"He believed there was goddess in me, father!" the princess wailed after twenty minutes of explaining everything that had happened to her during her time at the raja's temple. She had told him everything from the time of her kidnapping to the day she found out about her killing, and through most of it, Princess Amisha dreaded the memories so much that she broke down and started crying heavily. Alfred held her close to him to console her, but the Maharaja was shocked.

The Maharaja had trusted Raja Kumar Chatur very much, but when his daughter and each of the men gave their testimony on what happened, he was immediately struck with guilt. He felt like it was his fault because if he hadn't promised his daughter to wed the raja, perhaps she wouldn't have had a brush with a slow, painful, barbaric death. He also was guilty to be blinded by the utmost trust he held in the old prince, and for that, tears began to fall from his eyes. He took his daughters hand and started to sob from his guilty feelings.

"Oh, daughter. I am deeply sorry," the Maharaja said with sorrow. "Had I known he was an evil person, I would never have tried to give your hand to him. If I had not given your hand to him, you would never have dealt with such hardship. It is all my fault."

"No, father!" the princess responded, getting out of Alfred's arms in order to console him. "It was not your fault! It probably would have happened. Raja Kumar would have searched for me and had me kidnapped even if we were not betrothed."

"I feel responsible, daughter. I am deeply sorry. I was so blind! How could I have been so blind?!" he shouted, crying heavily. Alfred was surprised she wasn't speaking to him in Hindi, but that was only because the other men were in the room with them, providing factual evidence of the raja's barbaric plan.

"Hey, don't cry," Alfred said to the Maharaja. "He is all taken care of." He looked up, wiped his eyes, and stared at him long and hard.

"How did you…first off," he began, looking at the blood that remained on his shirt from when the raja slashed his chest. "Why is there red on you?"

"The raja guy cut me," Alfred told him frankly. "I was chained to a wall, but I managed to get out in time to save everybody else. They were held prisoner, as well. Before that, the raja infuriated me with how he was going to kill the princess."

"How exactly was he planning on killing me?" Princess Amisha aske,d turning to look at Alfred.

"He wanted to cut your wrists, throat, and to take your heart out. Then he wanted to burn your remains," he said sadly, disgusted by the thought. "They thought your blood was the key to immortality, but clearly it wasn't."

"My goodness!" Princess Amisha gasped. "Disgusting!"

"Blasted!" the Maharaja added with extreme shock and anger.

"It wasn't the key to immortality because he wouldn't have died when I killed him," Ivan said. It was right then and there that the Maharaja gasped with disbelief.

"You killed him? How?" he questioned.

"With his own knife, I stabbed him in the heart, and I threw him over the cliff," Ivan said calmly. The Maharaja raised his eyebrows and grimaced slightly. "Weren't you going to give him the death penalty anyway for betraying the Indian crown by trying to kill our princess?"

"Yes, but…you…uh…well, uh…you did the job for us. That is one less punishment we have to take care of," the ruler said. "I cannot believe I put utmost trust into the Raja of Calcutta only to have his soldiers march into our capital and kill so many people just to find and imprison you. I cannot believe I trusted him to be your husband, daughter, and I cannot believe I even thought of putting him on my throne upon my death!"

"Nevertheless, it is not your fault," Princess Amisha reminded him. "Perhaps I would have happened anyway if he wanted to sacrifice me that badly."

"Amisha, dear," the Maharaja said with a breathy sigh as he began speaking Hindi in order to keep things more private with his daughter. "You must get married at one point or another. You could not rule India alone, for it is against tradition. The people would be upset that they do not have a Maharaja with their Maharani." Her eyes widened, looking at him with disappointment. How could he say such a thing to her after all that she had been through with Raja Kumar Chatur?

"Father! No," she protested calmly.

"Daughter, it is your duty. I understand you went through hell with the past suitor, but he was an evil man to the core. I was blind. Perhaps we should reconsider the son of the sheik in—"

"We are not reconsidering anybody, father!" she exclaimed defiantly, standing up to look at him lay on the bed, looking at her with his black eyes.

"Do not speak to me that way! I am your father and you will respect me," the Maharaja retorted in Hindi, confusing Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Matthew, Ivan, and the two English archaeologists. She shook her head with disbelief at her father as she made her final statement.

"How can I trust you to find me a proper suitor after the last one almost killed me?" Princess Amisha said in her native tongue. With that being said, she left the room, walking out as if nothing had happened. Her eyes were beet red from the tears she cried, remembering the harsh, painful memories of the raja nearly killing her and how she was held prisoner in his temple. Growing even more worried about the princess, Alfred rose from the chair and stood, watching her leave. I wonder what they were saying, he thought, it's all gibberish to me.

