Chapter 5: The Palace in Turmoil

The news that I favoured the Maharani spread throughout the palace in a single day. When Consort Meera heard, she smashed everything she could get her hands on in a fit of rage. By evening, a palace maid from Kamal Mahal came to report that the noble consort was ill.

Gossip in the palace travels faster than a monsoon rumour. By afternoon, even the old gardener paused mid-chant of a bhajan, shaking his head over the Raja’s change of heart while plucking marigolds for the temple. In the kitchens, a cook dropped his ladle in shock, sending dal splattering across the floor. When I heard the maid’s anxious voice—"Huzoor, the noble consort is unwell"—I was in the middle of painting a lotus, my brush trembling. I glanced instinctively at the empty air above my desk. Sure enough, the pop-ups had returned, their letters shimmering with a strange light.

[Knew the noble consort would come to play the victim, even pretending to be sick.]

[Wrong, this time the noble consort isn’t faking it—she’s really sick, her face is flushed with fever.]

Really sick?

A knot formed in my chest, as if someone had tied it with my own turban. My hand went limp, the brush leaving a red blot on the paper. I squinted, trying to read the next pop-up.

[She made herself sick by soaking in cold water in the middle of the night, just a bitter trick.]

I went to Kamal Mahal, and as soon as I pushed open the bedchamber door, I saw Meera pale-faced, yet insisting on getting up to kneel and greet me. I hurried forward to support her. She was burning hot all over—indeed sick.

“Where’s the royal physician? Where have they all gone?”

The maid beside her quickly knelt. “Please persuade the lady, Your Majesty. The physician wants to examine her, but she refuses, saying she’s afraid the medicine will harm the child and wants to tough it out herself.”

My body stiffened. That’s right, I almost forgot—my beloved consort was pregnant. But... those pop-ups said the child wasn’t mine. Should I believe them, or believe my beloved consort?

I glanced at Meera’s face, searching for any sign of deception. Her eyes met mine, wide and pleading, and for a moment I remembered the nights she had sung me to sleep when fever wracked my body. Still, the doubt gnawed at me, like a rat chewing at the base of an old trunk.