Page 38 of The Promised Queen
“I don’t need proof, Meher,” I say, my voice rough but steady. “I only need you. And I believe you—more than I will ever believe anyone else, more than I believe the ground beneath my feet, the crown on my head.”
Her lips part slightly, her breath hitching, and I feel her fingers clutch the fabric of my robe.
“Let them throw whatever they have got, Meher,” I continue, brushing a strand of hair from her temple. “They cannot dim what I see when I look at you. And what I see, Meher, is mine.”
CHAPTER 29
A Weight I Cannot Carry
MEHER
The whispers follow me everywhere, though no one dares to say them aloud when I pass by. It is a strange kind of silence that greets me now. Not avoidance, not hostility—they can’t afford to turn their faces away, not when I walk beside him, when I am tethered so closely to Raja-sa himself. But it’s only acknowledgement, a flicker of eyes that meet mine and then slide away, as if I were a shadow drifting through these gilded corridors. Neither embraced nor rejected, just there. The subject of their gossip, the stain they cannot wash off but also cannot ignore.
Last night, Sitara came to my chamber. She said nothing, not even a question, not even a platitude. She simply sat there, close enough that I could hear her steady breathing in the dark. And I hadn’t realized how much I needed that—silence that doesn’t condemn me, presence that doesn’t prod me with curiosity. For the first time since this storm broke loose, I was grateful for words unsaid. She stayed until my eyes grew heavy, and when I woke, she was gone. But I carried her quiet with me into the morning like a shield.
I know what was said in that meeting with the ministers. That Raja-sa was “abandoning legacy”;that by empowering me, by trusting me with things no woman like me had ever touched, he was dragging his family name through the mud. I wasn’t there, but I heard enough from the whispers around the palace to know their venom. And though he will never tell me, I know he bore every arrow without once letting it wound me. That is the kind of man he is.
Sometimes I wonder why. Why he does this for me. From the very beginning—even when I was nothing but a stranger, an inconvenience thrown into his world—he stood by my side. He shielded me, listened when no one else did, and he fought battles I didn’t even know were being waged. I don’t know what we are, what to call this thread that binds us, but I know one thing with certainty: he does not deserve their scorn on account of me.
And yet, he carries it anyway.
The guilt gnaws at me, heavy and unrelenting, until I cannot keep still. My feet find their way to his chambers before my mind has finished protesting. The doors are closed, but when I knock softly, it is his hand that pulls them open.
He stands there, tall and composed, the weight of authority draped over him like a second skin. For a moment, I cannot breathe. I step inside without meeting his gaze, my head bowed as though that might hide the storm inside me. How can I look at him? How can I face the man who believes me when I feel like I’ve given him nothing but trouble?
I know he trusts me. I know he knows the truth—that it is not wrong to be a bar dancer if that is your choice, but it was never mine. I have never once set foot in a bar, never even lingered at the doorway. I hated everything it represented, what it did to myfather, how it broke him and left him hollow. And still, because of me, Raja-sa bears whispers of humiliation.
I’m drowning in those thoughts when I feel it—the nearness of him. I hadn’t even noticed when he moved. Suddenly, his hand is beneath my chin, lifting it with a gentleness that is at odds with the steel in his command. My eyes lift unwillingly, and then lock with his.
His gaze searches me, scanning my face as though every unspoken thought is written there. He sees too much; he always does. “You are overthinking,” he says, calm, certain, as though he has pulled the very words from the pit of my mind.
The breath stumbles out of me. “If I am becoming your weakness,” I whisper, the plea spilling before I can stop it, “please end this, Raja-sa. I don’t deserve your kindness.” My voice cracks, thin and raw, as though speaking the words has torn something inside me.
For a heartbeat, silence. And then—a sound I did not expect. A low chuckle, but it isn’t light or amused. It carries a weight, an edge, his eyes flashing with something darker. He doesn’t find it funny at all. He is angry.
“End it?” he repeats, his voice low enough to settle into my bones. He leans in, closer and closer until I feel the heat of his breath against my lips, until there is no air left between us. “You want me to end it?”
Before I can answer, his lips brush mine—tentative at first, then certain, as if he has made his decision long ago. The kiss steals the ground beneath me. It isn’t rushed, it isn’t careless. It is deliberate, full of everything he hasn’t spoken, full of the certainty I have lacked. His hand cradles my face, steady,anchoring me as though I might break apart otherwise. And though my heart pounds, though doubt claws at the edges of me, I cannot pull away.
When he finally draws back, his forehead rests against mine, his voice a firm promise. “You, Meher, are the strength I never knew I needed.” His tone leaves no room for argument, no hesitation, as though he is stating a fact carved in stone.He presses another kiss, softer this time, sealing the truth he has laid bare. “So don’t ever come to me about ending us unless I am at fault. Because even if you did do something wrong, I would still want you in my life.”
The words lodge deep inside me, fierce and unwavering. For the first time, I realize it isn’t kindness he gives me. It is something stronger, fiercer, something I can neither deny nor return in half-measures.
And I am left trembling, not from fear of their gossip anymore, but from the terrifying possibility that I may not know how to exist without him.
CHAPTER 30
A Seat Beside Him
MEHER
I don’t expect it when Raja-sa looks at me across the breakfast table, his gaze steady, his fork abandoned halfway to his plate. Veeraj sits beside him, reading something on his phone, brows furrowed in a way that makes him look both impossibly young and far too burdened. The clink of cutlery and the soft murmur of staff moving in the background fill the silence, but Raja-sa’s eyes don’t leave me.
“Meher,” he says, and it is not a request, not even a suggestion. It is the kind of voice that belongs only to men who are used to centuries of obedience. “Last time, I hid you.” His words hang heavy, not cruel but deliberate. “This time, I think you should show yourself to the world… so they know your true worth.”
For a moment, the air leaves my lungs. My worth. Those are not words I have often heard in these walls. More often it is whispers about who I am not, where I come from, how I don’t fit the picture framed generations ago. But Raja-sa… he is saying something else. Not that I should behave, not that I should fade into his shadow, but that I should step into the light.
I manage to nod, my fingers tightening around the edge of my napkin. “What is it that you would like me to do, Raja-sa?”