Page 121 of A King's Oath

There’s pulav in the fridge if you are hungry

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” She chanted as she opened the door of her apartment and entered the space. It was just as quiet as she had left it. Avantika frowned. She had gotten a notification that Samarth had checked into her apartment.

“Samarth?”

She set her bag and keys down on the entrance console and stopped short. Because Samarth Sinh Solanki was sleeping on her sofa, his 6 foot 1 frame curled, his face relaxed, and some of that perfectly held hair flopping down on his forehead. Avantika swallowed. There was so much joy inside her that fizzed up and burst at that sight.

He didn’t stir even after her loud holler. Had he been that tired? She realised he was. He had played a local match just yesterday. Before that he had sat on the annual Maharawal Parishad Meeting alongside his father. That event had gone on for three days in Devgadh and had been a fanfare of epic proportions. She was fully apprised thanks to his real-time updates and snaps. Apparently, it had become a yearly affair after some women’s inheritance bill had been imposed on the Gujarat royal families a decade ago. And every year, Maan bhai’s wife hosted it to make it bigger than the last. Like a festival.

Avantika glanced at the clock. It was just past 3 in the afternoon. The flight was at 9. She had two choices — wake him up and steal the remaining four hours, or let him sleep and recuperate for his upcoming tournament.

Avantika quietly drew the curtains on the hall windows and retreated to her bedroom.

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“Ava?!” His thunder broke her mindless meditation of applying lotion down her leg. Avantika startled, quickly pulling her drawstring sweats on and pushing her arms through her home silk spaghetti top before dashing out.

“What’s wrong…” she trailed to a stop at the enraged polo player, snarling at her like one of his horses. A sight she had never seen. “What happened?”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?!” His sleep-roughened voice roared. “It’s 5.45!”

“The flight is not before 9 and the traffic from here to the airport is minimal so leaving before two hours is also fine…”

He covered the distance between them, sleep-rumpled and angry and looking like he would cry — “That leaves just one hour fifteen minutes!”

Her logical rant died. Her chest bubbled and her face softened.

“You should have woken me up…” he rubbed his face, pushing that hair back up. It stayed. So he used product to keep it in place. How had she not guessed it? Maybe because it looked so natural.

“I can’t even postpone it, I have an investor meeting tomorrow early morning and if I miss it…” he kept muttering to himself, looking so adorable in that regret. Avantika just finished covering the distance that he hadn’t covered between them and circled her arms around him. His body locked up. But it was only a momentary shock before his arms came around her, closing around her shoulders. She inhaled the faint oud and sleep scent of his T-shirt. Absorbed all the warmth from his nap. Pulled all the frustrations of the last few minutes. It felt like it was a decade old.

“One hour fifteen minutes is more than enough to listen to you talk your 2.15 words.”

His chest vibrated over hers. His chin on the top of her head caressed her hair. Or she thought it did as he gently pulled her away from him. His eyes weren’t half-sleepy anymore, neither was there anger there. He blinked, mouth stretching for her, because of her.

“Hi,” he whispered to her.

Her face contorted in a smile deeper than she had ever felt — “Hi.”

Samarth patted her back and dropped his arms, walking back to set her sofa cushions back in place.

“Did you eat?” She asked.

“Yes, the pulav was very good for a princess who would mess up fried rice and hakka noodles,” he laughed, following her to the kitchen, grabbing her elbow before she could start doing something else and taking her to the sofa.

“Why, Samarth Sinh Solanki, talking like a typical Indian mother-in-law.”

He snorted, lowering himself on the sofa and pulling her along to sit beside him. Her body automatically turned towards his — “So then, say.”

“What?” He deadpanned.

“Your 2.15 words. Only one hour and five minutes now.”

His face blanked out.

“I can’t think what to say…” he wondered aloud cutely.

“That’s because we talk so much on texts every day!”

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