CHAPTER 49
Rewa Palace
Rani Suchitra had known the same day Yamini left Jogra Palace.
Before the sun had set, before any gossip could travel beyond the palace gates, a trusted housekeeper had called Rewa, her voice trembling.
“She left with only one suitcase, Rani Ma. And the kitten.”
That had been four weeks ago, and now Mira stood in front of Suchitra in the study room with the same news.
“There has been no reconciliation,” Mira said carefully. “They are not speaking. Not even formally.”
Rani Suchitra closed the file she had been reviewing and set it aside.
“I am aware,” she said.
Mira hesitated. “Maharaja Bharat has not reached out to her either.”
Rani Suchitra didn't answer right away. She folded her hands on the desk and let the memories settle in.
Five and a half years ago…
Bharat came to her study.
He was twenty-six, had already acquired eight steel factories, and was already more disciplined than men twice his age.
When he walked in that afternoon, his expression was unreadable.
“Mouj,” he said.
He stood as he always did. Precise. Shoulders straight. Hands clasped behind his back. His sunglasses were tucked into his breast pocket.
“What is it, Bharat?” she asked.
“I would like to marry Princess Yamini.”
It took her a full second to understand what he said.
And that it was Bharat who had said them—her most controlled son, the one who seemed untouched by flattery, beauty, or admiration of any kind.
“Are you certain?” she asked carefully.
“Yes.”
“Have you spoken to her?”
“No.”
Suchitra was quietly thrilled.
For years, she had watched women circle him. Royal daughters, heiresses, models, the daughters of politicians. They had tried everything from laughter, boldness, and tears. None of it had ever moved him.
But Yamini was different.
Suchitra remembered her as a child running through the Rewa gardens during summer visits. Mud on her ankles, wind in her hair, laughing too loudly for a princess, and never once apologizing for it.
Suchitra went to her old friend Maheeta, Yamini's mother, with the proposal.
Suchitra recalled that during the last visit to Rewa, Maheeta had mentioned she was looking for a suitable match for Yamini, who was twenty-two at that time.
“Our families are already bound by friendship,” Suchitra told her. “Let us bind them by blood too.”
Maheeta received the idea warmly. Yamini's father, eagerly. Both families presented it to the world as an arrangement between old friends—a royal alliance strengthening ties that already existed.
Only Suchitra knew the truth. That it was not her proposal. It was Bharat's.
Then came the scandal.
The call came three days before the wedding.
Yamini eloped. Married her college classmate and then left the country.
Samar reacted first, furious. “That woman humiliated bhai. She humiliated all of us!”
Yamini’s location was traced within hours.
Ram said nothing, but his anger was clear on his face.
“We’ll bring her back,” Viraj said. “Or her family will face the consequences.”
Viraj was young, but already strategic.
Only Bharat remained calm.
Too calm.
“We will not pursue her,” he said.
Samar stared at him. “She disgraced you, bhai.”
“She made a choice,” Bharat replied, his voice even.
But Suchitra saw it.
The slight tightening in his jaw. The stillness that settled into his shoulders. The way he avoided eye contact more than he usually did.
It wasn't ego. It wasn't anger.
It was heartbreak.
The woman he had chosen chose someone else.
And he let her go.
Suchitra closed her eyes for a moment at the memory, then opened them and looked at Mira.
“Bharat has asked me for only one thing in his life,” she said softly. “He asked for Yamini.”
Mira nodded. She had always known this as Suchitra’s confidante.
“I was happy they finally married after five years,” Suchitra said. “And now they stand apart again.”
“We don't know what caused this, Rani Ma,” Mira said gently.
“No,” Suchitra agreed. “But I know my son.”
She had learned, over five decades and four marriages, that no one ever knows everything about another person, including the people closest to them.
But she knew enough.
She stood and walked to the window. The gardens lay still under the evening light.
“Bharat is proud,” she said. “His silence is deliberate. His reasons are his own.”
Mira nodded.
“Do you plan to tell the Jogra maharani the truth?” Mira asked.
“No.” Suchitra's voice was firm. She returned to her desk. “My son will tell her himself, when he is ready.”
She opened a drawer and took out an ivory invitation embossed in gold, setting it down on the desk.
“But I will not allow matters to prolong further when they should be spoken.”
Mira understood. “You intend to intervene,” she said softly.
“I intend,” Suchitra said, “to create an opportunity.”
She sat down, her posture straight, her gaze steady.
“My son has asked me for one thing in his life.”
Her voice caught, just slightly.
“And this time, I will not fail him.”
The room went quiet again.
Outside, the gardens stayed still.
Inside, Rani Suchitra Devi had already begun to plan.