Page 12 of The Promised Queen
And if this crown I never asked for is going to sit on my head, then I’ll find a way to carry it without letting it crush me.
CHAPTER 10
The Space Between Us
DEVRAJ
The corridor outside her chamber is quiet, the kind that makes you notice the weight of your own footsteps. My room is next to her, but I pause outside hers for a moment, fingers brushing the carved brass handle. I don’t even know why I’m here. There’s no official reason, no pressing matter. But something about the thought of her sitting alone in an unfamiliar palace, surrounded by people who are strangers at best and critics at worst… it doesn’t sit right with me.
When I finally push the door open, she’s there—sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, her back straight but her shoulders drawn in ever so slightly. She’s changed out of the wedding lehenga into a plain red saree. No heavy embroidery, no shimmering jewels. It’s simple, understated. The kind of thing you could wear without thinking twice—yet on her, it feels deliberate. A quiet statement that she’s not here to play dress-up in royal silks.
She looks up as soon as she hears me. Her eyes follow me like she’s trying to figure out my reason for being here. For a split second, she starts to rise from the bed, hands shifting to smooth down the saree.
I shake my head. “There’s no need to get up. You can sit.”
She hesitates but lowers herself back onto the bed. I walk past her and take a seat on the low couch facing her. The space between us feels like it could stretch for miles.
And then… nothing. No words. Just the faint sound of the ceiling fan. I’m not used to silence like this. Usually, in any room I walk into, people rush to fill it. But she doesn’t. She just sits there, her gaze steady but not probing, like she’s willing to wait until I figure out what I want to say.
I clear my throat. “You have nothing to fear from me or anyone here.”
She doesn’t look surprised. She just hums in acknowledgment, the kind of sound people make when they’re not agreeing, not disagreeing, just… letting you know they heard you. And for some reason, I believe her. She doesn’t fear us. Why should she? Fear is for people who want something from you. She doesn’t strike me as the type. Pride runs through her like steel.
“Does your family disapprove of this marriage?” she asks suddenly. The question lands heavier than it should. I drag a hand through my hair and look away, because the answer is simple, but saying it aloud makes it too real.
“My siblings have no issues with you.”
“But your mother does?”
I nod, but I don’t speak. What would I even say? That to her, the very fact Meher is a commoner makes her unworthy? That Rajmata’s dislike has nothing to do with Meher as a person and everything to do with the bloodline she doesn’t have?
I can’t say that, not because I’m protecting my mother’s image, but because I refuse to validate that kind of thinking by giving it words.
Instead, I say, “If Baapu-sa saw something in you, if he believed you’d make a good queen, then I believe him. I’ve trusted all his decisions, and that’s not going to change just because he’s not here anymore. You don’t need to worry about her. She’s… hard to impress, anyway.”
“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” she says softly.
“You’re not expected to,” I reply. “We may not be sure about this relationship, but that’s our private matter. Publicly, you are my wife. My queen. And everyone respects you.”
She nods once. No thank you. No false modesty. Just quiet acceptance.
I want to ask her what she expects from this relationship, but I don’t. Partly because I’m not sure I want to hear the answer, and partly because I don’t know my own.
“You come to me if you need something, Maharani.”
She finally lifts her gaze to meet mine. “Meher.”
I blink. “What?”
“My name is Meher,” she says, her tone even but firm.
I nod, a faint smile tugging at my lips despite myself. I’ve seen people do everything they can to earn a royal title, and here she is, dismissing hers as if it might burn her if she holds onto it too long.
“Meher,” I say, letting the syllables settle on my tongue.
Her eyes stay on mine. “And where do you go if you need something, Maharaj?”
The question lands heavier than I expect. My first instinct is to answer without thinking, but my throat feels tight. I look away, not because I’m offended, but because I don’t want her to see the truth in my face.
