Page 55 of The Promised Queen
I am in love with her. Fiercely, irreversibly, probably foolishly—but there it is. I have always been.
The realization doesn’t scare me. If anything, it steadies me more than anything else has in years.
I exhale slowly, meeting Vihaan’s gaze, the corner of my mouth tugging into something closer to a real smile. “Yes,” I say quietly. “I suppose I am.”
CHAPTER 40
In the Quiet of Us
MEHER
The handle of my door clicks softly, and for a heartbeat I think it’s one of the attendants or the maids coming to fuss over me again. But when the tall frame fills the doorway, when I see his familiar shoulders straightening the moment our eyes meet, everything inside me trips over itself.
“Raja-sa…” I whisper, though my voice feels too small for how fast my heart is galloping.
He steps in, quiet and assured, as if he belongs here—which, in a way, he does. The air changes with his presence; heavier, warmer, threaded with that faint sandalwood and smoke scent that clings to him.
Before I can think, my feet move. I rush toward him so fast that my dupatta tangles at my ankle and I nearly stumble. His hand shoots out instantly to steady me..
“Careful.”
The word slides through me like a command and a caress all at once. And then, before I can feel the sting of embarrassment, I’m in his arms.
I don’t even realize how much I’ve needed this until my cheek presses against the cool fabric of his sherwani, until his chest rises under my ear and the thrum of his heartbeat steadies mine. My arms lock around him instinctively, holding tighter than I probably should, but he doesn’t resist. He hugs me back. Solid. Protective. A silent reassurance that grounds me.
For a few seconds—or minutes, I can’t even tell—we don’t say anything. The room feels hushed, as if the world outside has agreed to pause just for us. His chin brushes the top of my hair, and when I breathe in, it feels like I’ve finally exhaled a tension I didn’t even know I was carrying.
“I saw the news,” I finally say, my words muffled against him.
A low hum vibrates in his chest. Not in surprise. Not in denial, either. Just that sound he makes when he already knows what I’m about to bring up when he’s been expecting it.
I pull back slightly, just enough to see his face. His eyes are darker than usual in the dim lamplight, sharp yet softened by the barest curve of his mouth. He doesn’t look tired, but there’s a weight to him, the kind only he carries so quietly that no one notices until they look close.
My fingers twitch against his back, reluctant to let go. “You could have told me.”
“You worry enough,” he replies calmly, as if that explains everything. His gaze flickers across my face, lingering at the corner of my lips, and then back to my eyes. “I didn’t want to add to it.”
Heat prickles the back of my eyes. He always does this—decides for me what weight I should or shouldn’t carry, as though my heart isn’t strong enough. And yet, in this moment, I don’t want to fight him. I just want…him.
“You’re impossible,” I whisper, though the words hold no anger.
“And still,” his mouth tilts into that rare half-smile, the one that looks like it belongs to only me, “you run straight into my arms.”
My lips part at his audacity, at the way he says it so matter-of-factly. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh?” His brows lift slightly, amused. “Then what is this?” His arms tighten almost imperceptibly, reminding me I’m still wrapped in them.
My cheeks burn, but I don’t step back. Instead, I tilt my chin up, meeting his eyes boldly. “This,” I say softly, “is me being careful that you don’t fall apart.”
Something flashes in his eyes—something unguarded, raw. His throat works as though he’s swallowing words he won’t let out. For a moment, neither of us breathes.
Then, slowly, as if pulled by a force beyond us, he lowers his head. My breath catches. The world narrows to the space between us, to the press of his palm against my back, to the way his other hand lifts and cups my jaw so gently it undoes me.
When his lips touch mine, it isn’t hurried. It’s steady, deliberate, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment and intends to make it last.
And oh, it’s nothing like I imagined. It’s better.
Warmth blooms where his mouth meets mine, seeping down to the tips of my fingers, curling in my toes. My heart thunders, my breath tangles, but my body leans in greedily, desperate to memorize the feel of him. His lips are firmer than I thought, butthere’s a tenderness, a restraint, as though he’s afraid I’ll shatter if he presses too hard.
