CHAPTER 43
Spring arrived in the Jogra Valley.
The royal apple estate had burst into white and blush bloom, rows of trees stretching down the valley in every direction. Snow still capped the peaks above, but here the air was warm enough to carry laughter and the smell of fresh blossoms.
Yamini stood on a low wooden platform between the orchard rows, mic in hand, sunglasses pushed up into her hair.
The charity event felt less like a royal function and more like a community festival.
Steel factory families filled the meadow.
Children ran between the trees. Food counters lined one side of the open ground with baskets of winter fruit, steaming breads, and delicious meat and vegetable dishes.
Hot pink-hued noon chai was served at a corner.
This had been her idea to hold an event under the open sky after months of snowfall.
She had mentioned it once as a suggestion at breakfast. Three days later, Imran had called to confirm the venue.
She had stopped being surprised by things like that.
She wore a traditional orange Jogra pheran for the event. But she had taken her shoes off halfway through and was now barefoot in the grass, holding her camera.
A small boy with rosy cheeks pulled her hand and offered her a shiny, red apple.
She took a generous bite and smiled. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
The small boy beamed and took off in the grass to join his parents.
She laughed.
Across the orchard, Bharat Jogra stood with the senior plant managers. He wore black traditional Jogra attire, sunglasses in place. Even in spring sunlight, he carried that particular command that made people around him stand a little straighter without being told.
She sensed his gaze behind the sunglasses.
She knew he was watching her because his body was still in a familiar, focused manner.
For a moment, the noise around her faded as warmth spread through her.
Her mouth curved before she could stop it.
He didn't smile back. But in private, when she did something to make him laugh, his expression shifted, softening his face with a slight lift of his lips.
It had been a month since he had taken her to the frozen lake and the cabin. Since then, many things had changed.
Morning routine remained the same.
They had breakfast together every day. He ate with his usual precision and with his tablet next to his breakfast plate.
But what changed was that she now started drinking the pink-hued, salty noon chai and surprisingly enjoyed it.
Sheru was now a regular at the breakfast table. The kitten sometimes curled near her feet under the table and sometimes sat on the empty chair beside her as though he owned the palace entirely.
The staff looked horrified at first. But seeing their maharaja look unbothered, they didn’t do anything.
The palace staff had adjusted to the changes.
Especially Savita and the other maids who came into her room each morning, only to find the bed empty.
Yamini not only slept in Bharat’s bed each night, but some of her clothes also occupied his wardrobe now. Her shampoo and lotion were on his bathroom counter.
He had never said a word about any of it.
She had expected him to. She had almost wanted him to set a boundary, a rule, something she could push against.
But he didn’t.
With her smile widening, Yamini walked toward a group of factory women workers who gathered under a blossom-heavy tree.
“Maharani,” they greeted her, straightening.
“I’m not just a maharani. I’m also your photographer right now.”
They laughed.
She clicked a few pictures and then stepped away from them. She stood under a tree to check. The women looked happy and carefree as they laughed under the apple blossoms.
Yamini was smiling when a young engineer approached her. He had an eager smile. “Your Highness, I’ve seen the photos on your website. They are outstanding. The way you captured—”
He suddenly stopped. Yamini didn’t have to turn to know why. She sensed Bharat before he appeared at her side without a word.
He didn't interrupt or cut the engineer off. But his presence was enough. The engineer's posture adjusted immediately.
“Y-your Highness,” he greeted with a slight stammer and then stepped back.
Once they were alone, Yamini raised an eyebrow at him. “Intimidation tactic, maharaja?”
“Efficiency.”
She smiled. “By the way, I caught you staring at me.”
He didn’t look embarrassed or deny it.
“You're barefoot in a public orchard,” he said instead.
“So?”
“I'm evaluating risk. It’s still cold.”
She laughed. “I'm not delicate.”
His gaze dropped briefly to her bare feet, then came back to her face. “I know.”
The way he said it made her cheeks heat. She recalled their nightly passion when he was hardly gentle. But she didn’t complain. She reveled in his touch and gave it back equally until his own control wavered.
She stepped closer and brushed a petal from his broad shoulder.
“You are thinking too much about the risks,” she said.
“I always do.”
“Then don't. Enjoy the moment.”
He didn't answer.
She had accused him of controlling her life. He had.
But then, she had taken back control in several ways.
She was the one who had moved into his room. She was the one who had started leaving her books on his side of the bed. She was the one who reached for his hand in public now without thinking about it first.
He let her, every time.
As apple blossoms drifted down around them in the spring air, she understood something that felt more unsettling than all the anger she'd carried for months.
She wasn't just staying because of the contract.
She was falling.
And the most unsettling part was that she had stopped trying to catch herself.