"What just went on?" he asked, looking over at the ruler in bed, who sighed as he sat up to look at him.

"I do not wish to tell you, but she still must fulfill her duty," the Maharaja said with a slightly stern tone of voice. "However, I cannot tell you men how much I absolutely appreciate and thank you for taking my daughter away from that madman. If there is any way I can reward you, please let me know."

"You don't have to reward us," Alfred told the Maharaja. Francis, Arthur, Mr. Winston, Mr. Smith and Ivan all looked at him as if they wanted to kill him. How could we not want a reward for saving her, Arthur asked himself. I could use some money, Ivan pensated. He is crazy, Francis said in his mind. Has he gone mad, Mr. Winston's thought bubble said. Why wouldn't he accept a reward, Mr. Smith thought.

"Please, Mr. Jones. I would do anything to repay you for the good you have done not only for me and my daughter, but for India," the ruler said, looking at the men standing in front of his bed. "Do you even realize how much our people have missed the rajkumari?"

"Yes, in fact, on the way here, a bunch of people in Delhi were greeting her," Alfred told him.

"She sure has a way with people no matter what class they are. It is almost like you all being one big happy family here in India," Arthur inferred.

"Yes," the Maharaja said. "She was always a very compassionate child. She grew up into a fine young woman. If only her mother were alive to see her now."

The following day, Princess Amisha was glad to be away from the raja and out of his temple. Luckily he was dead, so she had not another worry on her mind. However, the painful memories still plagued her; it was so difficult to forget about She was bathed, dressed in her usual finery, and at breakfast, Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Ivan, Matthew, Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith sat closer the head of the table, and were acknowledged and praised for their rescue of the princess from other guests of the Maharaja. Also, the princess was happy to see her father eating and feeling better again; despite his extreme hunger pains, he maintained a respectable manner while eating.

It was after breakfast that Alfred walked through the outer corridors of the palace. It was the hall near the garden which opened up to reveal beautiful greenery with flowers of the lethal variety. He noticed the vast garden seemed empty until he saw a familiar sitting figure in the distance. Walking out of the corridor, he approached the figure and saw that it was none other than Rajkumari Amisha Mani sitting with her eyes fixed on the numerous words of a book. Alfred sat next to her one the stone bench silently, waiting for her to notice him. Feeling a familiar presence, she finally noticed him after two minutes, looking over at him with her intense blue gaze.

"Good morning, Alfred," the princess said with a smile.

"Hello, my princess. Are you feeling alright?" Alfred questioned. She sighed, thinking about her father's wish to marry her off to someone else.

"I am unhappy, to be perfectly honest," she said sadly, closing the book and putting in on the spot next her. "I do not see why my father would insist on marrying me off to someone else I have never met nor love. If I never before have met them, how could I trust them? After what happened with me, I do not wish to face any more cruelty or hardship from another royal."

"I understand what you mean, princess," Alfred told her, taking her smooth, white hand into his. "I'd marry you in a heartbeat, but I'm not a royal of any kind. I can't give you what a raja or a sultan can."

"Yes," Princess Amisha said as they made perfect eye contact. "You have given me love, Alfred. That is more than I ever wanted from my life; was a man to love me as a woman, not because I am destined to be queen of India or some other sovereign nation."

"I did, didn't I?" he sighed, leaning over to kiss her gently, tilting her chin up. "I still am right now."

Their kiss became tender but passionate, but it was long enough to enable the Maharaja to see them from a distance as he took a walk with two of his confidantes through the corridor Alfred entered the garden through. He stopped, gasping at the sight of his daughter kissing one of the men who had saved her. As their arms wrapped in a warm embrace during their kiss, the Maharaja could not help but remember the first time he had kissed his wife, a higher-ranking commoner who was the daughter of an English ambassador—Maharani Darshwana Minakshi.

He walked out of the palace, where a party had been taking place to celebrate the birth of Raja Ravi Adhiraj's younger half-brother, Ravi Gaajhadar Niranjan. He was the son of his father and his second wife, Maharani Rita Durgeshwari. The young Raja Ravi, the eldest of his father's children and heir to the Indian crown, hoped and prayed that the young boy wouldn't be as cruel and detached as his mother had been. The raja could distinctly remember how badly he was punished whenever he said or did something petty as a teenager, and his step-mother would often hit him with a cane to the point where he had severe bruising on his body. Now, he was a grown man and his stepmother knew it was only in her best interest (and personal benefit) not to physically abuse her stepson any longer.

