Page 2 of Trapped By the Maharaja
Narayan straightened slightly. “Your Highness, it seems the world waits for you. And I am glad you are willing for companionship again, especially after the losses you’ve endured.”
Devi studied him quietly, her amusement slowly fading into something more serious.
“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Purohit,” she said softly. “But your assumptions are wrong.”
He blinked. “I don’t follow, Maharani.”
She tilted her head. “I didn’t call you here to find me a husband.”
Narayan was taken aback. “I… I beg your pardon?”
“I’m not looking for a fifth husband,” she said plainly.
He stared at her, stunned. “But… I thought… Your message said—”
“It said I needed your services. And I do.” A knowing smile crept across her face. “Just not for myself.”
Narayan struggled to catch up. “Then… what exactly are you looking for?”
Suchitra Devi raised her chin, eyes sparkling. “Brides, Mr. Purohit. I’m looking for brides.”
“Brides?” he repeated, still unable to understand.
“Yes,” she said. “For my sons.”
Narayan sat frozen, absorbing the words. The real purpose of his visit stunned him more than anything he had anticipated.
Rani Suchitra Devi wanted brides for her sons.
There were four of them. Each, a maharaja on his own. They were born to four powerful royals from the four corners of India. North, South, East, and West, their bloodlines converged in Rani Suchitra Devi’s children like a living map of legacy and power. They were more than royals. They were forces unto themselves. Narayan had only glimpsed them at a few rare public events and ceremonies, but their reputations preceded them.
In business circles, they were spoken of with awe and wariness. Cold, calculating, and ruthlessly efficient. Their decisions often built empires, toppled rivals, and reshaped entire industries and governments. In social circles, they were mysterious and magnetic, difficult to approach yet impossible to ignore. Despite their cold ruthlessness, women were drawn to them like moths to flame. Tall, handsome, impeccably groomed, and commanding, Devi’s sons were the kind of men who didn’t need to raise their voices to command attention. They simply existed in a way that pulled the world toward them.
Narayan cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Your Highness… I didn’t think your sons were ready to settle down.”
Suchitra Devi laughed, her eyes glinting. “They’re not. But I have my ways of convincing even the most hard-headed men.”
Narayan knew that was true. But he wondered if the four maharajas would be as easily convinced as the besotted suitors.
“I want this kept low profile,” Suchitra Devi stated. “It has to be discreet with no press coverage or speculation outside of the eligible circles.”
“Understood, Your Highness,” Narayan said, nodding earnestly. “Discretion is guaranteed.”
“Good.” She leaned back, eyes thoughtful. “I want a list of eligible royal brides.”
Narayan straightened, already mentally sorting names, families, and bloodlines. “I’ll begin compiling immediately and provide you with a list within a week.”
A small smile touched Suchitra Devi’s lips. “Good. Start with my eldest.” Her gaze hardened. “The one who believes he answers to no one.”
Narayan hesitated. Of all her sons, it was he who frightened him most. The current scion of the Devara royal family. Maharaja Ram Krishna Devara.
CHAPTER 2
“This isn’t the olden times when your ancestors conquered, Mr. Devara. Times have changed. You can’t just claim whatever you want!”
The bitter outburst hung in the air inside the boardroom. Executives sat on both sides of the long table, watching the last of the conquest unfold. Personal assistants, seated along the wall with notepads and sleek tablets, made notes with their heads down. The city stretched endlessly beyond the glass windows, a skyline of steel and concrete, a proof that the age of kings had passed. Yet everyone in the room knew it made no difference. The man seated at the head of the table didn’t need a crown or an army. He ruled with contracts, numbers, and a presence that left one with no option other than to surrender.
Ram Devara did not react to the outburst. Tall, sharply dressed in a tailored charcoal suit and black silk tie, he exuded quiet authority. He rested one broad shoulder against the high-backed leather chair, his long fingers turning the pages of a file with unhurried precision. The gold ring on his hand caught the light, its lion-and-lotus insignia glinting like a warning. His darkly handsome face appeared unreadable, but his silence was louder than any threat.
