“Baisa, where do I put the place cards?” she asked worriedly. “We haven’t discussed the seating arrangements.”
I smiled as I realised that she was worth her weight in gold. Seema might not have a fancy hotel management degree, but the decision to hire all my staff entirely from the local community had paid off in spades. They were loyal to a fault, and it had been a breeze to train them.
“We don’t need place cards for this meal because we’re very old friends. But thank you for pointing it out. Now, make sure there’s plenty of lemonade and chocolate milk for the little princess, and champagne for the rest of us.”
Ten minutes later, my guests walked out onto the terrace, ooh-ing and aah-ing over the gorgeous tablescape.
“You have to teach me how to do this,” said Shivina. “The most difficult part of my journey so far has been theentertaining. I always feel the royal aunties are looking down their noses at me whenever I host an event.”
“Your mother-in-law was the one who taught me how to set a table,” I exclaimed. “When I got back from college, my mom sent me to a tablescaping workshop Nandini Aunty had held at Mirpur Palace for all the princesses debuting in society that year.”
“I remember that workshop. I spent most of my time sampling the delicious vol-au-vents on display,” said Isha, while Diya sighed.
“I snuck out early to go for a long drive with Dheer,” she said, with a sigh. “You were the only one amongst us who actually paid attention.
“Yeah, she was always the teacher’s pet,” teased Isha. “Even at school.”
“Much good that did me,” I said without thinking, and cursed my tongue when their expressions changed.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Diya said fiercely.
I forced a smile to my lips and tried to change the subject.
“Anyway…” But Isha interrupted me.
“You should have stayed and fought, Meher. You should have dragged that bastard to court. What happened was completely unacceptable.”
I shot her a cynical smile.
“Right. As if any court would believe me when my own mother did not. Everyone I counted on turned their backs on me that day, Isha. There was nothing else that I could have done.”
“Speaking of people who turned their backs on you,” began Diya delicately. “Have you ever met Samrat after that?”
My stomach clenched at the mere mention of his name, and I swallowed over a painfully dry throat. I couldn’t bring myself even to say his name, so I just shook my head.
“Samrat?” asked Shivina, and she sounded intrigued. “Do you mean our Samrat? His Highness Maj. Samrat Singh Deora, the Maharaja of Deorangir? Decorated Special Forces officer and stubborn-as-a-mule Samrat?”
“Also known to me as coldhearted, cruel, fickle, lying sonofabitch Samrat,” I said coldly.
CHAPTER 2
SAMRAT
Iwondered what my men were doing right now. Was my unit deployed on a mission currently?
I looked at the silver Vacheron Constantin gleaming on my wrist and realised it must be happy hour at the Shed, which was what we called our Command Operating Base. Only, happy hour meant something very different for 10 Para, the elite Special Forces unit of the Indian army, who were also called Desert Scorpions because we specialised in desert warfare.
There was no alcohol allowed on base, which meant that our poison of choice was usually a cup of spicy, steaming chai. Any commando not out on a mission was probably crawling back to the Shed right now after a long day of the most gruelling training.
I smiled at the memory of many an evening spent unwinding with my band of brothers - Sid, Rumi, and Mani. If I’d been back home right now - my real home, not the palace where I grew up- I’d probably be looking for earplugs when Sid began to squall his favourite qawwali numbers. He liked to claim it was singing, but the unholy sound that emerged from his throat was not even remotely related to singing. He sounded more like an angry baby denied its evening bottle. And considering how much Sid missed his Scotch, you could say that description was on point. My big baby was definitely crying for his bottle.
Rumi was probably preparing to launch his standard army issue shoe at Sid’s head in a bid to get him to stop his wailing. Meanwhile, Mani…I released a sharp breath at the thought of Mani, my 2IC and best friend. The four of us were supposed to grow old together and terrorise the other residents of whatever retirement home we ended up in, but Mani had ditched us.Asshole.
I threw back the whiskey in my glass and slammed the empty glass on the table, wincing as the liquor made its way down my throat. I tried telling myself it was the whiskey that was burning a hole in my gut, and not the knowledge that I was responsible for Mani’s death. But I knew that was a lie. I carried that knowledge deep in my heart, and the guilt that came with it had seeped into my very bones. It would never leave me. No matter what anyone said.
Mani was supposed to go on a month’s leave when his local informant dangled a juicy carrot under his nose.
“Sir Ji, khabar aayi hai,” he declared, striding into my office the day before he was to go home. “We have a special guest from across the border, who brings with him a lot of presents.”
