Page 50 of The Promised Queen
“She is very good, Maharaj!”
“Yes, yes, better than anyone!”
And before I can intervene, one of the little girls— Gauri, tiny, her pigtails bouncing—points at me. “See? She will teach you.”
Raja-sa’s eyes shift back to me, his smile lingering heat climbs my cheeks at their betrayal. My own students, selling me out so quickly. I fold my arms, trying to mask my embarrassment with a mock stern look. “Children, I don’t think Raja-sa has time for—”
“Are you saying your teaching cannot save even me, Miss Meher?” His eyes glint with mischief as they flick to mine.
The room explodes in giggles. Little hands shove him toward the center, the sea of voices all chanting: “Dance, dance, dance!”
He sighs, dramatically, playing along. “If Miss Meher agrees… then how can I refuse my little kingdom here?” His words make the children cheer.
I shake my head, trying to suppress my laugh. “This is hardly a royal court, Raja-sa.”
“On the contrary,” he replies smoothly, stepping closer. “These are the most demanding subjects I’ve ever met.”
I roll my eyes, unable to stop the smile tugging at my lips. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The children clap their hands and scatter into a circle again, leaving space for him beside me. I feel his presence like a force of gravity as he comes to stand near me. My nerves are ridiculous—I’m the teacher here, not him. Why should his nearness make me suddenly conscious of every move I make?
“Step forward, one-two-three,” I say, showing the children again, but out of the corner of my eye, I see him copying me. Or trying to. His usually composed, precise movements falter. His long legs don’t quite match the rhythm, his steps are a beat too late, and when we twirl, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
The children burst into laughter. And despite my best efforts to remain composed, a laugh escapes me too—loud, unrestrained, and utterly genuine.
I turn to him, covering my mouth with my hand, but it’s useless. The sight of the stoic Raja-sa, failing miserably at the simplest step, is too much.
He stops, straightening with mock offense. “I see. You find joy in my suffering.”
I laugh harder, my eyes watering now. “You—you look so serious, like you’re planning a battle strategy instead of dancing.”
That earns me a grin from him, wide and boyish, the kind I’ve never seen before. For a moment, it steals my breath. He doesn’t smile like this often. Not with me. Not with anyone, perhaps.
“Strategy is what I know,” he admits softly, his eyes meeting mine, amusement flickering in their depths. “Dancing, clearly not.”
The warmth in his gaze makes my laughter falter, turning into something softer. I look away quickly, pretending to fix the circle of children. My cheeks are burning, and I know it isn’t just from the laughter.
“Again, Maharaj!” Jay demands.
“Yes, again!”
He raises his palms in mock surrender. “Children, I fear if I continue, Miss Meher will laugh herself ill.”
The children giggle, and I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “You should at least finish one round properly. Otherwise, what will they think of their king?”
He narrows his eyes playfully at me. “Are you challenging me, Miss Meher?”
“Only encouraging,” I reply, tilting my head.
His smile deepens, and for a second, it feels like the room grows smaller, quieter, though the children are still buzzing with excitement around us.
We try again. His steps are awkward, but less so this time, and the children cheer for every small improvement. I guide them through the routine, aware of his effort, aware of his presence beside me. His hand brushes mine once when we both spin the wrong way, and though accidental, the touch sends a jolt through me.
I laugh again, softer this time, and when I glance at him, he’s watching me with a look that makes my breath catch—eyes happy, lips curved in a smile that feels rare, precious.
“You laugh like this often, Miss Meher?” he asks quietly when the noise calms a little.
I press a hand to my chest, still breathless. “Not often enough, it seems.”
