Page 72 of The Promised Queen
His laugh is a quiet rumble, the kind that curls in my stomach. “As you should,” he says, pressing a kiss to my cheek this time. My skin burns where his lips linger.
I open my mouth to say something—anything—but then he turns slightly toward the door and calls out, “Come in.”
I blink. “What?”
He doesn’t answer me. Just smiles, the kind of smile that makes me suspicious and a little breathless. And then—
The door swings wide, and people begin filing in. Staff members, one after another, carrying trunks and ornate boxes, arms laden with garments and books and—wait. That’s his sword stand.
“What is all this?” I demand, standing so fast my dupatta nearly slips.
“My stuff, Rani-sa,” Devraj says easily, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I’m shifting here.”
I gasp. “You’re what?”
He bends close, so close his breath warms the shell of my ear. “I can’t bear the thought of sleeping without you anymore,” he whispers, and the words are molten, curling into every corner of me. “What if you run away?”
I swat at his chest, my fingers meeting hard muscle. “You know I won’t do that,” I pout, though my heart is thudding so hard it might give me away.
He chuckles, deep and warm. “Still. I’d like to stay here.”
A helpless smile tugs at my lips. “Then why are you asking me? You don’t need anyone’s permission.”
His expression softens in a way that feels like sunlight breaking through clouds. “You’re right,” he says slowly, almost like a vow. “But I will always need your permission.”
The words knock the air from my lungs. I laugh, a little unsteady, trying to hide what that does to me. “You could’ve just asked me to move. I have less stuff.”
His lips twitch. “And put my queen through so much inconvenience? Never.”
I squint at him playfully, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Are you always this cheesy?”
He chuckles, leaning in until his eyes are all I can see, all I can breathe. “I am whatever you want me to be, Rani-sa.”
And just like that, I forget how to breathe. His gaze is molten honey, and in that moment, I think I finally understand why palaces are built with walls so high—because if anyone saw the way he’s looking at me, the way I’m looking back, they’d call it dangerous.
And maybe it is.
CHAPTER 51
The Little Kingdom on Stage
DEVRAJ
I never thought I’d find myself sitting in the royal school’s auditorium, waiting for an annual function to begin. Honestly, if anyone had asked me a year ago, I’d have said these events are for parents, teachers, and children—not for someone like me. But here I am, wearing a simple navy bandhgala, seated in the front row where every glance finds me, where whispers travel faster than sound.
I know why I’m here. Two reasons, actually. One, because I need my people to see me—not just as their Maharaja, a distant figure locked behind palace gates and responsibilities—but as someone who cares. Someone who shows up, even for the smallest celebrations. These moments matter to them; they should matter to me too. And two… because I promised Meher. I told her I would attend all her dances. Every single one.
It’s a promise I intend to keep, no matter what.
I glance toward the stage where kids in glittery costumes are being guided behind the curtains. Their laughter drifts through, pure and unfiltered, as teachers attempt to maintain some semblance of order. My Meher is back there with them, dressed in a soft pastel lehenga that sways like a whisper whenshe moves. She’s tying ribbons, adjusting headbands, bending down to reassure nervous little ones who fidget with sequins and anklets.
She thrives in chaos. That’s what I love about her.
When she’s with the kids, she’s free. Her smile isn’t the polite curve she offers during public appearances, nor the shy one she gives me when I tease her. This smile is open, alive. It lights up her entire face, softens the sharp edges of a day, makes everything seem possible.
And watching her like this… I want that.
I want a day when it’s not other people’s children clinging to her hand but ours—running across the palace gardens, their laughter echoing through corridors that have known only silence for years. I want her to look at our child the way she looks at those kids now, full of pride and tenderness.
