Page 307 of A King's Oath

She collected her breath, the silence now deafening.

“Every child, every bird, every speck of dust on this land recognises that Nawanagar has always been guided by its matriarchs,” she glanced at Hira ben at her flank. “Kings have sat on the throne but queens have run this kingdom. By a stroke of fate or by their own interest, somehow queens have found themselves in decision-making places. Is it wrong now to think about them making their own place on the throne as well, Rawal?”

“It is not as simple as that, Rajmata…” Samarth began to dismiss her plea.

“I agree. Many considerations will go into it. What about a Maarani’s husband? What about his family, his gotra, his background? How will he fit into our dynasty? Will it dilute the sanctity, the authenticity, the values of our lineage? These, and many more questions have been debated and continue to be debated in courts across Gujarat, including Jamnagar, Devgadh, Baroda and Bhavnagar. Until we ask the questions of ourselves, we will not begin to seek answers.”

“I stand with Rajmata,” Siddharth conceded. None of the courtiers said a word.

“Nawanagar cannot afford to lose a Rawal such as you,” Tara implied, bringing this very public spectacle to its climax. “Neither is it so backward that it cannot see what your daughter can bring to the future of its citizens. Rawal, it is hence my plea that Kumari Brahmi Sinh Solanki be my heir.”

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“You blindsided me!” Samarth thundered at her in the confines of his bedchamber. “In my court!”

He was so angry, she could see the veins pop up in his temple.

“You should not have come there! You should not have hinted at me leaving! Or Brahmi inheriting! What the hell was that?!”

“You cannot speak to your Rajmata like that,” Siddharth roared.

“I can speak to my mother the way I want!” He snarled back. Tara staggered. She saw the moment he realised what had left his mouth and his eyes blinked, one vein in his temple throbbing.

“I am sorry…” he began to murmur.

“No you are not,” Tara countered. She glared at him, pressing him to be honest. And it was like years and years’s worth of cool courtesy between them broke. Completely.

“I am not,” he retorted, angry still but so, so dear to her.

“Come here,” she called to him, pointing to the sofa.

“That’s a dangerous sofa, you get all your work done there.”

She laughed, tears clogging her throat.

“And I have one more work to get done,” she lowered herself on the cushion she usually occupied, leaving his empty. Siddharth’s brows knitted at her but she ignored him. A stalemate ensued for long ticks of seconds. Then, finally, Samarth slowly walked to the sofa, pinched the knees of his pants and sat down beside her.

“Are you my son?”

“Yes.”

“Is Brahmi my granddaughter?”

“Yes.”

“Then if you do not agree to be my heir, then she is my heir. I want you to re-introduce the Royal Family Inheritance Bill for Nawanagar.”

He glanced at her — “I really want to leave, Rajmata.”

“Do you really?”

His mouth snapped shut.

“Don’t go, Samarth. Sharan will hold nothing but field experiments in the court.”

His nose twitched through a snort, his eyes squeezing shut in a laugh she knew was all hers.

“Alright?” She held his shoulder and shook, like his father shook his head.

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