Page 49 of The Promised Queen

Meher springs upright like a coil released, muttering under her breath, “Finally.”

I laugh openly, rolling my shoulders to ease the stiffness. “You make it sound like torture.”

“Because it was,” she retorts, gathering her dupatta. Her eyes flash with mock indignation. “Next time, Raja-sa, we’re taking a selfie. Tradition or not.”

I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “We shall see, Rani-sa.”

She strides toward the door, the sway of her steps equal parts elegant and defiant. I linger a moment longer, drawn to the unfinished canvas. The outline is rough, colors incomplete, but already I can see it—the beginning of something permanent.

For the first time, the gallery of ancestors does not feel cold or distant. Because soon, she will be there too. With me.

Always.

CHAPTER 37

When Raja-Sa Learns to Dance

MEHER

The sound of tiny footsteps and squeals of laughter fill the classroom, bright as sunlight pouring through the wide open windows. I can’t help but smile as I clap my hands to keep the rhythm, guiding my little students through the dance steps we have been practicing for their annual function. Their energy is boundless, their little faces beaming with pride whenever they manage to follow my instructions.

“Step forward… and twirl!” I demonstrate, the girls giggling as their colorful skirts fly around them, and the boys trying—somewhat clumsily—to copy the same. Their little feet stumble, but they pick themselves up with a determination that warms my heart.

“Very good!” I encourage, clapping my hands, the excitement in their eyes telling me they live for this praise. There’s something magical about their innocence. Teaching here never feels like a duty—it feels like being a part of something purer than the world outside these four walls.

“Now all together, one-two-three… spin!” I twirl again, this time slower, giving them space to catch up. My dupatta flies a little, making a few children giggle and mimic the way it moves.

Their laughter is contagious. I laugh with them, shaking my head at their theatrics. “Acha, acha,no pulling dupattas, focus on your feet!” I say playfully, as two boys try to copy the way my scarf sways.

It’s then that I feel the presence. My back stiffens before I even turn. My skin tingles with the unmistakable awareness of being watched. Slowly, my eyes dart toward the door.

And there he is.

Raja-sa.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, his tall frame filling the space with a quiet authority that always unsettles me. His hands are tucked neatly into his pockets, his posture relaxed, but his eyes—his eyes are fixed on me, dark yet softened with a small, unguarded smile tugging at his lips.

My breath stumbles for a moment. I wasn’t expecting him. I never do, and maybe that’s the problem; he always finds a way to surprise me.

The children, quicker than me to notice, squeal in delight. “Maharaj!” they chorus, their voices echoing through the room like a festival chant.

His smile grows just a little as he steps inside, nodding in acknowledgment, that regal charm never leaving him even in the simplest gestures.

I fold my hands together, trying not to betray the way my heart seems to be dancing faster than the children in front of me. “Children.” I clear my throat. “Let’s continue—”

But they’ve already abandoned me. Little hands tug at his kurta, some clinging to his arms, others pulling him further into the room.

“Maharaj, come dance with us!”

“Yes, you must! It’s fun!”

“Miss Meher is teaching us so nicely, you should also try!”

I bite my lip, half amused, half horrified at their boldness. Surely, he won’t… He chuckles, the sound low, smooth, and—if I dare admit—dangerously pleasant. “Dance?” He raises his brows slightly, glancing at me as if testing how I will react. Then he looks down at the eager faces surrounding him. “Children, I cannot dance well.”

The disappointment on their faces makes me laugh softly, though I quickly mask it. But the children are relentless.

“No, no, you must! Miss Meher will teach you!”