At age twenty-five, Raja Ravi Adhiraj looked very much like the average Indian—he was very dark, from his fine tan to his great, youthful black eyes to his ebony, snug-clipped hair. He was tall and slender, an obvious difference to his portly future self, and unlike his younger brothers and sisters, he wore clothing that was the least extravagant. He had worn a turban from the time he was able to walk, but as a grown man, he wore large, colorful pants with a strip of brightly-colored cloth wrapped over his fine, chiseled chest. He had looked more like a lesser noble, but he was content with how he looked. Also, the young raja was unmarried—the Maharaja at this time did not really concern himself with the affairs of his oldest son, his heir, which disappointed everybody at the palace. However, the prince had his eye set on a young woman he had met that night—the daughter of his father's British ambassador.

She had been born Elizabeth Catherine Wells, but because the British ambassador had taken an Indian woman as a wife, her mother had called her Darshwana Minakshi. The girl was only seventeen, and she seemed to have a strong-will with obvious touches of tenacity, but she still seemed fond of the young, but much-older raja. She had hair as black as the darkest night, and her eyes were like warm honey. Being half Indian, it was not unusual to have such dark features, but her skin, white as alabaster, was the attention-grabber and the most well-know feature of her magnificent beauty. She had fine, chiseled facial features—high cheekbones, large eyes, and a perfectly arched brow. Her lips were pink as flower petals, and like him, she wore less-extravagant clothes despite her father's position in society.

Raja Ravi had walked around the garden in search of the young girl. He did not have perfect vision in the dark, but he somehow sensed her presence because his heart had beaten even faster and his nerves began to go haywire inside, causing him to tremble even more with the steps he took. The moment he was introduced to her, the young girl had asked him to call her Darshwana, her Sanskrit name given by her mother. This he remembered her by, along with her beautiful, delicate face.

"Darshwana? Are you here?" he whispered, loud enough so she could hear him. After walking further, he saw her standing near the stone fountain, staring at the rippled reflection of moonlight in the water. He stood there, admiring her beauty as she turned to look at him.

"Yes, Your Highness?" she asked in her soft, but strong feminine tone.

The way she spoke to him, in a prevalent English accent laced with some Indian, made him yearn for her love even more, and the way she looked that evening made him desire her in ways he couldn't even explain. She was wearing a bright purple gown with a matching sari over her bosom, gold trim sewn to the uniform edges of the strip of fabric. On her feet were slipper-like shoes that were yellow in color, and on her clear, white forehead was a jeweled bindi made of gold. Raja Ravi smiled at her grandly, approaching her in a romantic fashion.

"You look so beautiful," he told her sincerely. She just looked at him, raising a defined eyebrow to denote her skepticism.

"Hmm," she muttered. "Did you need me for something important?"

"Yes, indeed it is very important," the raja said, coming closer to her. She looked up into his dark, intriguing eyes and listened to him. When he took both of her hands into his, she felt strangely relaxed.

"I am unmarried," the raja began. "I have been searching for a wife for a long time now. I was going to request your hand in marriage, but I will not do so if you do not love me in return." She gasped at him, looking up at him curiously.

"Are you serious?" she asked kindly. "You think I would make a good queen?"

"Why, yes!" the raja answered with enthusiasm. "I understand that we just met, but I somehow feel within that you are the perfect woman for me."

"I am? How so? I am only the daughter of an Englishman! And a poor woman! I am unfit for royal life!" she exclaimed with worry, looking up at him with her honey brown eyes.

He got down on his knees and held her hands, resting his forehead on them as he professed his love for the young woman. She stared down at him as he looked up into her eyes, confessing his feelings in such a way it sent tears of unparalleled joy down her face.

"Elizabeth Wells." He corrected himself abruptly. "Darshwani Minakshi, your beauty gives spring everlasting youth. Your eyes give the world light; all else is in vain. Now, I find myself confessing my love to you. I love you, Darshwani Minakshi, and I hope and pray that you will be my bride and my queen."

Then her tears began to fall. No man has ever used such eloquent flattery when describing her looks. Also, she had never had a man tell her he loved her as much as the young raja did. She smiled at him as he stood up, and it was right then and there they shared a warm lover's embrace.

"I will accept your proposal," the young girl had said, looking into his eyes as he recited one of his favorite classical Indian poetry verses:

"Moon-light face

Flower-bud hand,

Nectar voice,

Rose-red lip:

Mysteries in your heart."

Caressing her face gently, the look in his eyes charmed her as they shared a beautifully amorous kiss under the moonlight.

The cherished memory made the Maharaja smile as he saw his daughter and Alfred showing affection to each other. He finally realized what his daughter had meant by marrying for love—he did it himself, and he loved his wife more than anybody in the world. He had an idea, knowing he needed to speak with his daughter immediately.