Page 1 of Trapped By the Maharaja
CHAPTER 1
Rewa Palace
“I am Narayan Purohit. I have an appointment with Her Highness.”
The turbaned palace guards exchanged a glance, then nodded in recognition. Narayan was no stranger to these gates. The heavy palace doors began to creak open, allowing Narayan’s car to enter.
The palace looked unchanged over the decades. Its sandstone walls caught the evening light, glowing a warm orange as the sun dipped lower. White domes rose against the sky, while arched balconies overlooked the gardens below. In the courtyard, fountains spilled into marble basins, their soft sound blending with the cries of peacocks that moved across the trimmed lawns. Beyond the gardens, the Betwa river glimmered.
The car stopped in front of the fountain, and Narayan stepped out of his Mercedes. As he walked up the marble steps, his heart began to race. For more than forty years, Narayan had built a reputation as a successful matchmaker to many powerful elite families, including the royals. He was a man who arranged unions that shaped dynasties. Yet every time he came to Rewa Palace, his heart raced with nervous anticipation. Narayan lingered for a moment at the palace doors, recalling that the palace had once echoed with music and the sound of wedding trumpets, four times in a single decade. Now, after two decades of silence, he wondered if those sounds would be heard again.
The tall palace doors swung open, and Narayan stepped inside, guided by a turbaned palace guard. He walked along the familiar polished marble floors. He was taken into the grand durbar hall, an expansive chamber with vaulted ceilings,intricately carved teak panels, and shelves crowded with ancient manuscripts, porcelain vases, and silver-framed portraits of long-departed royals. A chandelier of crystal and gold hovered above, scattering soft golden light over the deep red and emerald palette of the room.
“Please be seated, Mr. Purohit,” came a polite voice.
Narayan turned to see Mira, the palace’s long-serving aide, standing in the doorway in her ivory sari. Though age had silvered her hair, her posture was upright, her expression unreadable. Her eyes carried the quiet authority of someone who had guarded the palace’s secrets for decades, and Narayan was reminded that no one reached the inner chambers without passing her judgment first.
“Her Majesty will join you shortly. She’s finishing her correspondence,” Mira added with a polite nod before disappearing as silently as she had come.
Narayan lowered himself onto a velvet-cushioned sofa, his mind racing. Over the past two decades, he had always been the one seeking an appointment to present various proposals. But now, much to his shock and delight, he had been summoned.
Her Highness is finally ready again.
A fifth marriage.
Despite the whispers that followed her wherever she went, Narayan had always admired Maharani Suchitra Devi. At fifty-five, she remained one of the most magnetic women in the country. Elegant, intelligent, and sharper than any of her male and female counterparts.
Over the years, powerful men had pursued her relentlessly. Royals, oil magnates, real estate tycoons, and industrialists with companies across continents. She had turned them all away. Since the tragic death of her fourth husband, the royal from the house of Ahom, Narayan had wondered when or if she’d consider marriage again.
Now, he wondered something more daring. Would she consider stepping beyond the world of royalty?
A quiet rustle of footsteps interrupted his thoughts. It was followed by the delicate scent of jasmine and sandalwood.
Narayan stood instinctively as Rani Suchitra Devi entered, and for a moment, he found himself breathless.
She was dressed in a flowing ivory silk saree edged with gold, the fabric catching the soft glow of the chandelier above. Strings of pearls draped gracefully around her neck, their luster accentuating the warm tone of her skin. Her hair, streaked with silver, was coiled into an elegant bun. A single pearl ring on her finger gleamed as she moved, her steps unhurried but commanding.
Her posture was straight, her chin lifted just so, and her dark eyes carried the calm authority of a woman long accustomed to being obeyed. Even without speaking, she filled the chamber with her presence, reminding Narayan of why so many men, kings and tycoons alike, vied for her hand.
When she finally spoke, her voice was smooth yet firm, carrying the weight of both courtesy and command.
“Mr. Purohit,” she said, her lips curving into a small smile. “Thank you for coming.”
“Your Highness,” Narayan bowed his head. “The honor is mine.”
With a regal nod, she took her seat with measured grace, folding her hands lightly in her lap. Narayan sat down opposite her, still steadying his breath.
“I must admit,” he said carefully, “I was pleasantly surprised to receive your summons. And happier still to think that perhaps, after all these years, you are open to the idea of companionship again.”
A gleam lit Suchitra Devi’s eyes, though she said nothing. To Narayan, it looked like approval, and he pressed forward eagerly.
“As always, you have received more proposals since my last visit two weeks ago. Ashwin Dhanraj, the technology and energy magnate, has reached out to me to present his proposal. He is handsome, sincere, and speaks of his willingness to relocate from London for you. Then there is Amar Khurana, the shipping baron who is widowed and wealthy. He is willing to hand over his businesses to his children so that he can spend the rest of his life with you. The two of them seem utterly besotted.”
“Besotted,” she echoed, her tone slightly amused.
Narayan nodded and continued. “And of course, the royal houses remain eager to see you wed within the fold again. The Maharaja of Udaipur’s brother continues to express great devotion. As has the heir from Mysore, who is younger than you by a decade, but is charmed by your beauty and grace.”
Suchitra Devi laughed then, a low, melodious sound. “So many options. It seems the world refuses to let me be a widow in peace.”
