#indianroyaltyAU

[sparklesofsunshine]

Anthony Bridgerton in India, c. 1820 (part II)

“I heard there might have been a mishap in the morning, my dear Mr. Bridgerton— Heard you had wandered a bit too close to the zenana than was proper?” Maharaja Krishna Pratap looked entirely too amused as he lazed on the divan, smoking contentedly at the hookah beside him, dark twinkling eyes fixed on Anthony even as the latter’s hand froze on the way to his mouth. He heard Thomas Dorset let out a sudden soft cough beside him, but Anthony had the suspicion that it might have also been a soft laugh disguised as a cough. But the Maharaja was unperturbed as he waited for Anthony’s answer even as Anthony stupidly held on to the oily cookie, wondering about the most proper way to answer the question, without exposing too much about the humiliation that he had suffered in the process. It almost seemed as if the Maharaja was discussing about the many breeds of his pet bloodhounds with him, wondering if Anthony had a particular favourite among them; and definitely not about the way Anthony had been near decapitated by a chit of a girl. At least Anthony would have a suitable answer to the former question about dogs.

“I’m sorry, your Majesty.” He finally croaked out, shame roiling within him as the encounter flooded into his mind: the dark face looking down at him in disdain even as he had felt the familiar jolts of desire in the pits of his stomach at the way her wild curls swirled around her exposed face, “I did not know that way led to your zenana. I was simply looking for an arbour to read my book in peace.”

“It is easy to get lost here.” The Maharaja agreed good-naturedly, pulling spiritedly at the hookah again, the loud gurgle interrupting his speech, “It was not your fault. And it was not Kate’s fault either that she tried to hurt you.”

“Kate?!” Anthony was not entirely sure that he heard the Maharaja right. An English name that was entirely too familiar to his ears but there had been no fair English Rose that he had sighted as he had stood there in front of the imposing red sandstone pillars, sparkling in the sun. He had an uncertain realization: “Is that her name?”

“Well, it will be easier for you to remember your near-killer then, Mr. Bridgerton, will it not?” The Maharaja now looked positively jubilant as he pushed back into the pillows of his settee, hand tearing off a Muscat grape from the fruit tray and popping it into his mouth. “Considering that you will be seeing her quite often, now that you are to be a part of my royal court for some time.”

Anthony entirely did not appreciate the chuckles that the Maharaja let out at a joke that only he seemed privy to. Thomas too seemed to be busy in his own thoughts, leaving Anthony to sit awkwardly in his own silence, stewing over the name of the mysterious woman—

Kate.

She had not been much older than him but even a clumsy shooter like Anthony knew that her aim had been indeed impeccable and perfect, the tension in her hand just enough for the arrow to hit and harm her target, if not kill him. And somehow, that stung his delicate pride. He had spent hours on private lands in Kent trying to hunt and perfect his aim with guns that could rival those of the King’s marksmen themselves and yet, here was this native girl with nothing but a crude bow and arrow who had just as easily managed to bring him to his knees, made his heart stir for the first time and even as she had walked away with scornful shake of her head, made Anthony’s heart thud with emotions that he was not entirely sure that he wanted to recognize. And yet, he could not get the name out of his head even as he could not forget the woman herself—

Kate.