going on, Rhystan?”
“I’ve been discharged from service,” he replied. “Tomorrow, I’ll arrange passage on a ship for us, and we can go wherever you wish to go.”
Sarani felt the floor tilt beneath her feet. “Passage on a ship?”
“Yes,” he said, gathering her close. “Do you love me, Sarani?”
She huffed a breath. “You know I do.”
“Then trust me.”
He kissed her, cupping her face with his large hands. Her fingers wound around his neck and into the silky short strands of hair at his nape. She craved the way his mouth settled on hers, but what she felt went much deeper than physical passions. She belonged with him. This was love, wasn’t it? Before she died, her mother had told her that if and when she found it, she should never abandon it. Oh, no, her father. Would he understand?
“Meet me at the inn two nights from now. At the Flying Elephant. You remember?” He’d taken her to the rowdy tavern one night, both of them heavily disguised as Royal Navy landsmen, and she’d had the time of her life. “The owner’s name is Sanjay. Ask for him and wait until I get there. Speak to no one else.” His voice grew harsh. “No officers of the Company, no soldiers. No one. Do you understand?”
“Are you in some kind of trouble, Rhystan? My father can help.”
A defeated look crossed his face. “He can’t, not without offending important people. Agents of the Crown. My bloody father. And right now, those people hold all the power.”
She recoiled. “My father is a maharaja.”
“Under English law, Sarani,” he growled. “Open your eyes. How long do you think that will last once the British get the control they want over Indian lands and assets? They’re in power, not the princes, no matter what these treaties say. The princes are figureheads, and you know it. It makes me sick to say it, but your father will not be able to protect us.”
She bit her lip. Rhystan was wrong. Her father would go to the ends of the earth to protect her. But she also wasn’t stupid or ignorant to the discontented mumblings in court. She understood the political game of which he spoke, and she, too, knew that all the power the East India Company was accumulating couldn’t be good. Already local resentment was on the rise. Sarani couldn’t blame her people—this was their home and it was being violated.
Rhystan cupped her face. “I won’t come to you again. It’s too dangerous. If you don’t hear from me, be at the tavern two nights hence. Please, Sarani. This isn’t what I planned for us, but I need you with me. Say you’ll stand at my side.”
Her heart could no more refuse him than it could stop beating. “I will. I promise.”
Rhystan kissed her again before leaving the way he’d come.
* * *
After a restless sleep, Sarani passed the next day in a fugue. Nothing could hold her interest, not even her books. She’d half expected armed officers from the Company to be waiting in the palace courtyard, but there was no disturbance of any sort. Despite her suspicion that Rhystan was neck deep in trouble, she distracted herself with a grueling horseback ride after her studies were finished.
“Princess,” a breathless groom said as she rode, wind-blown and red-cheeked, into the courtyard. “The maharaja commands your presence immediately.”
Without stopping to change her riding habit, Sarani dismounted and made her way to the throne room. Her gaze scanned the occupants of the room, hoping that Rhystan might be there although he’d said he’d been discharged, but his lanky frame was nowhere in sight. Disappointed, she approached the dais, where her father sat.
Sarani curtsied. “You wanted to see me, Father?”
The fact that his normally stern face didn’t break into a smile as it always did when he saw her should have been her first warning. The second was the distant expression in his eyes. “You are of marriageable age, and I have given my consent for you to marry the regent.”
Everything whirled to a violent stop. Marriage to the regent? Sarani’s jaw unhinged, her gaze flicking to the man in question. The regent, Lord Talbot, was an earl, one of the British Crown’s agents assigned to monitor local nobility. He was an aging Englishman who had always sent her lecherous stares that had made her skin crawl. His vile opinions on the locals was sickening, and she knew he viewed them—and her as well—as less than property to be claimed.
“But Rhystan…”