Page 35 of Trapped By the Maharaja
Exasperated didn’t begin to cover it. She should have been furious at his persistence, annoyed at his arrogance. But all she could feel was the strange, giddy flutter in her stomach at the thought of tomorrow.
She was actually going on a coffee date with Ram.
Sanjana opened her eyes. For a moment, disorientation struck her. Ram’s young, handsome face, standing below her hostel window with a slow smile, faded away. Instead, she saw the carved canopy above, felt the silk sheets against her skin, and smelled the faint lingering scent of sandalwood and spice.
Her heart thudded hard.
She was in the Devara Palace. On Ram’s bed. As his wife.
Slowly, she turned her head and stared at the expanse of the king-sized four-poster bed. The other side was empty.
Ram was gone.
The silk sheets where he had lain were smooth with no wrinkles, as though he had never been there. But she remembered the previous night. Their wedding night, when he slept next to her.
But there were no words. No touch. Nothing except for cold indifference.
It should have relieved her, but it made her angry. She had tossed and turned at night until she fell into a restless sleep at dawn.
I shouldn’t care. I don’t care! He forced me into this contract marriage.
Taking a deep breath, she sat up.
Just as she was about to get out of bed, there was a knock on the door.
Before she could answer, the double doors opened, and two young women entered. They were dressed in red cotton sariswith gold borders, their hair tightly knotted. She recognized them from the previous night.
“Good morning, Your Highness,” one said smoothly. “I am Lalita and she is Kumari. We’ve come to assist you.”
Sanjana forced a smile. “Thank you, Lalita, but I can manage.”
The women looked at each other, but didn’t leave. Instead, they moved with quiet efficiency, drawing curtains, setting slippers by the bed, arranging toiletries as though her protest hadn’t been spoken at all.
Suppressing a sigh, she rose, her body still sore from the previous day’s endless rituals and travel. She walked into the enormous bathroom and shut the door behind her, savoring the rare moment of solitude.
The steaming shower helped. She stood beneath the rainfall-like cascade far longer than necessary, letting the water wash away the ache in her shoulders and dull the tightness in her chest.
When she stepped out wrapped in a towel, the maids were waiting again.
Her cheeks heated in embarrassment at the lack of privacy. “I can get dressed myself,” she said.
There was hesitation. Then one of them stepped back and bowed. “Of course, Your Highness. We’ll prepare your wardrobe.”
Sanjana followed the woman into the massive walk-in closet, which was much larger than the living room in her apartment. The walls were lined with rich silk sarees, gold-threaded lehengas, intricate shawls, and embroidered gowns. Every piece looked like it belonged to royalty. Nothing resembled the simple clothes she wore to the hospital.
Sanjana stared.
I can’t wear this to work.
With a frustrated sigh, she scanned the clothes and finally found an expensive yet simple blue dress. It was a long-sleeved, modestly cut dress with a high neckline and subtle pearl buttons. The material was clearly expensive, and the pearls must be real, but the design was clean and functional.
She put it on and tied her still-damp hair into a ponytail. She refused to wear jewelry and for makeup, she chose a tinted lip balm.
Making a mental note to retrieve her clothes and things from her apartment, she stepped out of the large closet and dressing area..
The two women looked scandalized seeing her, but they kept quiet.
“Where is… Ram?” she asked.
