Upon arrival to the Maharaja's palace in Delhi, Alfred, Francis, Arthur, Ivan and Matthew all stared in awe of the beautiful stonework that made up the walls and floors, and when Sandar called down a few servant girls, ages between twelve and fifteen, he ordered them to show them their rooms and leave them alone to dress. Francis, being the romantic Frenchman he was, tried flirting with the servant girl who showed him to a beautifully decorated room furnished with silk upholstered sofas, pillows, and on the bed, the bedspread was also of fine, crimson silk. Gold statues were on the mantle of the fireplace, and once the girl , aged thirteen, bade Francis to settle and get washed up for the dinner party, he made his move by holding her hand delicately and kissing it. The servant girl was average looking, and had a wide forehead, round face, great dark eyes and long black hair covered with a simple yellow sari.
"Tu est belle, mon cherie! Veux-tu me rejoindre au diner?" Francis said, trying to charm the girl with his language of love. Her eyes widened, and she was clearly confused and didn't understand French.
"Eh?"
Francis leaned down and kissed her hand gently, causing the servant girl to gasp and blush from his romantic charm. He noticed her giggle and cover her mouth with her hand as she ran out of the room all giddy and happy. Meanwhile, the rest of the men bathed and got dressed, preparing themselves for a lavish dinner at sunset with the king of India and his daughter, the princess.
Sadar escorted the well-dressed men down to the grand dining hall, where people were socializing with each other—women were adorned with jewels and silk saris and gowns, men dressed in suits, or, if they had any royal status, they wore silk white, jewel-adorned turbans with elaborate outfits adorned with semi-precious, lackluster gemstones. Young children, perhaps nieces and nephews of the Maharaja, ran around playing, but some stood waiting for him to arrive. Some attendants watched the Prime Minister enter with the five strange men—most of the people in the great dining hall were dark-skinned, and to see these men, who were white as anything, made them curious.
"Prime Minister Chowdry," a man dressed in black finery with a white turban said in a booming deep voice with a prominent Indian intonation. "Who are these men? Are they of any importance to His Majesty?"
"No, in fact, I came across them while in the city today, raja." Sandar replied politely. "They are supposed to be in China for an archaeology study for their colleges, but their plane ran out of fuel and they crash-landed here in India. I decided to take them to the palace as guests for the Maharaja. You know how much he loves company." The regal-looking man stared at the suspiciously with evil, dark eyes, then back at Sandar.
"You cannot bring them here!" the prince told him. "They are not of high birth!"
"Please, raja," Sandar said. "They have nowhere to go, and I had no choice. The Maharaja would want you to be compassionate toward these men, am I correct?"
"Yes, I suppose," he answered reluctantly.
"Very well," Sandar said, turning to the five college students. "Gentlemen, I'd like for you to meet Raja Kumar Chatur of Calcutta, also known as the Prince of Calcutta."
Alfred studied the man's features, and the fact that he was the only man dressed in black finery made him somewhat nervous. He looked to be in his late thirties with a white, jeweled turban covering his short black hair, and in his dark eyes was a flaming glow that looked rather suspicious. His eyebrows were as bushy as his thick mustache and goatee, and he was tall with a rich tan in his skin. Trying to be friendly, the men introduced themselves as politely as they could.
"I'm Alfred Jones. American," he said casually, bowing his head rapidly.
"I am Arthur Kirkland," the Englishman said.
"I am Francis Bonnefoy. I am from Paris," the Frenchman said in his dandy-sounding voice.
"I am Ivan Braginsky, and I'm from Russia," the Russian added. Matthew cleared his throat and spoke.
"I am Matthew Williams, and I go to school in America, too," he finally said. "With Alfred." The prince looked at them all, and sighed at Sandar.
"I hope you don't get in trouble," he whispered harshly, walking away primly toward the table to await the presence of the king and princess of India. Sandar began to walk, gesturing the men to stand at the table in front of highly-adorned floor cushions on which they would seat through the meal. Many other guests stood at the long, seemingly never-ending table when the Prime Minister stood before the table to introduce and announce that the Maharaja and Rajkumari were coming into the room.
"Presenting His Supreme Majesty, Ruler of all India, the Maharaja Ravi Adhiraj and his daughter, Her Royal Highness Rajkumari Amisha Mani."
Moving aside, everyone looked in awe as the king and his daughter made their way slowly to the long table, backed by decorated guards. Though everyone paid reverence to the king, it was his daughter, the princess, who caught the attention of everyone, especially Alfred—she is so beautiful, he thought in his mind as he marveled at her extreme beauty.
