Chapter 8: Reversal of Fortune

The next day, I was promoted from Noble Lady to Maharani, with the title Priya.

Dholaks thumped in the courtyard, and the cooks prepared laddoos, their sweet smell wafting through the palace corridors. The drums of Surya Mahal beat in celebration, while in the courtyards, gossip spread like wildfire. Priya was furious.

She barged into my bedroom, her face stormy.

Her nostrils flared, and she looked ready to explode. "I underestimated you."

She must have thought that, without magic and with a maid’s background, the Raja would never like me.

I turned my head calmly, about to speak, when an attendant announced the Raja’s arrival.

Also arriving was an old Aunty who’d served the Rajmata for years.

Her starched white saree rustled as she walked in, her voice sharp as she delivered the Rajmata’s message. Yes, when Priya was in power, she looked down on everyone but the Raja, so everyone tried to make things difficult for her.

"The Rajmata said she would let Priya rest for a month, but since you stayed up late serving in bed, you must be healthy. Kneel in your courtyard for two hours, absorb sunlight, and strengthen your body."

In my previous life, as a maid, I took the punishment for her, so my old injuries never healed and only worsened. My knees puffed up like overcooked aloo in a pressure cooker, and I couldn’t walk for a week.

Priya only pouted, saying I was too delicate.

Now, I leaned on the Raja, eyes red with tears.

My voice trembled with practiced innocence. "Your Highness, it hurt too much yesterday. May I kneel tomorrow instead?"

The Raja’s face remained gentle as he supported me.

He stroked my head softly. "Priya is frail. Have her maid take her place."

I dabbed my eyes with a handkerchief, glancing at Priya by the door.

The Raja followed my gaze and casually pointed at her.

His voice was cool, final. "You."

Priya’s always-composed face froze. Priya’s eyes darted to the floor, her hands twisting the end of her dupatta—her old confidence vanished. From her forced calm and slight trembling, I could tell she was livid.

Her pride was crushed; she didn’t dare raise her head, but walked step by step to the centre of the courtyard.

She hunched her back, lowered her head, and knelt—utterly unwilling.

For two hours at noon, the Raja dined with me, and we laughed and joked together.

I didn’t close the door, letting all the favour that once belonged to her drift out on the hot summer wind, scorching her face.

The other servants watched from a distance, their eyes wide in disbelief at the reversal of fate.