Page 300 of A King's Oath

“Gopiii!”

“Come on, Kresh!” Avantika felt her own shoulders thump to the beats in spite of so many eyes on her. It was like she was back in her maiden home, in her palace in Gwalior, in her bougainvillea garden, a princess — but a princess known to dance like nobody was watching.

Gopi came dancing, clapping his hands to Kresha beside her. He pulled her by her forearms with her hands still wet and everybody joined them right there, close to the cushions. The dance floor shifted.

“Where is it then?” Samarth’s voice startled her out of that vista.

“Huh?” Her gaze whirled to meet his eyes.

“Behind the stables after class,” he spelt and her eyes stuttered.How the fuck did he know that?

“You have a chip in my mind!”

Samarth laughed, picking up her right arm as everyone else danced, distracted. He turned her hand, his eyes scanning the length of her arm done up in intricate patterns. They came back and stopped — at that exact spot on the moon of her right palm, where on a July morning in Class 9A of Saraswati Crest, he had written those exact words.

He smirked.

Behind the stables after classwas so intricately hidden inside the mango paisley. And yet he smirked. He grabbed a cone from the platter in front of her, the crowd still distracted.

“Samarth!”

“It’s incomplete.”

He held her palm in his, bent his head and did some intricate work that she could not even feel after her entire arm was covered in so much mehendi. When his head pulled up she saw it.

SAMARTH

In tiny, botched-up handwriting squeezed in some tiny space under the mango. But there, readable, clear as day.

“Ava!” She turned her head and Kresha was there, reaching for her bicep.

“No!” She resisted. “I can’t here…”

“Go!” Samarth pushed her and she felt her body hauled right into the crowd of her school friends who had moved to the spot close to her throne, still clapping and dancing. She glanced back at Samarth, her eyes wide, then sought Rajmata. She was not going to live here as their Maarani or anything but the people of Nawanagar, these ladies, the chaperones didn’t know that.

Rajmata’s head cocked in insistence, her smile wide. The claps rose around her, the loudest coming from behind her. Samarth.

“Go, Bhabhi!” Sharan’s squeal tore through the air from somewhere.

Kresha broke into their school-time dance, Gopi clapping along.

“Oh what the hell!” She muttered and matched Kresha. Loud hoots went up, the circle tightening around her. Gopi joined, following them and doing much better than he once had.

“Do you practise?” She laughed. In answer, he reached behind her and pulled Samarth to his feet.

“Let’s see if he practises.”

Avantika thought he would stand by her side and clap. Shock of all shocks — the Rawal of Nawanagar broke into the steps they had forced onto him 20 years ago. His dancing skills were still as abysmal as they once were but at 34 he was just as cute as he once was. Hotter.

The cheers were deafening then, cameras and gimbals swivelling.

“Where is Harsh?” Samarth called out. Somebody pushed Harsh into the circle and Kresha reached for him. He just stood there clapping, a head tall over everybody else’s.

“Kirti didi!” Kresha called out. The music was so loud. “Kirti didi!!!”

“Badri group!” Avantika hollered, now liberated in her dancing. The circle opened and Kirti didi was pushed in, colliding with Harsh. They all cheered. And just like that, it was like she was 15 again.

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