Page 20 of The Promised Queen
And all I can think, as my chest tightens painfully, is that she is so beautiful. So unbearably beautiful that even the cruelest headlines cannot diminish her.
CHAPTER 16
More Human Than a Crown
MEHER
The palace feels heavier these days. I mean, it was always heavy for me, but it seems heavy for everyone now. Instead, whispers travel—about taxes, protests, angry voices rising beyond the palace gates. The news channels run stories on loop, shifting from our marriage to debates about how the Royals and politicians “bleed the common man dry.”
It should relieve me that the spotlight has moved from me. But it doesn’t. Because now it’s on him.
Raja-sa.
I don’t even know why I called him that that night. The words slipped out, unplanned, like they belonged to him more than Maharaj ever did. Maharaj felt like the crown, the throne, the responsibility. Raja-sa felt like him. More human, more… suitable.
It has only been one month of our marriage. One month. And yet not seeing him for two days feels like a long, unbearable stretch. And that scares me. When did this man’s presence become a need? When did I start looking for him in the silence?
I’ve never stepped into his room before. I always thought that line shouldn’t be crossed, at least not until he wanted me there. But tonight, I can’t help myself. I need to know he’s alright. He may be king, he may have faced storms I can’t imagine, but he is also just a man. A man who looks tired more often than not.
So here I am. Standing outside his door like a child, hesitating, palms damp. Finally, I raise my hand and knock.
A minute passes. Then another. I almost convince myself to leave, but the door finally opens.
He stands there. His eyes are heavy, shadowed with exhaustion. His hair is messy, falling into his forehead in a way that makes him look younger, more vulnerable. He frowns when he sees me.
“Meher? Are you alright?”
I chuckle before I can stop myself. He looks at me, confused.
“I… I wanted to know if you were alright,” I say.
Something shifts in his face. The hard lines soften. Without a word, he steps aside, making way. I cross the threshold.
His room is nothing like I imagined. It’s large, yes, but not ostentatious. Dark wood, shelves lined with books, a large writing desk pushed against the far wall. The bed is neatly made, but the couch is cluttered—his laptop open on the coffee table, papers scattered like fallen leaves.
“Please, sit,” he says.
I lower myself onto the couch, careful not to disturb the mess. He joins me, shutting the laptop with a quiet snap beforescooting closer and patting the space beside him. I hesitate only a moment before I give in.
“How are you?” I ask after a stretch of silence.
He smiles, tired but genuine. “I’m fine… just busy. I’m sorry I couldn’t come to visit you.”
I return the smile. “That’s alright. I understand.”
He exhales, gaze fixed on the dark wood floor. “It’s just that… I don’t understand how to win people over.” His voice drops into something raw, something not meant for the public. Something only meant for me.
I lean closer, lowering my voice to match his. “It’s quite simple, Raja-sa.”
His head snaps up at the name, eyes locking on mine. I flush but don’t look away.
“I was part of said people,” I say. “I understand their outrage. For a common man, it’s hard out there. The crown and the politicians make rules, laws, and pass decisions without thinking about the people who will be affected. Clearly you won’t mind a two percent increase in tax, but for them? For me? That two percent is a huge amount. Sometimes it’s the difference between paying bills and buying groceries.”
He listens, silently, intently.
“Instead of figuring it out from here, Raja-sa, try asking the people. Politicians already see them as pawns for votes. But you…” I smile faintly. “You have power. Use it for them, not against them. It’s easy to win them over. All you have to do is ask them what they want, instead of deciding it for them.”
The room falls quiet. My heart hammers in the silence. Maybe I’ve said too much. Maybe I’ve overstepped.