Rajkumari Amisha Mani was of rare beauty, but it was mainly because she expressed physical traits never seen in India. Her skin was clear and soft, white as ivory, her hair blacker than ebony, and her eyes; so blue and alive, made every unmarried man in the dining hall look at her with lustrous awe. She wore the brightest blue ensemble consisting of a sheer sapphire sari wrapped over her head and trimmed with gold embroidery, large blue peridot earrings that dangled and were made of fine gold, and on the top of her forehead was a sparkling jeweled bindi that was just one portion of the jewels she always wore in her curling raven hair. In her nostril was a piece of gold body jewelry, and a necklace sat atop her chest and was fastened around her neck, set with sparkling sapphires and small diamonds within a gold framework. A bit of midriff showed in her midsection as her blue top, adorned with even more gold accents, matched her flowing azure skirt. Alfred couldn't keep his eyes off her, and as she sat down, he got a much better look at her, and his face turned to slowly and gradually flash a grin.
Alfred was not the only admirer of the exotic, splendorous princess—Francis looked at her, his blue eyes open wide, as well as Arthur, Matthew and Ivan. The Russian's face, however, was the calmest in his reaction to seeing Rajkumari Amisha Mani for the first time. He had a warm, closed smile on his face as his indigo eyes remained on her for another few seconds.
"Wow," Arthur muttered under his breath.
"She's…" Francis whispered, his sentence trailing off so that another could finish it.
"Beautiful," Alfred said, entranced by her magnificent exterior as the Prime Minister gestured everyone to take their seats on the firm, silk pillows and prepare themselves to dine on reputably-spicy Indian cuisine. Then, a beautiful, exotic melody came from a small band composed of a sitar player, a hand-drummer, and a flute which played a peculiar sound. A few well-dressed dancers danced perfectly in sync to the tune as the guests socialized with each other before being served their food.
"Ah, Princess Amisha," Raja Kumar Chatur said as if he were in a daze. He was sitting across from Alfred, whose sky blue eyes were fixed on her. "Beautiful, isn't she?"
"Yeah," he sighed, not taking his eyes away from her as she sat at the head of the table with her father, silently as her hypnotizing, azure eyes looked around the capacious, yet densely crowded room.
"Her eyes are like sapphire, and they sparkle more than the diamonds fastened around her neck," the prince said, noticing Alfred continue to stare. "I can easily tell that you fancy her. You are admiring her beauty, aren't you?"
There was no answer—Rajkumari Amisha Mani had a divine aura shining about her, and Alfred could easily sense that she was perceptive and inquisitive of the guests and the things that went on through their heads at that moment. His heart raced even faster when their eyes met, and from a distance, Alfred could see she had a calm, reserved nature. As he continued admiring her in her luxurious physical splendor, he smiled until he smelled the familiar aroma of food.
"Aw cool! Food!" he exclaimed as his plate was set in front of him. The metal heat dome was lifted, revealing a variety of strange foods.
On his porcelain dish was hot puri, a strangely-shaped kind of bread; chana masala, which consisted of chickpeas drenched in a spicy sauce; kadhi, which was a soup-like dish with vegetables, and churma, a North Indian delicacy that looked high in fat and calories. The members in Alfred's group stared down at the dishes, surprised by the vegetarian meals, but though Arthur, Ivan, Francis, and Matthew enjoyed their food, Alfred was very disappointed. I want a few burgers, some French fries, and a large soda, he thought as he stared at the Englishman sitting next to him.
"This food is delicious," the Englishman said with approval.
"Um, where is my burger?" Alfred asked in an arrogant tone of voice. Raja Kumar Chatur, who was across from him, stared at the young man coldly with his fiery dark eyes, his bushy black eyebrows twitching at him with irritation.
"In case you haven't noticed," he began in his cruel tone of voice. "We are followers of the Hindu faith, and therefore, we consume no animal products. The Maharaja banned meat and other related foods from the palace here in Delhi."
"How could you not enjoy a burger?" the young American asked with a look of disgust on his face. "What kind of life is led without eating a burger, soda and fries?"
"Ugh," the prince scoffed, rolling his eyes and pointing his dull knife at the young man. "If you do not stop with your complaints, I will tell the Maharaja that you are insulting our good faith. I suggest that you be quiet immediately."
