Chapter
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The ceremonial welcome began.
Women dressed in traditional Jogra attire stepped forward in a semicircle. Their pherans shimmered with delicate embroidery, silver jewelry catching the sunlight.
One elderly village matriarch approached Yamini.
She carried a small brass thali filled with rice mixed with saffron threads.
The matriarch lifted a pinch and gently touched it to Yamini’s forehead.
“Welcome, Maharani,” she murmured.
Another woman draped a luxurious pashmina shawl over Yamini’s shoulders.
Its warmth was immediate.
Yamini felt her throat tighten as she smiled at them. “Thank you,” she said.
Nobody here knew about the contract. They also didn’t know she had once run from their maharaja.
Pushing those thoughts aside, she focused on the warmth of the people.
Soon, the crowd moved back to give space for the performances.
The first one was the Rouf dance, which was popular in the valley.
The women formed two graceful lines, facing each other, hands clasped lightly. Their feet moved in rhythmic precision, shoulders swaying, soft clapping echoing against drumbeats.
Their voices rose in celebratory song. Even though Yamini didn’t understand the Jogra dialect, she knew that the verses invoked prosperity, protection, and abundance.
Yamini watched the performance as her own feet began tapping slightly under her pheran.
The Rouf dance concluded with loud applause.
Then the men in tall, conical caps entered the meadow’s center.
They moved in rhythmic unison, stamping feet against the earth, energy rising with each beat. It was the Dumhal.
Yamini enjoyed watching it along with several other traditional dances performed to welcome her. She sneaked occasional glances towards Bharat Jogra, who sat through it all, unmoving and simply observing.
It was noon when the crowd's energy suddenly shifted. Yamini sensed a breathless anticipation as the crowd waited for the next event.
The drumbeats changed.
They turned heavier and into a slower beat, each strike landing in the chest rather than the ears.
Riders in ceremonial attire guided the mountain horses into formation along the edges of the open ground. The animals were broad-chested and compact, built for altitude, their coats groomed smooth, their tack embroidered in Jogra colors.
Yamini’s eyes fell on a black stallion. It was enormous, and its coat shone brightly under the winter sun.
But what caught her attention was that it was being held by four handlers, all of whom were visibly struggling.
Just as Yamini waited to see who would ride it, Bharat Jogra stood up next to her.
He removed his sunglasses and handed them to the head of security without looking.
She watched in shock as he got down the dais in smooth, unhurried movements and went towards the stallion.
The handlers extended the reins toward Bharat.
Yamini’s heart quickened.
The stallion tossed its head, and its muscles moved under the black coat while its hooves struck the ground. Bharat stepped forward and took the reins.
The horse jerked hard.
Bharat didn't move. His grip tightened while he looked at the animal with the same intense focus he applied toward everything.
He didn’t soothe the animal or whisper into its ear.
He let out a low command that stilled the animal instantly.
Yamini watched as he mounted in one fluid motion, swinging onto the saddle with practiced ease. The thick fabric of his royal attire pulled tight across his broad shoulders and powerful thighs as he settled into place.
The stallion shifted beneath him in restless energy. But Bharat adjusted the reins once and let out another low command.
The horse dropped its head.
The drums began again, and he urged the stallion forward. The first few strides were controlled, finding rhythm, and then he gave it its head, and the horse went from contained to fully unleashed in one stride.
Hooves thundered against the ground as the stallion lunged into a full gallop across the length of the meadow.
The crowd cheered.
Bharat leaned slightly forward, his posture perfectly aligned with the animal’s motion.
The stallion veered hard toward the line of mounted riders at the meadow's edge. Bharat shifted his weight, and the horse turned in a clean arc without breaking pace.
The crowd cheered.
A handler waited at the midpoint of the track on horseback, a ceremonial spear laid horizontally across his arms.
Bharat didn't slow.
He reached the handler at full gallop and leaned from the saddle, one hand off the reins, his body angling out over the horse's side at a speed that made her grip the armrest, and lifted the spear from the handler's arms without the horse dropping a single stride.
He came back upright, rising slightly in the stirrups.
And then, threw.
The spear crossed the meadow and hit the target dead center. The metal ring exploded off the post.
The crowd erupted, and the drum beats grew deafening.
Yamini realized she was standing.
She had no idea when she stood up. She was standing on her feet with her hands pressed against her chest, clutching the emerald fish tightly.
Sensing Rani Suchitra’s gaze, she turned. The queen mother was watching her with a regal yet unreadable expression.
Yamini wasn’t sure if it was disapproval or something else.
Rani Suchitra said nothing. She simply turned back toward the meadow.
Yamini sat down quickly.
Meanwhile, Bharat Jogra turned the horse and rode back towards the dais.
The black horse thundered closer. But Bharat didn't slow it.
Yamini’s breath caught in her throat, wondering if he had lost control of the animal.
It was barely a few feet away when Bharat tightened the reins, and the stallion reared, front hooves high in the air.
The crowd gasped along with her.
The animal remained mid-air for a suspended moment before the hoofs landed perfectly on the ground.
And then, golden-brown eyes met hers.
The crowd was still roaring around them. She couldn't hear any of it.
He looked at her the way he always did. Intensely focused.
Yamini’s breath remained caught.
Bharat didn't get down from the horse. He simply looked at her with his intense gaze.
Yamini’s heart thudded when he reached for the ceremonial sword at his side and offered it to her.
With slightly trembling hands, Yamini reached for it.
The crowd cheered loudly.
He looked at her for a moment longer and then turned the stallion and rode to the far end of the dais. He dismounted in one clean movement and handed the reins back to the handlers.
Yamini watched in a daze while he took his sunglasses from the security head and put them back on before walking up the dais.
He sat beside her.
He didn’t look towards her or say anything.
Meanwhile, she held the ceremonial sword tightly in her hands, her face hot despite the cold mountain air.
She didn't know enough about Jogra tradition to know exactly what it meant when the maharaja offered his ceremonial sword to his maharani in front of the valley.
But judging by the way the crowd had erupted, she suspected it meant something.
The drums kept going. And the crowd continued to celebrate.
But all she could feel was the man beside her.
I am in serious trouble.