Chapter 6: Elevator Confrontation
The door to his suite clicked shut. The sudden silence was immense, swallowing the last echoes of the reception’s chatter and the thrum of his own adrenaline. He leaned back against the cool, carved wood, closing his eyes. He could still smell her perfume in the fibers of his jacket.
“Sameer,” he said, his voice hollow in the spacious lounge.
“Your Highness.” The man was already checking the balcony doors, his movements efficient.
“No one comes in. Not room service, not a cleaner. Not if the Sultan himself is delivering pastries. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Only when he was alone did the full weight of the encounter settle. It wasn’t fear, not exactly. It was a kind of dizzying, high-stakes recognition. She had seen right through him. The charming deflection, the appeal to protocol—she’d dissected it in seconds and named the real architect: Dev. The game board was laid bare, and he was a piece with very limited moves.
He walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The Gulf was a sheet of black silk, pinpricked with the lights of distant dhows. The terrace was vast, furnished with low sofas and plush cushions. An invitation to starlit conversation. He drew the sheer inner curtains with a sharp tug.
His encrypted tablet felt heavy. He sank into an armchair, the silk damask cool against his skin, and initiated the call.
It connected after two rings. The screen split. Dev’s face filled one side, the background the familiar, warm-toned wood of his private office in the palace. He looked tired, the lines around his eyes more pronounced. Rukmini appeared on the other side, her hair loose, dressed in a simple cotton kurta. She was in their private quarters.
“Ammy,” Dev said, his voice a mix of relief and immediate concern. “You look…”
“Creeped out,” Amartya finished for him, the words tumbling out. He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m really, genuinely creeped out.”
“Tell us everything. From the moment you landed.” Rukmini’s voice was calm, but her eyes were sharp, scanning his face on the screen.
He did. He detailed the summit, the successful interventions, the growing circle of admirers. He described the exact feeling in the room when Zahira entered—the gravitational pull, the subtle silence. He repeated their conversation word for word as best he could, the compliments, the directness, the chillingly accurate deduction.
“She said, ‘Or your brother’s orders?’ Just like that. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. She knew. And when I tried to play it off, she smiled, Dev. This… terrifyingly beautiful smile. She said, ‘So it’s a challenge.’”
On the screen, Dev’s jaw tightened. He exchanged a quick, loaded glance with Rukmini. “She’s framing our protection as an impediment. Something to be overcome. This is not a passing infatuation.”
“It’s a hunt,” Rukmini said quietly. Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her kurta. “She’s identified the rules of the terrain. Now she’ll look for a way around them.”
A cold knot tightened in Amartya’s stomach. Hearing it stated so plainly made it real. “What do I do? I have two more days of sessions, a closing gala. She’s everywhere. I can’t be openly rude to a head of state. But every polite refusal just seems to… fuel her.”
“You stick to the plan. Public spaces.Delegates present. Sameer is a shadow,” Dev instructed, his tone shifting into king-mode. “No balcony conversations. No ‘accidental’ meetings in hallways. You are in your room by ten PM, with security outside.”
“It feels like I’m hiding in my room,” Amartya protested, a flash of his usual defiance surfacing. “I’m here to represent India, not to be under siege.”
“You are under a form of siege, Amartya,” Dev shot back, his voice rising slightly. “This isn’t a diplomatic slight. This is a person with significant power and zero regard for your boundaries. Your safety isn’t just physical. It’s… existential. She wants to claim you. To own a piece of you. I will not let that happen.”
The ferocity in his brother’s voice stunned Amartya into silence. He saw the raw fear beneath the anger. It was the same fear he’d felt when he’d first told them about Baghdad.
Rukmini leaned closer to her screen. “Ammy, listen to me. Her power comes from isolating you. From making you feel like the only two people in the room. Your power is the opposite. Your family.Your country. Your duty. You anchor yourself to that. You are never alone with her, even in a crowd you feel alone. You think of us. You think of home. You are a Prince of India. You are not a prize to be won.”
Her words were a balm and a shield. He nodded, swallowing hard.
“There’s more,” Dev said, rubbing his temples. “My trip to Copenhagen. It’s tomorrow. The Arctic Council preliminary is critical. I can’t delay it.”
Amartya’s heart sank. Two days without even the digital anchor of his brother.
Then an idea, desperate and brilliant, struck him.He leaned forward. “Take me with you. Pull me out. Cite a family emergency. Anything.”
Dev shook his head, regretful. “It would be seen as a massive insult to the host Sultan, and to the entire GCC. It would undo all the goodwill you’ve built. You’re the face of India here now. You have to see it through.”
Silence hung over the digital connection, thick with hopelessness.
Amartya looked at Rukmini. Her face was set in quiet thought. “Then… you go alone to Denmark, Dev.”
Both men looked at her.
“What?” Dev said.
“Rukmini Bhabhi comes here,” Amartya said, the idea igniting into a full-fledged plan. “To Muscat. Now.Tonight. She’s not a head of state; her arrival wouldn’t be a protocol issue. She can come as… as family support. A personal visit.”
He saw the resistance in Dev’s eyes—the instinct to keep his wife safe, away from this mess.
Rukmini spoke before Dev could. “He’s right. Zahira’s tactic is to separate him from his family. So we put his family physically beside him. I am not a young prince she can intimidate or charm. I am a Queen.Her equal. My presence changes the calculation entirely. She can’t whisper in his ear if I’m standing right there.”
“It’s not safe,” Dev said, but the objection was weaker.
“It makes him safer,” Rukmini countered. Her gaze was steady on her husband’s pixelated face. “And he is asking for help. He’s telling us he’s scared. We listen.”
Amartya felt a surge of gratitude so potent it choked him. “Please, Dev. It’s the only thing that makes sense. With Bhabhi here, I’m not isolated. It becomes a united front. Zahira can’t… she wouldn’t try anything with a witness like that.”
Dev looked between their two faces on the screen. The king, weighing risks. The brother, seeing the plea in Amartya’s eyes. The husband, trusting his wife’s formidable judgment.
He let out a long, slow breath, the fight draining from his shoulders. “Okay.” The word was a surrender and a command. “Okay. Rukmini, you take the Falcon.Leave immediately. Use the secondary diplomatic entrance. Sameer will have the details. Amartya, you do not set foot outside that hotel until she lands and is secured at your side. Understood?”
“Understood,” Amartya said, the relief making him lightheaded.
“I’ll be there before breakfast,” Rukmini said, a determined smile touching her lips. “Order me some strong coffee. And maybe a plate of those date pastries.”
The call ended. The screen went dark, reflecting his own exhausted face back at him. But the emptiness in the suite was different now. It was temporary. It was anticipatory.
He walked back to the window, pulling the curtain aside again. The night was still vast, the sea still dark. But the terrace no longer looked like a trap. It looked like a place where, tomorrow, he could stand with his family and watch the sunrise.
He texted Sameer one instruction: “The Queen is incoming. Prepare for her arrival. And order the strongest coffee and a double portion of ma’amoul for the morning.”
A reply came instantly. “Affirmative, Your Highness.”
For the first time since Zahira’s smile had dissolved his composure, Amartya drew a breath that didn’t feel tight in his chest. He wasn’t a piece on a board anymore. He was about to get his queen.