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The Last Maharaja's Secret

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The Rajmata's Warning

Rajgarh Palace – The Private Lounge

The meeting had barely ended when Rajmata Devyani summoned Meera to a more private part of the palace.

The room was smaller than the grand hall, but it still radiated power.

Soft golden lighting. Heavy silk drapes. Hand-carved wooden furniture that probably belonged to some forgotten empire.

And in the center of it all—Devyani Singh.

She was seated in a high-backed chair, a steaming cup of chai in her hands. Every movement she made was controlled, deliberate.

Meera stood near the doorway, arms crossed. "You wanted to see me?"

Devyani didn’t look up immediately. She took a slow sip of her tea, then finally gestured toward the seat across from her.

"Sit," she said.

Meera hesitated.

This felt like a trap.

But refusing would be worse.

So, with a forced smile, she sat.

Devyani studied her for a long moment. "Tell me, Ms. Sharma. Do you truly believe you belong here?"

Meera’s fingers twitched against her lap. "I don’t know what I believe," she admitted. "I just know I didn’t ask for any of this."

Devyani let out a quiet chuckle. "And yet, here you are."

Meera’s jaw tightened. "Not by choice."

"Choice is an illusion," Devyani said simply. "Power is never given freely. It is always taken."

There was something dangerous in her voice—something that sent a shiver down Meera’s spine.

"I don’t want power," Meera said.

Devyani’s lips curled slightly. "Then you are either a fool or a liar."

Meera stiffened. "Excuse me?"

Devyani set down her tea with a soft clink. "Do you know what happens to those who sit on a throne they do not deserve?"

Meera swallowed.

Devyani leaned forward slightly. "They fall."

The weight of those words pressed against Meera’s chest.

This wasn’t just a conversation. It was a warning.

A carefully veiled threat.

"You think I don’t deserve to be here," Meera said quietly.

Devyani’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. "You are intelligent. That much is clear."

Meera clenched her fists. "Then why don’t you just come out and say it? You think I should leave."

"I think you should be careful," Devyani said. "This palace is not kind to outsiders. And Aryan—" she paused, her gaze sharp "—he will not rest until he has driven you out."

Meera exhaled. "Yeah, I got that."

Devyani studied her for another long moment. Then, slowly, she stood.

"You remind me of someone," she murmured.

Meera frowned. "Who?"

Devyani didn’t answer. Instead, she turned toward the window, her voice soft but firm.

"The past has a way of haunting the present, Ms. Sharma. Be mindful of whose path you are walking."

Meera felt a strange chill run down her spine.

She wanted to ask more. To press for details.

But something told her that Rajmata Devyani only answered questions when it suited her.

So, instead, Meera stood.

"I’ll keep that in mind," she said.

Devyani finally turned back, her expression unreadable.

"Good," she said.

And with that, the meeting was over.

The Palace Corridors – A Sudden Interruption

Meera walked briskly through the palace, trying to shake off the conversation.

Every step felt heavier than the last.

Devyani’s words clung to her like smoke, twisting into her mind.

"Choice is an illusion. Power is always taken."

"Do you know what happens to those who sit on a throne they do not deserve?"

"They fall."

Meera exhaled sharply, pressing her fingers against her temples.

She needed answers.

Not cryptic warnings. Not veiled threats. The truth.

She rounded a corner—

And nearly collided with someone.

A solid chest. Strong hands gripping her arms to steady her.

She looked up—

Straight into the furious eyes of Aryan Singh.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Aryan’s grip tightened. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Meera scowled. "Excuse me?"

Aryan exhaled sharply, releasing her. "You just had a meeting with my grandmother."

Meera crossed her arms. "Wow, does she report everything back to you? Or do you just have spies all over the palace?"

Aryan’s jaw tightened. "What did she tell you?"

Meera hesitated.

She didn’t trust him.

But something in Aryan’s expression—**something tense, something unreadable—**made her pause.

Devyani had been warning her.

But… warning her about what?

Meera exhaled. "She told me to be careful."

Aryan’s eyes darkened. "That’s all?"

Meera lifted a brow. "Why? Were you expecting something else?"

Aryan didn’t answer.

Instead, he stepped closer, his voice lower now. More dangerous.

"You have no idea what you’ve walked into, Sharma," he said.

Meera tilted her head. "Then maybe you should enlighten me."

Aryan exhaled, his frustration evident. "You’re in over your head."

"Wow," Meera said dryly. "That’s original."

Aryan’s patience snapped.

"You think this is a joke?" he growled. "This isn’t some corporate scandal you can write an exposé on. This is real. And if you’re not careful, you won’t just lose the throne."

Meera swallowed. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Aryan hesitated.

And then, before he could answer, a loud crash echoed through the hall.

Both of them turned—

Just in time to see a small silver tray rolling across the marble floor.

At the end of the corridor, a maid stood frozen, her face pale.

Meera frowned. "What—?"

The maid turned and ran.

Meera’s stomach twisted.

Something wasn’t right.

Aryan was already moving, his stride quick and controlled. "Stay here," he ordered.

Meera scowled. "Yeah, that’s not happening."