaur matriarch was a terror that even her dominant father bowed to.
“Five years ago, I wasn’t happy with the alliance either,” the Rani Vasundara went on. “Even then, I warned your mother that power matters along with bloodlines. This girl’s family has the bloodlines but no powerful legacy worthy of a maharani.”
Rani Suchitra remained silent, her face composed.
“I allowed it then,” Rani Vasundara said coldly, “only because your mother insisted, because of her foolish friendship with this girl’s mother. And look how this girl repaid us with humiliation instead of showing us gratitude.”
The wooden cane hit the floor twice.
“I will not accept her as the Jogra maharani,” Rani Vasundara’s voice boomed.
The words landed heavily in the room.
Yamini held her breath at the finality of the words.
She knew the power the elders held in royal families. No decision was made without their support or approval. Not even Yamini’s dominating father dared to go against his mother’s wishes.
Yamini expected Bharat Jogra to bow down to his grandmother’s words.
She snuck a look at him.
His handsome face was cold and unreadable.
“Whether you accept her or not is irrelevant,” he said, his words calm but absolute. “Princess Yamini is my wife. And she is now the Jogra maharani.”
Yamini was stunned.
She expected him to remain coldly silent. But his words fell like a mandate.
The air crackled as Rani Vasundara Devi’s eyes narrowed. “You dare defy me?”
“I am the Jogra maharaja. I have chosen who stands beside me.”
His voice held absolute authority.
Rani Vasundara Devi’s lips pressed into a thin line.
Bharat inclined his head once in respect. And then, he looked at Yamini.
His golden-brown eyes met hers for a brief second in a silent command before he turned to leave.
Yamini immediately followed.
Her legs trembled slightly while her mind swam in shock and confusion.
Rani Suchitra Devi followed them, her face unreadable. Once they were clear of the doors, she spoke.
“The remaining rituals will be completed,” Rani Suchitra said. “Preparations are already underway.”
Yamini nodded, still trying to process what had just happened.
As they turned down the corridor, a soft voice cut through the tension.
“Rani Ma?”
Yamini looked up to see a young, pretty woman hurrying towards them. She stopped to catch her breath. The woman was dressed simply yet elegantly, and her eyes held a warmth that immediately set her apart from the rest of the palace.
“Sorry, I’m late,” the woman said, her breath coming a little faster. “I had an urgent surgery that came up in the last minute.”
Yamini noticed Rani Suchitra’s eyes softening towards the woman.
Yamini felt a small pang in her heart as she recalled receiving similar affection from Rani Suchitra until five years ago.
Rani Suchitra gave a nod. “Come and join us to welcome Bharat and Yamini.”
The pretty woman nodded before turning towards Bharat and Yamini.
“Congratulations to both of you,” she said with a warm smile.
Bharat acknowledged the greeting with a small nod. Then the woman shifted her attention to Yamini.
“I’m Sanjana,” she said. “Ram’s wife.”
Yamini was surprised. Then she recalled Pooja mentioning that Ram Devara had married a commoner, which caused quite a stir in the media and elite circles. The woman he married was a doctor.
Sanjana looked towards the now closed doors of Rani Vasundara Devi’s suite. Her smile grew wider, and she lowered her voice as she spoke to Yamini. “Don’t worry. Rani Vasundara Devi has said worse things to me when Ram brought me as a new bride.”
Despite herself, Yamini felt her shoulders relaxing slightly.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
Yamini could only imagine how Bharat’s grandmother, who was a stickler for tradition, must have reacted to Ram Devara marrying a commoner.
Yamini didn’t have to wonder why the Devara maharaja married a commoner. Sanjana was beautiful and kind.
But Yamini still couldn’t understand why Bharat married her.
And so far, everything she predicted about him had been wrong.
She glanced at him as they walked. His gaze was straight, and there was a slight distance between them that he controlled.
She was sure he sensed her gaze. But he didn’t bother looking at her.
The rituals continued in the courtyard.
Yamini was guided to stand beside Bharat.
She was intensely aware of him. She noticed the slight distance he continued to maintain and the stillness of his hands at his sides.
He didn't shift or look around the way most people did when standing in the center of attention.
He simply stood, composed and unreadable, as though the ritual was something to be completed rather than experienced.
Why did he marry me?
She had no answer ready. No theory was left that she fully believed. Just the unsettling awareness that she had married a man she couldn’t predict or understand.
Much later, after all the rituals were completed and a small feast had followed, Bharat finally spoke.
“We’re leaving for the Jogra Palace,” he announced.
Yamini’s heart raced.
She had no idea what would happen next with Bharat Singh Jogra.
That thought was more unsettling than anything else that had happened today.