Alfred raised his eyebrows and scratched his head, looking down at the food and taking the puri with his free hand. He took a bite of it, and his eyes widened as he moaned orgasmically at the savory taste of the strange bread. Upon hearing him, the prince, Arthur, Francis, Ivan, and Matthew stared at him strangely. The princess glanced over, hearing his strange sound, but ignored it as she continued eating her dinner—the place was noisy with talking and whispering, but not as noisy as the slurping from the soup-like dish they were all served.
"This…is…SO…GOOD!" he exclaimed, catching the attention of the ones sitting around him. Since the Maharaja and his daughter were so far down at the head of the table, they couldn't notice his strange behavior; however, Raja Kumar Chatur noticed and dropped his fork onto his dish, staring at the young man with hate in his eyes.
"Stop it this instant!" he whispered forcefully. Alfred looked at him, chewing with his mouth open rudely, but he didn't mean to do it—he always ate this way, and as far as eating in front of others went, he would not stop. However, in order to make a good impression on the beautiful princess and her father, he stopped for the sake of it. The prince got back to eating, but then Francis began talking.
"How old is that beautiful lady at the head of the table?" he asked the raja politely in his seductive French accent.
"She is eighteen, and unfortunately, she is unmarried," the raja said. "That Maharaja had best get his head out of the clouds."
"Eighteen?" Alfred asked, swallowing his food. "Unmarried?" Cool, she's all mine, he thought with high hopes until the raja shot his hopes down.
"You cannot have her. You are not of noble blood and you are not Indian," he said sharply, looking at the men hatefully—his glare was mostly aimed at Alfred, who responded so quickly to his answer.
"What? What do you mean? I…don't even…know the princess," Alfred said in a nervous stutter. "How could I…want someone I don't know?"
"You stared at her for longer than I did," Raja Kumar Chatur sneered coldly.
"She is a beautiful princess, fine sir," Arthur said politely, taking a sip of his beverage. "I think it is best that you both drop the topic before it gets out of hand."
Raja Kumar Chatur looked at the Englishman hatefully, but he secretly admired his sense of control over where he fixed his eyes. The prince sighed and took a bite of his food, swallowing it before sighing a breath that smelled of hot spices. Alfred was immediately repulsed by the whiff. Bad manners, he thought, how ironic.
"Sultans, sheiks, and rajas have been fighting for the Rajkumari's hand since she was thirteen years old," the raja said finally, staring at the extreme royal beauty in her sapphire-toned finery.
"Dude, that's too young! How could you guys make a girl marry a guy at that age?" Alfred exclaimed questionably, nearly choking on his food.
"It may be that way in your country, but here, royal life for an Indian princess is different. She is expected to marry who is chosen for her," the raja explained. "Though I deeply respect the Maharaja, I don't think he is doing his part in finding a suitable husband for the Rajkumari."
"What happened with the ones who tried marrying her? Were they not good enough?" Ivan questioned with a spoonful of the soup-like food in his hand.
"I cannot tell you. It is not a conversation for dinner," the raja said with a bit of suspicion in his booming, deep voice.
When dinner ended over two hours later, dessert was served—a choice of gulab jamun, a sugary type of morsel that was chewable in a single bite; kheer, a parfait served in the form of bisque that was made of milk and dried fruits, and singori, a coconut dessert that Alfred and Francis were both fond of in particular. The Frenchman really enjoyed dinner as much as he loved being inside such a grand setting with exotic furniture with silk upholstery.
"Oh, this is trés magnifique!" Francis said after a satisfied moan from his singori.
"I know, right, Francie?" Alfred said, sighing before looking at the rajkumari one more time.
She had just finished eating her dessert, and her beautiful eyes wandered the grand dining hall; the sapphires and diamonds in her elaborate necklace sparkled immensely, adding to the intensity of her orbs as they moved about, watching the guests enjoy their dessert. Maharaja Ravi Adhiraj looked over at his daughter, who was sitting next to him, and they began speaking their native tongue.
"बेटी," the great, large man in a bejeweled headdress said to his daughter. "Why don't you call your maids to help you prepare for bed?"
"No, father," she answered calmly. "I'd like to be with the guests a little longer."
"Ah, you want to meet the strangers Prime Minister Chowdry brought with him?" the Maharaja assumed.
"Strangers?" she wondered.
"Yes, he informed me about five men who were supposed to go further East but crash landed here in India," he told Amisha. "I would like to meet them myself."
