Page 32 of The Promised Queen

Her gaze locks on mine, unwavering, searching. Then she rises onto her toes, her lips grazing the shell of my ear as she whispers, “I want to know my husband, Raja-sa.”

Her words unravel me. My body is taut, every muscle burning with the closeness of her.

And inside me, a storm brews.

Because she doesn’t know what she’s asking for.

No one knows me. Not truly. Everyone sees the crown, the power, the title. No one sees the man beneath, the boy who once counted stars with his father, who laughed without weight, who painted for escape, who trusted without fear. No one has ever asked for that man.

Except her.

This girl—this woman I married a few months ago, under circumstances neither of us could control—stands here, looking up at me with those stubborn, earnest eyes. Asking me to show her the part of myself I’ve buried away.

And the terrifying part? I might.

Not because I trust her fully. I don’t know if I do. Maybe I never will. But because even if I didn’t, I would still share it with her. Because she affects me in ways no one else ever has.

I swallow hard, pressing down the raw ache in my chest. My arms wrap around her slowly, pulling her into me. For a second, she goes still. Then, after a beat that feels endless, she melts into my embrace.

Her arms circle my waist, her cheek resting lightly against me. My chin hovers above her hair, and I breathe her in, my entire body exhaling a tension I didn’t know I carried.

“Then go on a date with me, Meher,” I whisper into her hair.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t pull back. Just stand there, breathing with me.

“Tomorrow?” Her voice is so quiet it almost doesn’t reach me.

“Tomorrow,” I promise.

And I mean it.

Because if anyone is going to see the man behind the king, it will be her.

CHAPTER 25

A Room of Firsts

MEHER

The car ride is quiet, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that lets me sit back and actually notice the way the city blurs past the window. The streetlights glow like tiny fireflies caught in glass cages, and the night air is so gentle it almost begs me to roll down the window and let it in. Raja-sa sits beside me, one hand lazily resting on the steering wheel, the other drumming against his thigh in some rhythm only he knows. This is the first time I am seeing him drive.

I catch myself sneaking glances at him, the way his profile sharpens under the streetlights, how his jaw flexes every now and then. He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t have to. He knows I’m watching.

When the car slows, I lean forward, curiosity buzzing through me. The place we stop in front of is tall, sleek, unapologetically modern. Glass façade, soft golden lights spilling from the lobby like a promise.

I blink. “A hotel?”

A smile curves his mouth, small but certain. “Not just any hotel.” He pushes open his door and gets out like the worlditself belongs to him. I hurry after him, heels clicking against the driveway tiles.

Inside, it smells like something new—polish and wood and crisp linen. The lobby is quiet, empty except for one receptionist who bows so quickly it’s almost comical. I don’t think she even looked at me properly before dropping her gaze to the floor.

“This one hasn’t opened yet,” he says, walking with that unhurried, deliberate stride of his. “You are the first guest they’ll ever have.”

I stop for a second, stunned. “So am I here for work… or for a date, Raja-sa?” I tease, arching a brow.

He actually chuckles, low and warm, the sound wrapping around me like velvet. “Maybe both,” he says, then glances at me, eyes catching mine. “But mostly the latter. I’ve been meaning to take my queen out, haven’t I?”

Heat blooms up my neck. I roll my eyes, trying to mask how fast my heart just skipped. “Flattery won’t get you everywhere.”