CHAPTER 59
Dal Lake in the late afternoon was so beautiful that it was difficult for Yamini to remember she was working.
Warm light spread across the water. Snow-dusted mountains rose in the distance. Houseboats drifted slowly. The air smelled faintly of cedar and kahwa.
Yamini adjusted the focus ring on her camera.
Click.
She shifted the lens.
Bharat sat across from her in the narrow shikara. Jacket off. Shirt sleeves folded once at the wrist. Collar open. This time, the sunglasses weren’t shielding his eyes.
The breeze moved through his hair, and he didn't bother correcting it.
Even on water, relaxed, he looked exactly like what he was. A maharaja.
She zoomed in slightly.
He sensed her watching him and turned.
His expression softened at her.
It lasted half a heartbeat.
But she caught it.
Click.
That one would be hers. It would never appear in any press release.
The interviewer's boat floated at a respectful distance, microphones angled toward them. Security vessels formed a wide perimeter, blending into the tourist traffic on the lake.
“Your Highness,” the interviewer began, “the transformation in public sentiment has been remarkable. From protests outside the steel factories to national admiration.” He paused with a careful smile. “You're being called the sexiest maharaja in modern India.”
Yamini lowered her camera a fraction.
She watched Bharat instead.
A flicker crossed his face. It wasn’t embarrassment or pleasure.
It was annoyance.
His jaw tightened slightly. Not at the compliment, but at being reduced to a headline.
She bit the inside of her cheek.
“The workers deserved attention,” he said. “Not me.”
That was all.
The interviewer laughed nervously and shifted tone. “Maharani, social media is full of admiration. Women across all age groups are openly saying they—”
“I've seen,” Yamini said lightly.
Pooja had mentioned that after the press incident with Rahul, Bharat’s followers had exploded, surpassing 50 lakh.
The interviewer cleared his throat. “There's also speculation about Rani Suchitra's influence.
It's widely known she values legacy and continuity.
There are rumors that she places heir clauses in her sons' marriages.” He pressed forward carefully.
“Was your marriage primarily arranged to secure an heir for the Jogra line?”
Silence settled over the water.
Yamini felt her pulse jump.
Bharat didn't answer immediately.
He looked at her.
There was nothing political in his gaze. There was heat in it. Possession. The kind that had nothing to do with royal legacy, contracts, or anything the interviewer was asking about.
Her breath caught.
He turned back to the interviewer.
“No.”
Just that. No elaboration.
The interviewer nodded quickly. “Understood.”
Yamini lifted her camera again.
Click.
She captured him in profile, the lake behind him, mountains in the distance.
She lowered the camera slowly.
A boat glided past carrying bright shawls. A vendor balanced flowers in woven baskets. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed.
She let herself settle into it.
The interviewer asked another question about industrial reforms. Bharat answered briefly.
She lifted her camera again, widening the frame to take in the lake behind him.
Click.
And then she saw it.
Another shikara further back. A single man was seated toward the front. He wasn't close. He wasn't behaving in any way that would register as a threat. He wasn't staring at them.
He was watching the water.
More precisely, he was watching the reflection of their boat.
Her photographer's instinct sharpened before she could explain why.
She zoomed in slightly.
Click.
Through the viewfinder, she could see that his hand wasn't resting loosely at his side. It was positioned. And when the sun shifted for a moment, something metallic caught the light near his waist.
It could have been a phone, a belt buckle, or even a camera accessory.
She adjusted her angle.
The reflection showed the trajectory clearly. She had composed enough frames to understand angles.
Bharat sat directly in the man's line.
The man's boat shifted slightly with the current, adjusting without effort.
The metallic edge caught the light again.
Her mouth went dry.
Security hadn't moved. There was nothing obvious to react to. The scene still looked exactly as it had a minute ago—the mountains, the gold light, the tourists drifting past.
The man's posture shifted by a fraction.
She moved before she had time to think about it. She lunged forward across the narrow width of the shikara and shoved him hard to the side.
The gunshot cracked across the lake.
The boat rocked violently.
Then heat tore through her shoulder.
The camera slipped from her hands.
The mountains were still there. The water still caught the light. The sky hadn't changed.
Only his face had.
Every trace of control was gone.
His hands caught her before she could fall.
“Yamini.”
She had heard him give commands. She had heard him give warnings. She had heard him say her name in the dark in ways that made her forget everything else.
She had never heard him sound like that. Raw and terrified.
The darkness came in at the edges.
Someone was shouting. Security boats surged across the water.
She couldn't focus on any of it.
The last thing she saw was Bharat’s face.
He looked completely undone.