Princess Amisha did not respond, but she remained sitting there until most of the guests got up from their seats and were led by maids to the rooms they were staying in for the evening. The palace at Delhi had over 60 bedrooms, and that wasn't including the bed chambers of the princess and her father, so it was very accomodating for all of the guests who had come from near and far. The Prime Minister approached the five men, who were still in the dining hall, and luckily, the Rajkumari and the Maharaja were still there, but they were standing near the back door of the room, chattering on about different subjects.
"Hello, sir," Arthur said, his attention caught by Sadar.
"I hope you enjoyed dinner," he answered, clasping his hands together and smiling.
"We sure did, monsieur," Francis said. "Thank you for letting us stay here."
"You are very welcome," Sadar told him with a chuckle. "I was wondering if you would all like to meet the Maharaja and his daughter?"
Alfred's heart raced, looking at Sadar in disbelief. Is he serious, he thought, I am going to meet the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Up close and in person! I'm so excited! No, Alfred—be calm, be yourself. Don't say you are a prince because you are not. You are a hero.
"Sure thing, mister," Ivan said with a friendly smile as they all stood up to approach the royals in a dignified manner. The Maharaja and his daughter looked over and stood primly before the blond strangers approached them with Sadar in front of them.
Up close, the Maharaja was a large, portly man dressed in a highly-jeweled ensemble consisting of a white uniform with a few strongs of jewels over his chest, a highly adorned white turban, and pointed shoes on his feet. He had a rich tan in his skin, a beard, and his eyes were dark and soulful. Next to him was his beautiful, ivory-skinned blue-eyed daughter, who stood with her head held up straight and prim, looking at the men with curious eyes.
"Your Majesty," Sadar said with reverence. "Allow me to introduce to you the five young men I found wandering in Delhi earlier today. They are all college students, and they crash-landed in India just recently after their trip to china went awry."
"Hmm," the Maharaja said as he stroked his raven-black beard. "I am aware of that." He stepped forward slowly. "What are your names?"
"I am Arthur Kirkland, Your Highness," he said, bowing as he made eye contact with the king and the princess.
"I am Francis Bonnefoy," he said, moving forward toward the princess, who stared at him to clearly see his intentions.
"Ah, tu est trés belle, mon cherie," he said, holding her hand gently as he leaned down to kiss it respectfully. "Je veux dire, Votre Altesse Royale." Princess Amisha looked down at him, but didn't say anything about him kissing her hand. She didn't know what he was saying, but she knew he was only trying to be respectful.
"A Frenchman, Prime Minister?" the Maharaja asked as he saw Francis kiss his daughter's hand.
"Yes, but he is only trying to be respectful, Your Majesty," Sadar assured him. "After all, the French are known far and wide for their...romanticism."
Francis walked back to the group of men, where they began introducing themselves again. This time, it was Matthew's turn.
"I am Matthew Williams, Your Leadership," he said politely, bowing slowly and reverently.
"I am Ivan Braginsky," the Russian said.
Then, it came time for Alfred to introduce himself, but the extreme beauty of Rajkumari Amisha Mani distracted him from doing so. She was even more beautiful up close, and it made his lip tremble with anxiety. What was he going to say? How could he make himself look like less of an idiot?
"I...I...I'm Alfred," he said nervously, staring at the princess. "Alfred Jones, Your Highness."
The Maharaja and Rajkumari looked at everybody, but the though the king smile,d the princess kept her straight face and reserved manner. Meanwhile, Alfred continued to stare at her with admiration toward her extreme magnificence and regal presence. He smiled, but even still, when their eyes met, she kept her neutral expression.
"It is wonderful to meet all of you," the Maharaja said cordially. "I enjoyed having you here at my palace, and if it is any help to you, please feel free to stay here for as long as you need to."
"Thank you very much, Your Majesty," Arthur said, bowing his head with gratitude.
Raja Kumar Chatur approached the Maharaja, who looked into his fiery, sinister black eyes as he tried to draw him away from the five blond commoners.
"Excuse me, Your Majesty, but I must speak with you urgently," the prince said, staring at the men with a hateful glare.
"Oh, yes, raja," the king said, looking back at the men soon after. "Our servants will bring you to your rooms and help you prepare for bed. Have a wonderful night."
As he walked off, Alfred watched as the Rajkumari turned her back on the men and followed her father, the guards opening the door to let her through. He thoguth deeply about the raja—he seemed so cruel. What did he want to talk to the Maharaja about? Something is fishy about that man, he thought.