Page 71 of The Promised Queen
When I look up, she’s watching me with that shy, wrecked smile that does things to my chest. I kiss her forehead softly, my voice breaking as I whisper, “I missed you, Meher.”
“I missed you too,” she murmurs, then adds, “Devraj.” I don’t think I will ever get enough of hearing my name from her lips.
“Call me that from now on, Meher,” I plead. She nods.
I finally lay down beside her, her head resting on my chest, “Do you know what you can do to make me smile?” I tease, my voice low, roughened by everything I feel.
She smirks, her fingers trailing lazy patterns over my chest. “Kiss you?”
A laugh rumbles in my chest, soft but real. “No… I mean, yes, that would make me smile. But that’s not it.”
“Then what?” she asks, eyes shimmering in the dim light.
I press my forehead to hers, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You can smile.”
And she does. A smile so soft, so full of love, that it steals the breath right out of me.
Our lips meet again, slow and lingering, as the world outside fades to nothing. Because here, in this small hotel room where all I can sense is the scent of her skin clinging to me, I know the truth I’ll carry till my last breath—
It’s either her or nothing.
CHAPTER 50
Permission Granted
MEHER
The sun is dipping low beyond the carved arches of my chamber when Sitara sits across from me, her lehenga pooling like a blossom around her. Evening light glints off the mirrorwork in her blouse, scattering fragments of gold across the floor. She looks breathtaking, poised, so utterly royal—yet her smile is soft, sisterly. There’s something about Sitara that makes the palace feel a little less intimidating.
I wrap the dupatta around my arm and lean against the cushioned backrest, pretending to be calm even as my heart thrums like the tabla in the courtyard below. I’m home again. If I can even call this my home. The word tastes strange, heavy with all that’s happened.
“You know,” Sitara begins, her voice laced with that quiet confidence only she seems to possess, “Bhai-sa had sent Maa-sa to the royal villa… that day.”
My head jerks up. “What?” The word escapes before I can school my tone.
Sitara tilts her head, a knowing look in her eyes. “He cut her off, Bhabhi-sa. Completely.” She pauses, letting the weight of it sink in. “Because of you.”
For a moment, the world narrows to that single sentence. Because of me. She doesn’t sound accusing, but I still feel sad for her.
I should feel guilty. Maybe I do, somewhere deep down. But what rises stronger—unexpected, wild—is pride. A flicker of happiness that feels almost forbidden. I know what she put him through. I’ve seen the cracks in his armor, the way every word from her was another arrow to the heart. And he—he finally chose himself. Chose… me?
“I…” My lips part, but words fail.
Sitara’s smile deepens, and there’s mischief there now, a secret she isn’t telling. Before I can ask, the heavy wooden door creaks open behind me. My pulse stumbles, and I know—before I even turn—who it is.
Devraj.
The air shifts the way it always does when he walks in, like the room itself takes a breath. He moves with the kind of quiet authority that makes even silence bow. Black kurta, the fabric clinging to the strength of his shoulders, his jaw dusted with stubble that wasn’t there this morning. His eyes find mine instantly, as if nothing else exists.
Sitara rises and bows her head slightly. “Bhai-sa,” Then, with a teasing curve to her lips that makes heat creep up my neck, she dips toward me. “Rani-sa.”
I roll my eyes at her, but she’s already gliding out of the room, lehenga whispering against the marble like a secret, leaving behind laughter that hangs in the air.
I don’t get time to recover because Devraj is standing in front of me now, close enough for his presence to swallow the spacebetween us. He leans down, and before I can think, his lips brush my forehead—soft, reverent. My breath catches.
“You look beautiful, Meher,” he murmurs, voice low enough to tremble against my skin.
“I know,” I manage, tilting my chin up with mock pride.