Page 24 of The Promised Queen

DEVRAJ

“Getting to know about your marriage from the media is a real low for our friendship, Maharaj.”

Dhruv doesn’t just say it, he groans it, dragging the words out like he’s carrying the burden of my sins on his shoulders.

I roll my eyes so hard they nearly stick. “Dhruv…” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Can you stop pestering me once in your life?”

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair like a man thoroughly satisfied with being annoying. “No, Devraj. It’s the purpose of my life.”

“Of course it is,” I say under my breath, leaning into the armrest. My fingers rub against the rim of my nose, already exhausted from his nonsense even though we’ve been in the room together less than ten minutes.

Dhruv may have been my best friend since school, but I’ll never understand how we could be so different and still tolerate each other. He thrives on teasing, on chaos, on forcing me to react when I’d rather sit in silence. I, unfortunately, seem totolerate him because—God help me—he’s always been there, whether I wanted him to be or not.

The door opens, and I find a welcome distraction. Vihaan and Sitara walk in, lost in their own conversation. Sitara laughs at something Vihaan says, smacking his arm in that familiar way of hers. For a moment, I feel the faintest tug in my chest—my sister laughing so freely, like the palace walls aren’t suffocating her.

They spot us, and Sitara’s eyes flick curiously between Dhruv and me as they approach.

“Vihaan,” Dhruv greets warmly, shaking his hand. Then Sitara bows her head politely, and Dhruv, the idiot, bows back with exaggerated respect.

Sitara freezes. Her eyes widen. “Raja-ji?” she gasps, scandalized. “You don’t bow in—”

Dhruv chuckles, interrupting her. “I know, Rajkumari. But you’re Maharaj Devraj’s little sister—how dare I not?” His voice softens in mock reverence.

I frown at him. “Will you stop it?”

He only grins wider, throwing me a look that says he lives to irritate me.

“Fine,” I relent with a sigh. “I should have told you about the marriage.”

Dhruv presses his palms together dramatically and dips into another fake bow. “Thank you. You should admit your mistakes sometimes, Devraj. It will keep you humble.”

Vihaan chuckles, Sitara tries to hide her smile, and for a moment the room is filled with laughter that doesn’t sting. They don’t linger long, though. Vihaan says something about work waiting, Sitara trails after him, and soon it’s just Dhruv and me again.

The air shifts. Dhruv leans forward, clasping his hands, his teasing smile still there but softer now. “How’s everything?” he asks.

I know better. “No,” hetsks, wagging a finger. “We’re talking about Maharani Meher, Devraj.”

I stare at him, and he smirks like he’s won some unspoken battle.

What do I even say about her?My mind scrambles for the right words, but nothing seems enough.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I finally answer, deliberately vague.

“How’s it going with her?” he presses.

“It’s… good.”

And it is. Simpler than I imagined, harder in ways I never expected, but good. There’s no other word that fits.

Dhruv tilts his head, studying me like he’s trying to dig deeper. “That’s all I get out of you? Good?”

I shrug, leaning back, unwilling to give him more. Because how do I explain Meher to him? That her silence carries more weight than most people’s speeches? That her stubbornness both infuriates me and steadies me? That she’s already carvedherself into the rhythm of my days, and it’s terrifying how natural it feels?

“I can’t really get anything out of you.” He shakes his head. “Do I at least get to meet her?”

“If you stay long enough, sure. She’s currently teaching.”

He sighs in mock disappointment. “I guess I’ll meet her next time, then.”