But she caught it.
Click.
That one would be hers. It would never appear in any press release.
The interviewer's boat floated at a respectful distance, microphones angled toward them. Security vessels formed a wide perimeter, blending into the tourist traffic on the lake.
“Your Highness,” the interviewer began, “the transformation in public sentiment has been remarkable. From protests outside the steel factories to national admiration.” Hepaused with a careful smile. “You're being called the sexiest maharaja in modern India.”
Yamini lowered her camera a fraction.
She watched Bharat instead.
A flicker crossed his face. It wasn’t embarrassment or pleasure.
It was annoyance.
His jaw tightened slightly. Not at the compliment, but at being reduced to a headline.
She bit the inside of her cheek.
“The workers deserved attention,” he said. “Not me.”
That was all.
The interviewer laughed nervously and shifted tone. “Maharani, social media is full of admiration. Women across all age groups are openly saying they—”
“I've seen,” Yamini said lightly.
Pooja had mentioned that after the press incident with Rahul, Bharat’s followers had exploded, surpassing 50 lakh.
The interviewer cleared his throat. “There's also speculation about Rani Suchitra's influence. It's widely known she values legacy and continuity. There are rumors that she places heir clauses in her sons' marriages.” He pressed forward carefully. “Was your marriage primarily arranged to secure an heir for the Jogra line?”
Silence settled over the water.
Yamini felt her pulse jump.
Bharat didn't answer immediately.
He looked at her.
There was nothing political in his gaze. There was heat in it. Possession. The kind that had nothing to do with royal legacy, contracts, or anything the interviewer was asking about.
Her breath caught.
He turned back to the interviewer.
“No.”
Just that. No elaboration.
The interviewer nodded quickly. “Understood.”
Yamini lifted her camera again.
Click.
She captured him in profile, the lake behind him, mountains in the distance.
