CHAPTER 18
The room Bharat had suggested for her palace studio was larger than her entire rented apartment in the city.
Yamini stood just inside the doorway, taking it in. Tall arched windows lined one wall, opening out to snow-dusted peaks that looked close enough to touch. Pale winter light spilled across the wooden floor in soft bands. The room was perfect.
Yamini stepped farther in, her footsteps echoing faintly.
She could already imagine a backdrop stand near the window, an editing desk against the inner wall, and a storage for lenses and lights.
The light alone was a photographer’s dream—cool in the morning, warm by afternoon, diffused by the mountain air.
A week had passed since their wedding.
A week since she had become Maharani Yamini Jogra in name and paperwork, if not in spirit.
During the day, Bharat barely acknowledged her existence.
Only breakfast overlapped, and even then, there were no conversations beyond logistics or curtly uttered commands.
And whenever she didn’t like those commands that were mostly driven by security measures, she argued.
But even her heated arguments were met with a particular expression that suggested he was waiting for her to finish ranting before he once again calmly reiterated his command. He was infuriating.
At night, however, he came. Always at midnight.
He came because he saw her as an obligation—a royal duty to fulfill.
He never kissed her on lips. Never stayed or held her once he was done. And didn’t speak beyond issuing commands.
She hated that her body still responded to him each night. Hated that her mind betrayed her with heat and awareness even as her pride bristled.
“Controlling jerk,” she muttered.
A soft clearing of throat made her turn.
A young maid hovered near the doorway, clearly unsure whether she should speak.
“Is… is everything all right, Maharani?” the girl asked hesitantly.
Yamini forced a smile. “Oh yes. This room is perfect. Thank you, Savita for showing it to me. Also, can you take me around the palace to introduce me to the rest of the staff?”
She was waiting to be officially introduced to the palace staff. But she strongly doubted that Bharat Jogra would even consider it time well spent.
He would rather conquer more steel plants and issue commands elsewhere.
The young maid blinked before she nodded. “Yes, of course, maharani.”
There were nearly forty staff members working in the Jogra palace during that shift.
There was curiosity in their eyes as they looked at her.
She greeted each of them, smiling, asking their names, and thanking them as they bowed.
They all spoke about Bharat Jogra.
“Maharaja is very disciplined,” said Kamla, the head housekeeper, in almost a reverent tone.
“He doesn’t tolerate mistakes,” added Vikas, who was the head valet responsible for taking care of Bharat’s clothing and shoes.
“He never raises his voice,” another said in a tone of awe.
“He is fair,” said the weathered head butler named Ratan, who had worked at the palace for thirty years. He said it simply, without elaboration, as though fairness were rarer and more valuable than warmth. “Whatever Jogra maharaja promises, he delivers.”
They spoke of Bharat Jogra the way people spoke of legends—distant, imposing, untouchable, larger than life.
Yamini knew how hard it was to earn people's trust and loyalty. Right from her childhood, she had seen a revolving door of the meager palace staff who left because her father often treated them badly and didn’t pay their salaries on time.
Only a few of them remained for lower pay because of her mother’s kind nature.
Yamini knew Bharat Jogra could afford high salaries for his staff.
But his staff seemed loyal to him beyond the money.
Yamini continued the palace tour, listening to the head butler as he spoke of the Jogra lineage of warriors and rulers and of various traditions, with the particular reverence of someone who had given his life to one house.
Yamini listened politely.
Her own family's history wasn't told this way. There were no butlers or caretakers left to tell it.
Standing here, surrounded by Bharat Jogra's centuries of accumulated power, she felt the difference. She recalled Rani Vasundara Devi's words.
“This girl’s family has the bloodlines but no powerful legacy worthy of a maharani.”
The words might be true regarding the power, but she had never been ashamed of where she came from. Just because her family's legacy didn't come with mountain palaces didn't make it any less.
She straightened her spine slightly and followed the caretaker.
She stopped before a large oil painting mounted along a stone wall.
