Page 56 of The Promised Queen

I surprise myself by deepening the kiss, my fingers finding their way to the back of his neck. He exhales through his nose, a sound almost like a chuckle, before matching my urgency.

By the time we part, I’m breathless, dizzy, but unwilling to step away. My forehead rests against his, and my laughter bubbles out, soft and disbelieving. “You—Raja-sa—are not supposed to kiss like that.”

His smile curves, small but triumphant. “And how exactly am I supposed to kiss?”

“Not like you’ve been practicing all your life.”

“I assure you,” his tone drops, husky, “it’s you I’ve been waiting to practice with.”

My stomach flips violently, heat rushing to my face. I swat lightly at his chest, more to hide my own fluster than to scold him. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Perhaps,” he admits, entirely unashamed. His thumb brushes my cheekbone, lingering. “But you’re smiling.”

I hadn’t even realized it, but he’s right. My lips feel stretched, my cheeks ache faintly, and still I can’t stop. Being near him does that to me—makes me forget the heaviness, the rules, the expectations.

Silence folds around us again, but this time it’s softer, warmer. He doesn’t move away. Neither do I. The lamplight flickers, catching in his eyes, and something inside me aches with wanting.

The words slip out before I can stop them. “Stay. Here. Tonight.”

His brows lift, but not in shock—more in careful consideration. His gaze searches mine, as though checking if I truly mean it.

I hold steady, even though my pulse is a riot. “I don’t want to be alone. Not tonight.”

His jaw tightens, then relaxes. Slowly, deliberately, he nods. “Then I’ll stay.”

The simplicity of it, the quiet certainty, loosens something deep in my chest. I let out a shaky breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Good,” I whisper, my voice trembling only slightly.

His smile is small, almost private, like he’s allowing himself to show a side the world will never see. He steps closer again, brushing his knuckles over my temple before guiding me toward the bed.

This feels like home. Like us. And it’s all I need.

CHAPTER 41

Summer Rain

DEVRAJ

The day begins like any other, neat boxes checked off a list. Meetings, phone calls, numbers lined up in neat columns, and faces waiting for decisions. My pen moves across papers with practiced efficiency, the way my life usually moves—calculated, measured, controlled.

I like it this way. Order suits me. Control is comfort.

But summer has its own mind.

By mid-afternoon, the air grows heavy, pressing down on the palace courtyard like an invisible hand. Even from my study, I can hear the faint grumble of thunder rolling over the desert sky. I glance at the clock—an hour until my next call. Enough time to clear my head.

And enough time to check on her.

Meher.

She’s become the disruption I allow myself without even realizing it. No one has to remind me to spend time with her. I don’t need prompting. I find myself walking toward our wing naturally, like it’s the most logical item on my list.

I follow the sound, my brows drawing together. She’s standing in the open courtyard, hair damp, arms outstretched, as though the downpour has been waiting only for her. Her dupatta clings to her shoulders, caught against the breeze, and droplets trace down the curve of her face.

She sees me standing under the archway, dry, composed, and arms folded. And she smiles like it’s a challenge.

“Come on, Raja-sa,” she calls out, voice bright over the rain.