Page 65 of The Promised Queen

The words taste bitter, but they are true.

I release her slowly, letting my hand drop to my side. My body feels heavier, but my resolve begins to take form, hard and unyielding.

“I may have borne her weight all my life,” I say, my voice now like steel. “But it is enough now.”

Sitara blinks, startled at the finality in my tone.

I turn, walking away from her, my steps echoing in the chamber. The decision solidifies in me with every stride.

She is the root of my problems, not Meher.

She may be my mother, but if she cannot respect my wife, then she has no place in my reign, nor in my life.

CHAPTER 46

The Silence of Blood

DEVRAJ

The silence of the palace is unlike any other silence I’ve ever known. It isn’t peace, it isn’t comfort. It is the kind of quiet that presses down on you, makes you hear your own breath, your own pulse, your own guilt.

I walk down the corridor slowly, my boots clicking against the marble, echoing back like a taunt. The walls are lined with portraits—my ancestors, men and women painted in their finery, their eyes following me as though I have already failed them. Maybe I have. Maybe the weight of this crown, this family, this name… maybe I was never meant to carry it.

But Meher’s absence makes the walls of this palace unbearable.

I clench my jaw as I climb the last flight of stairs toward Rajmata’s wing. Every step feels heavier than the last, because I know what waits for me there—truths I’ve avoided, a confrontation I can’t delay anymore. She is my mother. She is also the woman who orchestrated the walls around my life. And now those walls have crushed the only person who made me feel free.

I stop outside her chamber door. My fist hovers in the air for longer than it should. It shouldn’t be difficult—I’ve faced ministers, enemies, boardrooms full of men who wanted to tear me apart. Yet this? This feels harder.

Finally, I knock.

“Come in,” her voice calls, smooth, firm, laced with the same authority it’s carried all my life.

I push the door open. She sits at the carved desk near the window, draped in her ivory sari, her back impossibly straight. The sunlight streams in, catching the silver in her hair. Regal. Untouchable.

“Devraj,” she says, her lips curving in a faint smile, as if she’s been expecting me. “I was wondering when you’d come.”

I step inside, shutting the door behind me. “You knew I would.”

“Of course. You are your father’s son. You can’t keep anger bottled for long.” Her gaze lifts, sharp, assessing. “Sit.”

I don’t sit. Instead, I stand in front of her, arms folded. “Meher left.”

A flicker. Just a flicker in her eyes, but it’s enough. She knows. She probably knew before I did.

“She wasn’t meant for this life,” Rajmata says calmly, almost gently.

“She wasn’t given a choice,” I snap. The control I walked in with begins to fray. “You cornered her, just like you’ve cornered me all these years. You decided what was ‘meant’ and what wasn’t, as though you could play God with our lives.”

Her lips tighten, but her posture doesn’t falter. “I protected this family. You call it control, I call it duty. Without structure, without boundaries, everything your father built would collapse.”

I take a step closer, my voice low, steady. “Do you hear yourself? You talk about buildings, legacies, the damn palace—as if they matter more than the people living in it. As if they matter more than me.”

Her gaze hardens, but there’s something behind it now—something like a crack. “And what would you have me do, Devraj? Let love dictate everything? Love is fleeting. Duty lasts.”

My hands curl into fists. I remember Meher’s laughter echoing in my room, the way her eyes softened when she looked at me, the way she made me want to be… not just a king, not just a son, but a man. “You’re wrong. Love isn’t fleeting. Love is the only thing that makes all of this worth it.”

The silence stretches, heavy. My words hang in the air like a challenge neither of us can take back.