Page 3 of The Promised Queen
He places a sealed envelope on the desk, bows slightly, and leaves without another word.
I sit down slowly. My fingers trace the edges of the paper, the wax seal stamped with our crest. My heart beats louder than it should.
For two decades, I’ve wondered what my father wanted to tell me that could only be said when I was thirty. Now I’m here, and I’m not sure I’m ready to know.
I break the seal.
The handwriting is his—strong but a little slanted, as if he never had the patience to write slowly. Or maybe he lacked time, which I understand now.
My dear Dev,
I hope this letter finds you well, my son.
If there was ever anyone who could be a better king than me, it is you. I have always known that. You are thirty now, and you wear the crown with the steadiness I once only pretended to have. But I also know the emptiness that sometimes sits behind the eyes of a king, the clawing urge to run from the weight on your head. I carried it too. It never truly goes away, unless you share it with someone who can help you carry it.
That is why I wish for you to settle down—not because the kingdom needs a queen, but because you need a partner in this life. Someone who will see you not as a king, not as a Shekhawat, but as Devraj—my son.
I have no right to decide your happiness. I never truly knew what was best for myself; how could I ever claim to know what is best for you? But there is something I must tell you.
Her name is Meher Sharma. Years ago, I was in the city for an inspection. It was a day like any other—until it wasn’t. Some goons attacked, and they took down every one of my guards. I was not the king that day; I was just a man who could have died in the street. And then she came—an old woman, frail in body but fierce in spirit. She saved me, at great risk to herself.
When I offered her anything in return, she didn’t ask for gold or land. She asked for you. For your hand in marriage to her granddaughter. You were so little then—running through the palace corridors with your wooden sword and a stubborn look in your eyes. But I gave her my word.
It was not my decision to make, and for that, I apologize. If you do not wish to marry her, burn this letter and I will take the blame for breaking my promise. No one will speak your name in this matter.
But, my son—be happy. Be happy before you are a king. If it ever becomes too much, leave the throne. Walking away from power is not a weakness—it is the greatest strength.
I have watched Meher grow. She carries her own battles, her own weight, and still stands tall. I think… perhaps she could bring you the kind of peace the crown cannot give. But it is your choice. It will always be your choice.
Happy birthday, Devraj. I am sorry for leaving you too soon. I am sorry for stealing your youth. I am sorry I did not stop your mother when she began to see you as a project instead of her son. I have many regrets in this life, but I will never regret calling you my child. You were, and will always be, the greatest honor of my life.
I hope you remember that.
With all my love,
Baapu-sa
I don’t realize I’m crying until a drop hits the paper, smudging the ink. I wipe my face with the back of my hand, swallowing hard.
“I will never let you down, Baapu-sa,” I say aloud, my voice rough.
I glance down at the name—Meher Sharma.
A humorless chuckle escapes me. “Your word is my word.” I set the letter on the desk, leaning back in my chair. “So I’ll marry this girl, because she is the last gift you’ve given me.”
And for the first time all evening, I feel something other than emptiness.
CHAPTER 3
The Knock That Changed Everything
MEHER
The morning light slants through the half-broken window pane, catching on the dust motes that float lazily in the air. I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor, oiling my ghungroos, when I hear the faint, uneven snore from the living room.
Papa.
I peek out and there he is, sprawled on the couch, still in yesterday’s shirt, one arm dangling off the side, his shoes on, socks twisted halfway off. His mouth is slightly open. There’s a deep crease between his brows that wasn’t there when I was little.
