CHAPTER 12
The helicopter lifted off with a low thrum, carrying them away from Rewa Palace and back into the mountains. Yamini sat opposite Bharat, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her spine stiff against the leather seat.
Married.
The word kept echoing in her mind, unreal and heavy all at once. She was married to Bharat Jogra.
He sat across from her exactly as he had after the ceremony, straight-backed and composed with his sunglasses firmly in place despite the fading daylight. He hadn’t spoken since announcing their departure. He hadn’t looked at her either.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Yamini told herself to breathe. She watched the white peaks slide past the windows, the snow catching the dying sun, glowing faintly pink and gold. The beauty was overwhelming, but it did nothing to calm the tight knot in her chest.
She was flying toward the Jogra Palace as Bharat’s wife.
Her husband.
The helicopter began its descent, and Yamini leaned closer to the window despite herself.
The Jogra Palace came into view. It was vast and imposing, built into the mountainside, its towers rising in perfect symmetry against the sky, as though disorder had never been permitted by the Jogra ancestors who built it centuries ago.
Her heart started to race.
This is going to be my home for some time.
Until I have a child.
The thought made her stomach flutter nervously.
The helicopter touched down smoothly, the rotors slowing as guards in heavy coats moved into position. The doors opened, and icy air rushed in, sharp enough to steal her breath.
Bharat stood first, stepping out with ease, his long coat snapping lightly in the wind. She stepped out behind him.
But the moment her boots hit the snow-dusted stone, her foot slipped.
A startled gasp escaped her as she wobbled, her balance gone. Before she could fall, his long fingers gripped her forearm, steady and unyielding.
She looked up, shocked.
His sunglasses were still on, his expression unreadable, but his hold was firm.
“I’m fine,” she said, heat rushing to her cheeks.
Then her heel slipped again.
The ground rushed up to her when a muscular arm came around her back, the other under her knees, and suddenly she was lifted off the ground.
Yamini froze.
He carried her as if she weighed nothing, his stride unbroken as he turned toward the palace entrance. He didn't look at her while he carried her. His gaze was fixed ahead, navigating the path with focus.
The guards snapped to attention, their gazes carefully neutral, as though the Jogra maharaja carrying his newlywed bride were the most natural thing in the world.
She knew it wasn’t.
Her heart pounded wildly as she stared at the strong line of his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest beneath his coat. This was the first time he had touched her since the wedding. Really touched her.
She didn’t know what unsettled her more. The ease with which he held her or the fact that he said nothing while doing it.
“I can walk,” she murmured again.
He didn’t put her down.
The palace doors opened, and warmth rushed over her skin as they stepped inside. The contrast was startling. Thick rugs underfoot, golden light from chandeliers, the scent of pine and incense in the air.
Bharat carried her through the entrance hall and set her down only once they were fully inside.
The moment her feet touched the floor, he stepped back.
Just like that, the distance returned.
Yamini steadied herself, her pulse still racing, her body oddly aware of the absence of his arms.
“I have an important meeting tonight,” Bharat said, adjusting his cuff. “It may go on until midnight.”
“Uh… okay.”
“You will have dinner without me,” he continued. “The staff will see to everything you need.”
The words were polite and formal.
A part of her wanted to demand answers. But she felt mentally exhausted from the day and the unpredictable events.
Maybe some time alone would help her prepare to face him later on with questions.
“I’ll have someone show you to your room.”
Their bedroom.
Her pulse sped.
A group of palace maids approached, bowing respectfully. Bharat nodded once, already turning away.
Yamini watched him go before she turned towards the maids.
“Please follow us, Maharani,” they said.
Yamini forced a smile and followed them.
They took her up the stairs and then down a quiet corridor until they stopped before tall carved doors. When the doors opened, she stepped into a bedroom. Or rather a bedroom suite.
Her breath caught.
Tall windows stretched from floor to ceiling, framing snow-covered mountain peaks bathed in the setting sunlight. The room was elegant and warm, decorated in soft tones, with ivory drapes, carved furniture, delicate lamps, and fresh flowers thoughtfully placed on a side table.
It was beautiful. And unmistakably feminine.
A strange thought settled in her chest.
She turned to the staff. “Where does the maharaja sleep?”
The question seemed to surprise them.
“The Maharaja’s suite is next door, Maharani,” one of the maids replied. “There is a connecting door.”
Yamini was shocked.
They wouldn’t be sharing a bedroom.
Then how the hell am I going to have children?
The maids exchanged glances, unsure how to read her expression. “Would you like dinner served now, Maharani?”
Yamini shook her head slowly. “No. I’m not hungry. I ate a heavy meal at Rewa Palace.”
The maids looked unsure, but they nodded. “Please call if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” Yamini murmured, forcing another smile.
The maids left quietly, closing the doors behind them.
Yamini waited until their footsteps faded.
Then she slowly walked towards the connecting door. It was a large, heavily carved single wooden door with a shiny gold-plated handle. She paused for a long moment to ensure she didn’t hear anything from the other side. Not that sound could pass through such a thick door.
Knowing he was going to be in a meeting until midnight, she tried the handle.
It didn’t move.
There was no lock on her side. Which meant it was locked from the other side.
She stood there for a second, her hand still on the handle.
Then she let go and stepped back.
Her face was hot.
She pressed her fingers against her cheeks, furious at herself for the heat there.
She wasn't embarrassed. She refused to be embarrassed.
Except the heat in her face felt a lot like embarrassment.
Bharat Jogra had locked his bedroom door. As if he expected her to barge in and demand conjugal rights.
Her cheeks heated more.
She walked back and dropped onto the edge of the large bed and stared at the connecting door.
What does this even mean?
She knew their contract marriage was to be a business deal rather than a conventional marriage. But she had assumed they would at least share a bedroom.
How else am I going to have a child?
Then slowly it came to her.
He had no intention of touching her. He intended to use IVF to get his heir.
Heat rushed to her cheeks at the realization.
Bharat Jogra wasn’t attracted to her. He didn’t even like touching her. But she was the perfect candidate to use an incubator to carry his perfect little heir.
In his mind, she had the right bloodlines. And she was a disgraced princess who would be grateful to marry someone like him. Unlike any other woman, she wouldn’t demand his time or affection.
Her heart thudded in realization and anger.
She lay back against the pillows and stared at the carved ceiling, fury sitting hot and tight in her chest.
She thought briefly of her first marriage. In the initial years, when physical intimacy lasted barely a few minutes, she had to fake fulfillment. She had never once climaxed during sex and told herself it hadn't mattered. He had stopped coming to her, and she had stopped asking.
She had convinced herself that physical intimacy didn’t matter to her.
But she wanted children. That had always been her dream. She wanted children in a safe, loving environment.
And now, she was going to have them in a clinical room with a man who was utterly indifferent to her.
Bharat Jogra didn't want a wife. He wanted a transaction. Managed coldly like everything else in his ordered life.
And she had signed a contract giving him exactly that.