Page 214 of A King's Oath

Samarth felt his eyes tear up and a chuckle from deep within his stomach emerged. He held it steady.

“Are you dreaming about eclairs again?”

“Four…”

“On Sunday, love.”

That famous dramatic huff of her mouth returned but she promptly went back to sleep. Air puffed out of her pouted mouth. Ava turned onto the ramp for the autoroute and then Samarth realised why she wanted somebody to hold her. The speed limit was 80 and she had to maintain it with the other cars. He held her tighter to his chest, trusting Ava’s smooth driving skills but scared out of his mind holding something so precious.

“She’ll wake up.”

“Hmm?” He met her eyes in the rearview.

“Don’t strangle her.”

“I am not.”

“Pierre…” she mumbled in her sleep again.

“Pierre will come home in the evening,” Ava placated her.Who was Pierre?

Samarth did not like it. That she was saying another man’s name in her sleep and Ava was calling him home. Whoever he was. Slowly the shock began to make way for a normal wiring of his thought process. It was clear as day who this little girl belonged to. It was clear as day why Ava had panicked. It was clear as day why she was so comfortable letting her daughter inthatman’s hands who had pushed her out of his palace.

Her indicator tic broke him out of his thoughts and he saw the autoroute go tinier in the rearview. This time his chest dropped into double panic. The cosy lane of a small town started weaving through cottages and chateaus. The neighbourhood was homely, green, open and charming. The kind where little princesses grew up in fairytales —- chasing butterflies and playing with deer. The girl in his arms looked more like the eclair-eating, horse-riding type. He held her closer, praying her house was still yet far away.

Ava turned to a wrought iron gate and a security guard ran up to pull it open. The car crunched gravel as it drove towards the… cottage, if it could be called one.

The walls were a warm, honeyed limestone, glowing amber in the September sun. Wooden shutters painted a faded duck-egg blue flanked every window. The roof was steep, shingled in aged slate, with a chimney that curled a lazy trail of smoke into the late noon sky. Flowering bougainvillea vines had claimed one corner of the façade, spilling magenta and fuchsia down like some royal embroidery. On the other side, a low stone wall enclosed a garden that looked half-wild, half-tended — lavender stalks, climbing roses, and a weathered swing hanging from a pear tree.

There was no signboard, no nameplate, just the slow turn of a vintage iron weathervane atop the roof. A small scooter was parked to the side of the gravel path, next to a moss-edgedfountain that didn’t look like it worked — but still looked beautiful in its stillness.

Indeed a world where a princess lived. And another grew up. An enchanted world. The kind with linen curtains and old storybooks and polished riding boots by the door. This was not the glittering grandeur of a palace. It was gentler. Earthy. Intimate.

And somehow more magical.

His gaze drifted back down to the little girl and her tiny, fluttery puffs of breath on his shirt.

He smiled to himself.

Of course. Ava’s daughter.

Born of a princess. Raised like a comet.

And this? Her kingdom.

The car came to a stop. Ava cut the engine. A moment of silence passed in the stillness. He felt lashes flutter on his chest. Samarth looked down and her eyes slowly popped open. He stilled. Those dark brown eyes met his and her head instantly came off his chest. He missed it. Needed it back.

But then her morose, half-sleepy mouth split into a smile —“Bonjour, Chevalier!”[87]

36. Dreams That Lived

“Hello,” he croaked, hoping his voice did not come out watery. She looked ahead for her mother and found her already getting out of the car. The little girl wiggled out of his hold and dropped her feet to the car floor between his legs. He began to take his arms off her but her eyes found his and her smile broadened into a grin. She had a broken front tooth. He stalled his moving arms, still loosely holding the air that surrounded her.

“You know English?” She asked incredulously, her tiny little hand splaying on his chest as she pushed further back to get a better look at him. Samarth inhaled.

“I do.”

“Aur Hindi?” She tested, her words correct but slightly accented.

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