Page 51 of The Promised Queen
He tilts his head, studying me as though he’s found something rare. “Then perhaps I should fail at more things.”
“No!” I exclaim, my eyes widening at my own outburst. I would never like to see him fail. I look away quickly, focusing back on the children, who are busy trying to teach him again. “Children, be kind. Not everyone learns at your pace.”
“Oh no, Miss Meher,” Raja-sa cuts in, raising his hands in surrender as they giggle around him, “you don’t need to defend me. It is quite clear that the crown does not come with rhythm.”
I bite back another laugh. “That much is obvious.”
The children cheer at my boldness. He only chuckles, the sound sending an odd warmth through me.
We spend the next few minutes in this strange harmony—the children tugging him left and right, me guiding, him failing gloriously but never once looking embarrassed. Every mistake makes the room brighter, every clumsy step loosens something in the air. And all the while, his gaze drifts back to me, over and over, as though I am the true lesson he’s learning here.
When the bell rings, the children scatter with shouts and giggles, leaving the two of us standing amidst the quiet that follows.
He steps closer, lowering his voice. “I will admit, I have led meetings and councils, but today, I faced my greatest defeat—in front of your little soldiers.”
I laugh and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “And yet you survived.”
His eyes hold mine, steady, unwavering. “Only because you were there.”
The words are simple. Not a grand confession. Not a promise. Just… honest. And somehow, that honesty is enough to make my heart race, to make me wonder what it means when a man like him, so guarded, allows a moment like this to exist.
I look away, gathering my books with trembling fingers. “Well,” I manage, keeping my voice light, “perhaps next time we’ll try clapping games. They’re easier.”
He chuckles behind me. “Next time, then.”
CHAPTER 38
The Height of Stubbornness
DEVRAJ
The library is quieter than the rest of the palace, always has been. A space carved for stillness, where the sound of footsteps feels almost like an intrusion. I come here more often than people think—not because I read every book lining these shelves, but because it’s one of the few places where I don’t have to wear a crown, at least not metaphorically. Here, I am not Maharaj or heir or ruler. I am just a man surrounded by paper and ink, stories that outlive men like me.
I’m turning down an aisle when I catch sight of her.
Meher.
Her dupatta trails faintly against the floor, her brows furrowed in concentration as she stands before one of the taller shelves. She looks small against it, her head tilted back, her eyes fixed on a book perched at the very top. I lean against the archway, unseen for now, just watching. It takes a moment for me to realize why I don’t announce myself immediately: because I enjoy this—observing her when she’s unaware, when she’s simply herself, unguarded.
She stretches her hand up. Her fingers graze the edge but fall short.
I bite back a smile.
She tries again, this time standing on her toes. The determination on her face is something I know too well. Meher doesn’t give up easily. Whether it’s an argument, a principle, or—apparently—a book, she refuses to ask for help.
The sight is absurdly endearing.
Before I can stop myself, I speak. “Do you plan on growing a few inches taller while standing there, Meher?”
Her head whips around so fast I almost laugh. She hadn’t realized I was here. A faint flush creeps up her neck as she straightens her posture, clearing her throat like she wasn’t just caught in a losing battle with a bookshelf.
“I was managing just fine,” she mutters.
“Were you?” I step closer, deliberately slow, enjoying the way her eyes narrow at me. “Because from where I stood, it looked like the book was winning.”
Her lips press into a thin line. She turns back to the shelf and reaches again, as if to prove me wrong. The stubbornness is almost comical.
I chuckle under my breath, then casually reach up, plucking the book off the shelf with ease. My height has never felt quite so useful as it does in this moment.
