Page 23 of The Promised Queen
Doesn’t she know by now? Protecting her isn’t a duty. It’s something else entirely.
Something I don’t dare name.
CHAPTER 18
A Lesson I Don’t Need
MEHER
The summons comes just after lunch. A maid, head bowed low, murmurs that Rajmata wishes to see me.
For a moment, I stare at her as if she’s spoken in some strange language. Rajmata? Calling for me? She doesn’t bother with me unless we’re forced to occupy the same breakfast table, where every sip of tea feels like walking on glass. What business could she possibly have with me now?
A part of me wants to dismiss it. Pretend I never heard that, I’m far too busy with my own day to indulge whatever insult she has prepared. But another part—the stronger, prouder part—refuses to give her that satisfaction. If I don’t go, it will look like fear. Avoidance. And I won’t have her thinking I cower in the shadows of this palace.
So I smooth the creases of my dupatta, hold my head high, and follow the maid through the long, echoing corridors. The air feels heavy, like even the walls know I’m walking into a trap.
Rajmata sits in her private lounge when I enter. Her spine is straight, her expression carved in stone, like a queen on a coin—untouchable, unchanging, unreadable. Beside her standsa woman I’ve never seen before. Mid-fifties, draped in a pale silk sari, her hair tied in a severe bun. She holds a file against her chest as if it’s a shield.
“Come,” Rajmata says, her voice clipped, as though even summoning me costs her effort.
I step forward, every instinct screaming at me to keep my guard up.
“This is Mrs. Batra,” she announces with a thin smile. “She has been brought here to… polish you. You may have been accepted into this family by Devraj’s insistence, but refinement does not come by marriage alone. An heir’s wife must carry herself with dignity, poise, and the grace of her station. You lack all three.”
The words strike sharp, but I refuse to flinch. If she wants to see cracks, she won’t find them here.
Mrs. Batra gives me a polite nod, already flipping open her file. “We can begin with posture and table manners—”
I raise a hand, my voice calm, steady, but firm. “No.”
Both their heads snap up. Rajmata’s eyes narrow, her face pinching with outrage at the audacity of a refusal. I keep my tone level, respectful even, but there’s no mistaking the steel beneath it.
“If Maharaj himself gives me the order, I will comply. Until then, I don’t take instructions from anyone else.”
The silence that follows is thick enough to drown in. Rajmata’s lips press into a hard line, her fingers tightening on the armrest of her chair. For a fleeting second, I imagine she might actually rise and strike me.
But she doesn’t. She only stares, as if she could set me ablaze with sheer willpower.
I lower my gaze briefly, not in submission but in dismissal, and step back. My voice softens, almost courteous, but each word is deliberate. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Then I turn and walk away.
The corridors feel lighter once I leave her chamber, though my chest still burns with the echo of her insult. My steps quicken until I’m almost running, desperate for air that doesn’t taste of scorn.
Why does she hate me so much? What crime have I committed beyond existing in her orbit? I don’t seek her out, I don’t challenge her in front of others. The only time our paths cross is at breakfast—and even then, I sit in silence, letting her words glide past me like smoke.
If she has an issue with me, it is hers to solve. Not mine. I refuse to carry the weight of her bitterness.
Still, the questions linger, clawing at the edges of my calm. What have I done to offend her? To become the target of her disapproval so thoroughly?
The truth is, I don’t care. Or at least, I don’t want to care. Her opinion of me should be as irrelevant as the dust motes dancing in the sunlight through these grand windows. But the sting is there all the same, no matter how fiercely I push it down.
I straighten my shoulders as I reach my wing of the palace. If she thinks I’ll bend under her glare, she’s mistaken. This life may have chosen me, but how I live it—that, at least, is mine to decide.
CHAPTER 19
Old Ties, New Truths
