Page 17 of The Promised Queen

And there she is.

Meher.

Her back is to me, but the moment is hers entirely. She moves across the grass in a pale blue anarkali that flares with each turn, the fabric catching the garden lights, the air itself seeming to bow around her. Her feet strike the ground with precision, bells tied at her ankles answering with each movement. She is not performing for anyone; I can see it in the ease of her gestures, the way her hands rise, curl, fall like they were born knowing rhythm.

Her hair is loose, strands catching against her cheek only to fly back as she spins. There is no audience here, no need for grace or approval. And yet—she looks effortless. Regal.

I lean against the archway, unseen, my breath quieter than the rustle of leaves. I should walk away. It feels intrusive, standing here in the shadows, watching what was never meant for my eyes. But something in me refuses to move.

She looks at peace. More at peace than I have ever seen her, more than I will likely ever see her again in the daylight hours where expectation shackles her. The weight she must carry—the whispers, the scrutiny, the impossible balance of being both commoner and queen—seems to dissolve the moment her feet strike the earth in rhythm. Dancing, it seems, is her freedom.

For ten minutes, I watch. My own thoughts quiet, the unrest of politics and duty dulling against the sound of her ghungroos. I wonder if this is what faith feels like—something unexplainable, something that doesn’t ask to be understood, only witnessed.

And then, as suddenly as it began, she stops. Her chest rises and falls, hands pressed together in the briefest pause of reverence. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her face soft, almost glowing under the dim garden lights.

I step back before she can notice me. This is hers, not mine to intrude upon. Some moments are too sacred to be broken by words.

So I walk away, the faint sound of ghungroos still echoing in my ears, lingering longer than any debate, longer than the hollow bow of a politician.

For the first time today, the tightness in my chest eases.

And all I can think of is how divine she looked, without even trying.

CHAPTER 14

Between a King and a Husband

MEHER

I’m still adjusting the dupatta around my shoulders when Maharaj clears his throat. His tone is clipped, formal, the kind of voice I’ve only heard him use when he’s issuing instructions to his staff.

“You will take two guards with you. And a female staff member.”

I blink at him, unsure if I’ve heard him right. “Maharaj, I’m going amongst children. Children. I am very sure no one can harm me there.”

My voice sounds calm, but inside I’m bristling. I hate the idea of walking into that little school surrounded by uniformed guards. It will only remind the children that I’m now different, that I don’t belong to their world the way they do.

“It’s not up for discussion, Meher.” His jaw tightens, a flicker of steel entering his otherwise controlled expression.

I cross my arms, raising a single eyebrow at him. I’ve learned that this unnerves him more than raised voices ever could.

He exhales, long and quiet, and then, almost too softly for me to believe it, he whispers, “Please.”

The sound steals my breath. The word, the tone. For a moment, I don’t recognize him. Is this the same man who carries the weight of an entire royal legacy on his shoulders? Who commands an entire palace with nothing more than a look?

I tilt my head, my voice slower, quieter. “Is this the king requesting me? Or my husband?”

His eyes hold mine steadily. “A king orders, Meher. Never requests.” His answer is so soft, yet it lands with the force of something heavier.

My chest tightens. My breath hitches before I can stop it. Husband. He didn’t deny it.

After a beat of silence, I swallow, suddenly unsure of myself. “Okay,” I whisper back, softer than I intend. Then, gathering myself, I add, “Can we…drop it down to one man? I don’t want to scare the kids.”

Something in his gaze shifts, like the tide rolling back after a storm. He nods once.

When it’s time to leave, he gestures toward the corridor. “I’ll see you to the car.”

“There’s no need for that,” I say quickly, the words slipping out before I can stop them. He doesn’t need to hover.