Page 141 of Claimed By the Maharaja
Samar nodded. “I’ll have my team check on any suspicious activity directed towards bhabhi from the chief minister’s office or home.”
There was silence as Bharat noted that Samar’s expression had shifted from the harsh skepticism he had carried into every conversation about Yamini since the wedding.
There were flashes of surprise from Ram and Viraj as they looked at Samar.
“She stood up,” Samar said.
Bharat knew the precise moment Samar was referring to.
Samar looked at Bharat. “When you rode the stallion, she stood up, clutching her necklace. She was worried about your safety.”
Bharat didn’t say anything.
He had already noted the moment. He had filed it under variables with no existing category, where it had stayed.
“You have the most exposure right now,” Ram’s tone carried the weight of the eldest brother rather than a business partner.“Between the plants and the announcement tomorrow,” Ram added. “Watch your perimeter.”
“I will.”
A brief silence passed when his brothers rose.
“I’ll see you all in the morning,” Samar said.
Viraj bid him goodnight with a smile hovering. “It’s going to be an interesting evening tomorrow. The chief minister is arriving with his daughter for the announcement.”
Bharat didn’t say anything. He had already scanned the guest list and noted it.
Samar and Viraj stepped out of the office, turning left towards the guest wing bedroom suites.
Ram followed behind, but he paused at the threshold. “Are you okay?”
Bharat knew Ram was asking about the valley event. The sounds. And the crowd.
“Yes.”
Ram gave a nod. And then, the door closed.
Bharat remained seated.
The day had been long in the specific way that high-input days were long. Not in hours, but in accumulated data that had not yet been processed.
He began with the straightforward catalog.
The valley. Approximately four hundred people in the meadow at peak gathering. The Dumhal drums, each beat landing lower in the chest than the ears, which had required brief recalibration when they began. The cold, which had been manageable. The crowd noise shifted when his mother spoke. He had known it would.
As a child, noise had pressed too close—bells layered over chanting, voices overlapping without pattern, faces shifting faster than logic allowed. By thirteen, he had adapted, learned not to retreat and recalibrate.
It was easier to manage when anticipated.
He had anticipated the stallion.
He had ridden such horses before. He knew their patterns, the specific resistance at the left rein, the tendency to drop the shoulder coming out of a turn. The crowd noise had agitated the animal beyond his prior calculations. Recalibration had taken approximately three strides.
The spear had been heavier than expected. He had adjusted mid-lean. The margin of error had been acceptable.
He moved through the afternoon's sequence.
Then he reached the moment after the horse reared, and his eyes had gone to the dais.
