CHAPTER 17
It was midnight when Rani Suchitra Devi returned from a charity auction.
The Rewa Palace gates opened immediately, and the guards snapped to attention as her car entered the sandstone courtyard. Warm golden lights glowed against carved pillars while fountains murmured softly in the distance.
Unlike the cold northern mountains of Jogra, the air in Rewa remained warm even at night. Jasmine drifted faintly through the courtyard gardens.
Mira waited at the top of the palace steps.
Despite the late hour, she looked exactly as she always did—neat, composed, efficient, and loyal in a way that had outlived scandals, weddings, political wars, and even deaths.
“Good evening, Rani Ma,” Mira said softly, taking Suchitra’s shawl before Suchitra even lifted it.
“Good evening,” Suchitra replied, walking inside. “Haven’t I told you not to wait up for me when it gets late?”
“You did,” Mira said with the smallest hint of amusement. “But you know I will always wait, especially when there is news I want to deliver personally.”
Suchitra allowed herself a brief smile. Mira was more than a decade younger than her, and the sisterly bond they shared was stronger than the one that bound them by blood.
They walked through long corridors lined with portraits of kings, queens, and generations of Rewa royalty. Her heels clicked softly against polished marble.
Tea waited in her private sitting room, steam curling upward beside a slim tablet resting on the low table.
Suchitra sat gracefully on the velvet sofa while Mira remained standing nearby.
Although Suchitra had repeatedly told her formalities weren’t necessary in private, Mira observed protocol with stubborn consistency.
“Updates,” Suchitra said, lifting her teacup.
“The Jogra palace continues to report tension,” Mira began. “Apart from breakfast, the rest of the meals are not taken together.”
Suchitra’s hand stilled slightly around the porcelain cup.
Mira continued carefully. “However, Maharani Yamini recently signed a rental contract at the Dalview Collective to establish a commercial photography studio.”
“I see.” Suchitra knew exactly what Dalview represented. Prestige. Influence. Visibility. “And Bharat?”
Mira hesitated.
Suchitra noticed immediately.
“Maharaja Bharat remains occupied with the protests outside the steel plant,” Mira said. “He continues to maintain distance within the household.”
Suchitra lowered the cup slowly. “I see,” she murmured. “And Yamini?”
Mira glanced up.
“The palace staff appears to like her,” Mira replied softly. “She thanks them personally. She avoids unnecessary demands. She spends long hours on photography work.”
Suchitra’s gaze drifted momentarily toward the darkened balcony doors.
“She has always loved photography,” she said absently.
Suchitra had known Princess Yamini Gaur since she was six years old.
Most royal girls learned early how to sit quietly and smile beautifully.
But Yamini spent time playing in royal fountains, rolling around muddy gardens, and crawling into unexplored caves around the palace.
Although Yamini’s mother often scolded her in embarrassment, Suchitra noted Yamini’s spirit remained bright and carefree.
She was often found with a small, disposable camera, taking pictures that captured the essence of the royal palace.
Suchitra had gifted her first professional camera at the age of fourteen.
Photography didn’t dim her spirit. It added to it, much to Yamini’s parents’ exasperation.
At sixteen, Yamini had once climbed onto Rewa Palace stables in expensive silk just to photograph monsoon clouds rolling over the hills while horrified guards shouted below.
Another time, Yamini had argued with three royals at a charity luncheon because she believed orphanages deserved art programs rather than mere donations.
Suchitra still remembered smiling afterward at both those times.
She had known Yamini was a bright girl. But also, too impulsive and too restless.
Five years ago, Suchitra had been looking forward to welcoming Yamini into the family.
Then barely three days before the wedding, Yamini had run away.
Suchitra’s chest tightened at the memory.
The Gaur family had nearly collapsed beneath the humiliation.
But it was Bharat’s absolute calmness that remained in Suchitra’s mind.
Now, five years later, Bharat had brought back Yamini into his life.
Suchitra understood strategy. She understood duty. She even understood revenge.
But she had no idea what her most controlled son planned to do.