Page 30 of The Promised Queen

“I am a dancer, Rajmata. I will always be a dancer.” My chin lifts. “But now, I am also your queen.”

Her eyes narrow, but I push past the lump in my throat. My anger burns hotter than my fear.

“Consider this your last warning. I may have not done anything yet to claim my place in this palace, but don’t expect me to sit silently while you humiliate me. That’s not me.”

My voice echoes louder than I expect in the garden. The fountain splashes steadily behind me, the sparrows flutter up into the branches as if even they’ve heard the sharpness in my tone.

For a moment, Rajmata doesn’t speak. Her expression doesn’t soften, but I see the flicker of surprise in her eyes. Maybeshe didn’t expect me to fight back. Maybe she thought I’d bow my head, lower my gaze, whisper apologies.

Not this time. Not ever again.

I turn before my strength can falter and walk down the stone path. My sandals click against the ground, my hands clenched at my sides. Every step feels like I’m reclaiming a part of myself that’s been slowly chipped away since I stepped into this palace.

I am a dancer.

I am his wife.

I am their queen.

And they will learn to live with all three.

CHAPTER 24

Behind Closed Doors

DEVRAJ

The day has wrung me dry.

Meetings, signatures, and endless words that feel like they’re said just to fill air. Court petitions in the morning, land disputes in the afternoon, a dinner meeting with ministers who circle every topic like vultures waiting for the weakest carcass to drop. By the time the palace corridors finally quiet, my body aches for my bed. Yet it is the last place I want to go.

I’ve noticed it now—it has become a ritual. I can’t seem to end a day without walking to her door, without seeing her once. Just once. The strangest part is, I don’t even question why anymore. The need is so deeply woven into me already, it feels as normal as breathing.

So here I am, feet carrying me almost against my will, down the lantern-lit hallway. The marble is cool beneath me, the silence heavy except for the occasional sound of my footsteps echoing. Her door looms before me, painted with carved lotus patterns, closed yet somehow inviting.

I raise my hand and knock, once.

The door creaks open after a few seconds, and there she is.

My heart stutters.

Her hair is tied into a messy bun, wisps falling out to frame her face. She’s wearing pajamas—duckling pajamas, of all things. Pale yellow with ridiculous little cartoon ducks all over them. And in that moment, she looks more real, more… herself than I’ve ever seen her. No crown, no jewels, no stiff silks weighing her down. Just Meher.

Her eyes widen when she sees me. “Raja-sa!” she gasps, her hand flying to her chest. Her pitch is high, almost accusing, as though I’ve barged in on a scandal. “I wasn’t expecting you!”

I chuckle, the sound slipping out of me before I can stop it. “You look beautiful,” I tease, my lips twitching.

Her cheeks flush instantly, her eyes snapping wide. “Raja-sa!” She’s half mortified, half flustered, like a child caught red-handed sneaking sweets. And then, before I can say anything else, she slams the door in my face.

For a full heartbeat, I stand frozen. The King of this land, Devraj Singh Shekawat, left outside his queen’s chambers with the door shut in his face.

My mouth drops open, disbelief striking me first, then—slowly—I feel laughter bubbling up in my chest. A disbelieving chuckle shakes out of me. Never in my entire life had I thought someone would dare to close a door on me. And yet, here I am.

“Am I supposed to leave?” I ask loudly, still smiling like an idiot at her door, hands in my pockets.

Inside, there’s a clatter, then her voice, sharp but nervous, “No!”

I hear her shuffle frantically, the noise of fabric, maybe things falling. “Just—give me two minutes!”