“This was Maharaja Bharat’s father,” the man said. “Maharaja Vikram Singh Jogra.”
The resemblance was startling. The man in the portrait was broad-shouldered and strikingly handsome with the same sharp features, fair skin, and golden-brown eyes.
But when Yamini stepped closer, she noticed that the gaze was different from his son's.
Bharat Jogra's gaze was controlled and measured, but his father's eyes in the portrait held something else. A restlessness that was barely contained. As though the stillness of the canvas couldn't quite hold him.
“He died in an accident,” the head butler continued. “Fell from the snow cliffs during a winter hike.”
Yamini’s throat tightened. Bharat Jogra must have been very young when he lost his father.
Did he miss his father?
She felt a strange tug in her heart.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed away the ridiculous thought that Bharat Jogra could have a vulnerability. The man’s heart was made of steel.
The next portrait was of Bharat Jogra’s parents.
Rani Suchitra looked beautiful and quite young. It was a portrait made on the wedding day. Although the bride looked radiant in the traditional Jogra ceremonial clothing, there were shadows under her eyes, making her appear sad and poignant.
Yamini recalled her mother mentioning that Rani Suchitra had to marry the Jogra maharaja barely a few months after her first husband had died.
“Rani Ma comes here during the summer,” the head butler said.
“I see.” Yamini didn’t know whether to dread or look forward to the visit.
She desperately wanted to set things right with the woman she admired most in her life. But she wasn’t sure if Rani Suchitra would forgive her for the past humiliation.
Taking a deep breath, she continued to follow the head butler as he led her to the gardens.
She introduced herself to an elderly caretaker and the gardeners. But she didn’t spend much time outside as it was too cold.
She was just about to step into the palace when she heard a strange sound.
It was a thin, pitiful sound.
Frowning, she followed the noise toward a cluster of shrubs near the outer wall of the palace.
That’s when she saw a tiny kitten.
It was grey and white, and so small that its ears looked too big for its head. Its body trembled violently, ribs visible beneath its fur.
“Oh no,” Yamini whispered.
She crouched immediately, shrugging off her shawl and wrapping it around the kitten with careful hands. The tiny animal let out a weak mewl, pressing instinctively into her warmth.
Her heart clenched.
She carried it inside, straight toward the large palace kitchen where heat and light spilled out generously.
But as soon as she stepped into the kitchen, the staff looked shocked.
“Maharani!” the cook gasped. “What is that?”
“A kitten,” Yamini said, not understanding their reaction. “It was freezing.”
There was a flurry of alarm.
“No animals are allowed inside the palace, maharani.”
“Yes, it’s strictly forbidden.”
“Maharaja Bharat—”
“Will understand,” Yamini cut in.
The staff exchanged worried glances.
Yamini knelt near the fireplace and looked up at them. “Bring me a bowl of milk.”
There was a pause.
Then the older woman, Sheena, moved first. She fetched the milk without a word.
The others followed.
Yamini didn't let her relief show. She simply crouched near the fireplace and unwrapped the shawl.
The kitten drank eagerly, tiny body still shivering.
Yamini stroked its head. “See?” she murmured. “It just needs warmth and barely a bowl of milk.”
She looked up to find every pair of eyes fixed on her. They still looked worried.
Yamini straightened slowly, the kitten curled protectively in her arms.
“I’ll speak to… Bharat,” she said, deliberately using his name to give an impression of closeness.
The staff didn’t look reassured.
It wasn’t the first time Yamini had to argue to keep a stray. She couldn't walk past any of them without stopping to help or rescue. Her mother used to be exasperated, and her father had called it undignified for a princess. But she always managed to rescue the helpless animals.
Let Bharat Jogra have his palace rules, his standing orders, and his precisely arranged breakfast plates.
This kitten is staying.
She looked up at the head housekeeper with a smile. “Kamla, can you find me a small box and an old blanket? Something the kitten can sleep in tonight.”
Kamla hesitated a moment, and then, seeing the smile, she went to fetch the things.