The Rich Life

35

A/N- To sum it up I had a huge trip and wrote this pile of bullshit so just appreciate it okay because I ran out of ideas okay :))

AMARA POV

I was trapped in a world of dreams. A hazy blue dominated everything, leaving me with serenity and freedom. I was roaming around, doing nothing. I was perfectly fine with that. And I was wearing a pale blue lengha (traditional Indian dress) with silver embroidery. 

Sometimes distorted voices would break through the sky, some of which I couldn't make out and when that happened, a deep rumbling sound filled the earth like I wasn't supposed to be here. 

I was walking towards a palace, carved out of cool, ivory marble. Sort of like the Taj Mahal. There were beautiful azure ponds surrounded by sky-blue hydrangeas and cornflowers. I wasn't getting irritated with the amount of blueness around me. In fact, it hypnotised me. Suddenly a man in a sherwani (traditional Indian clothing) made his way towards me. He was speaking Urdu.

"Maharani (Queen) Zahra! His royal highness is looking for you!" He puffed. He looked sort of scared. 

"Who are you?" My tongue twisted into the elegant Urdu words. My face was blank at this stranger who addressed me as the Queen? I'm just Zahra Khan, and I was confused. How did I get here? 

"I'm his minister, hurry, you know what the Maharaja (King) is like when you are even a second late!" He exclaimed, gesturing for me to follow him. I peered at the bangles on my hands, jangling. 

I was paraded through the palace, and it was stunning. My feet were bare, wearing silver anklets that jangled every time I took a step. There were indoor fountains, servants that were decked out in jewels and of course, hundreds of people who bowed to me. 

We finally made our way to the throne room. It was the most magnificent and majestic place I had ever been in. Bold colours of aqua, violet and sage-green silk draped everything in the room. An ornate throne stood at the centre of pillars studded with gemstones. I became frightfully aware of my own jewellery, that was starting to make me break my posture. It was so heavy, I don't think I could stand anymore. 

"All rise for Maharaja Karamat ud-din Muhammad Khawaja, Shahenshah-e-Sultanat Al-Hindiyyah wa Al-Mughaliyyah (Emperor of the Sultanate of India and the Mongols)" The minister bellowed. 

I gasped when I saw the person on the throne. It was Karamat. Dressed in fabulous clothing with a dagger on his waist. Pearls adorned his turban and he wore a necklace made of silver.

"Maharani! Your dupatta (scarf) has fallen," The minister hissed. I re-adjusted it until it covered the top of my head, contrasting my midnight-black hair tied in a bun. Woah, my tikka was huge, and my nose ring was the same size

"All rise for Rajmata (Queen Mother) Hamida Banu Begum,"

Oh my God. It was Halima, still looking serpentine as usual, her snake-like eyes bearing into me. She sat on the floor on a cloth of lavender coloured velvet sewed with hundreds of tiny mirrors, three beautiful handmaidens surrounding her.

Everyone curtseyed so deep and I followed suit, practically kneeling, keeping my head bent demurely. Karamat made his way to me, his eyes shifting between hues of grey and ocean-green. I was surprised that he was able to simply breathe with all the titles weighing him down. 

He seized my chin, forcing me to look up at him. I was unfamiliar with such hard handling that I flinched. But I wouldn't dare to blink. 

"Does the mere sight of me offend the Maharani (Queen)?" His mocking tone taunting me. I focused on his sharp jawline and the stubble of beard on him. Huh. He was always clean-shaven in reality.