Page 68 of The Promised Queen
The music swells as I step into the wings. The stage beyond is awash in crimson and gold, a roaring sea of faces waiting for me to spin magic out of misery. Normally, this moment—the thrum of the drums, the hush before the spotlight—would set my soul on fire. Today, it feels like smoke choking my lungs.
When the first beat drops, my body moves on instinct. Twirls, leaps, spins… every line perfect, every gesture graceful. To them, I’m alive, vibrant, flawless. But inside, I’m just… empty. Every move feels mechanical, like someone pressedplayon a broken music box.
I never thought I’d say this, but even dancing feels lifeless without him.
I try to let the music swallow me, to lose myself in the choreography I’ve practiced for weeks. But Raja-sa’s face keepsflashing in my head—those piercing eyes softening when he looked at me, the weight of his touch, the way he called meMeherlike it was a prayer. And the worst part? I walked away from all of that.
The song crescendos, and I end in a flawlesssamapti, arms arched, chest heaving. A second of silence—and then the hall erupts. A thousand hands clap in thunderous applause, whistles, cheers. A standing ovation.
But I barely hear any of it.
Because my eyes… my eyes have found him.
He’s sitting in the front row. Near the door. Silent amidst the chaos.
Devraj Singh Shekawat. Raja-sa.
My lungs forget how to work. My body freezes in the pool of white light. For a second, I’m convinced I’m hallucinating. That exhaustion and longing have finally broken me. But no—the sharp line of his jaw, the tired slump of his shoulders, the darkness under his eyes… he’s real. He’s here.
My knees tremble, and before I can crumble on stage like a fool, I manage a quick bow, hiding the tremor in my hands. Then I flee—because that’s what cowards do, right? Run, before the truth catches up.
My heart is pounding louder than the music as I dash through the corridors, past congratulatory voices and curious stares, until I reach the dressing room. I slam the door shut, leaning against it, trying to calm the storm inside me.
But he’s here, too. Standing by the mirror like he owns the air I breathe. His reflection meets mine, and for a beat, the world tilts.
He’s holding something between his fingers—a jhumka. One of mine. From the ones I decided not to wear.
“You’re here?” The words tumble out as a whisper, shaky, like a secret I’m scared to say out loud.
His lips curve—not into that smug grin people fear, but something softer. Almost… broken. He chuckles, but it sounds nothing like amusement. More like relief laced with exhaustion.
“I promised you,” he says, voice low, threading through my bones, “I’ll always attend your dances, Meher.”
He turns, and my heart cracks at the sight of him up close. He looks… hollowed out. Like sleep hasn’t touched his eyes in days. Like food has lost all meaning. His sherwani hangs a little looser, his face pale under the warm lights.
Guilt hits me like a slap. This—this is exactly what I wanted to prevent.
He steps closer, slow, deliberate, like every inch costs him strength. My breath stutters as his scent—faint sandalwood and something purely him—wraps around me.
“Get ready,” he murmurs, his hand brushing a stray curl behind my ear. His thumb grazes my cheek, lingering just long enough to brand me with heat.
Before I can ask what he means, before I can apologize or explain or run into his arms and cry, his lips find my forehead. A whisper of a kiss, but it shatters me into a thousand pieces.
“We’ll talk later,” he says against my skin, his breath warm, his voice a promise.
And then he pulls back, leaving me trembling—not from the dance, but from the man who came for me when I least deserved it.
How did he find me? Why? And… what happens now?
CHAPTER 49
Either You or Nothing
DEVRAJ
The room is small. Not royal, not grand—just a plain hotel room with cream walls, a single bed covered in crisp white sheets, and a window that overlooks nothing but a stretch of dark highway. The hum of the air conditioner fills the silence between us, steady and low, but it does nothing to cool the heat in my chest.
It’s been ten minutes. Ten minutes since I shut the door behind us. Ten minutes since we stepped into this room like strangers, even though we’ve been everything but strangers for the last six months.
