Page 74 of The Promised Queen

“Mmm.” She leans in slightly, her voice dropping. “Apparently, you’re a bigger deal than Santa Claus.”

I chuckle, low and quiet, and for a second it feels like the world has shrunk to this—kids giggling in the background, Meher standing close enough for me to catch the faint scent of jasmine in her hair, her eyes bright with mischief and pride.

If someone had told me that happiness could look like this—a simple school function, laughter echoing through crowded halls,a wife who steals my breath without trying—I would have called them a fool.

But right now, I’m the fool. A fool hopelessly, irrevocably in love with his queen.

And I wouldn’t change a thing.

CHAPTER 52

The Portrait of Us

MEHER

I’m furious.

Not the cold, simmering kind of anger that fades with time, but the sharp kind that digs its claws in and refuses to let go. My hands are folded tight against my chest, my jaw set like stone as I pace the room. He knows exactly why I’m angry.

He promised.

He promised me—no last-minute cancellations, no disappearing acts in the middle of something important. And yet, when I was waiting for him today, ready to go to that meeting together, he was nowhere. Not a text. Not a call. Later, I hear from Sitara that he got “caught up in work” and that he asked her to inform me. Work. As if my time isn’t worth the same respect he demands for his.

The door creaks open, and there he is—Devraj. My Raja-sa, my husband, the man who can silence entire rooms with a glance and yet right now looks like a schoolboy about to face his teacher. His usual confidence is gone; his shoulders sag slightly, his eyes softened by something that almost looks like guilt.

“I’m sorry, Rani-sa,” he says, voice low but clear. “This will never happen again.”

I don’t answer. I don’t even look at him.

Instead, I walk toward the dresser, pretending to adjust a perfume bottle that doesn’t need adjusting. Silent treatment—my ultimate weapon. And judging by the way his sigh fills the room, it’s working.

“Meher…” His voice breaks, like he’s peeling away his pride with each word. “Yell at me if you want. Throw something at me. Just—don’t stop talking to me. Please.”

I remain quiet, fixing my gaze on my reflection instead of him. My heartbeat is louder than the silence, but I’m not giving in. Not yet.

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. Then, as if a thought strikes, he strides to the door and calls out, “Bring it in.”

I turn, eyebrows furrowing as a parade of staff starts walking into my room. My jaw nearly hits the floor.

First come the flowers—armfuls of them in every color imaginable. Then boxes—sleek, elegant boxes stacked high on polished trays. Silk spilling out in waves of color, jewelry cases glinting under the light. The entire room smells like a royal bazaar.

I stare at him, narrowing my eyes. “Are they apologizing for you?”

His brow creases. “What?”

“These.” I wave toward the mountains of luxury piling up in my room. “I don’t think you personally picked any of this.Someone else did. So, I’ll thank them later.” I huff, crossing my arms again.

His lips twitch—God, he’s actually trying not to laugh. “You think I asked someone else to choose these?”

“Didn’t you?”

“Meher…” He takes a step closer, voice dipping into that velvet tone he uses when he’s about to ruin all my resolve. “Who do you think knows you better than I do?”

I don’t answer. Can’t. Because that low, husky calm in his voice sends an annoying flutter through my stomach.

“Everyone out,” he says suddenly, turning to the staff. They scurry away in seconds, leaving behind the chaos of gifts and silence that feels louder now than before.

And then—he walks out.