Page 116 of Claimed By the Maharaja
“Maharani,” she said. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Yamini replied, because there was no reason to be rude to a doctor who was simply doing her job.
Dr. Bhatt placed a small white pill in a paper cup and a glass of water beside it on the side table. She said nothing further. No explanation or apology. Just the cup and the glass and a steady, professional gaze.
Yamini looked at the pill.
She thought about refusing. She had considered it during the sleepless night, running the argument over in her mind. It was her body, her choice, and her medical decision.
But she had signed the contract agreeing to the terms even though she hadn’t read them.
She picked up the paper cup and swallowed the pill with a long drink of water.
Dr. Bhatt noted something on her phone.
Then she looked up. “His Highness will require confirmation of ingestion via bloodwork within six hours.”
Yamini looked at her.
“Bloodwork,” Yamini repeated.
“Yes, Maharani. A standard procedure. I will draw the sample in a few minutes.”
Of course, he didn’t trust her. He probably expected her to spit out the pill to spite him.
Yamini closed her eyes and opened them. “Fine. Please have some refreshments while we wait.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
Thirty minutes later, Yamini sat down again, extended her arm, and looked at the window while Dr. Bhatt prepared the needle.
Outside, the mountains were still gleaming. Still perfectly, indifferently beautiful.
She felt the small cold swab on the inside of her elbow.
“Small pinch,” Dr. Bhatt said.
Yamini said nothing.
She watched the blood fill the vial, dark and steady. Dr. Bhatt withdrew the needle, pressed a small cotton pad to the inside of her elbow, and secured it with a neat piece of tape.
“All done, Maharani,” she said. “Results will be sent to His Highness directly.”
Dr. Bhatt packed her bag, gave a respectful nod, and left.
Yamini sat alone in the east sitting room with a cotton pad taped to her arm.
She pressed her fingers over the cotton pad.
Cold, calculating, controlling bastard.
I do hate him.
Even as she thought those words, she couldn’t stop thinking about the two seconds his thumb had brushed the emerald pendant.
She hated herself a little for that.
CHAPTER 26
