Page 63 of The Promised Queen
I press the letter to my chest, bend my head, and I break. The sob tears out of me raw and helpless. My shoulders shake. My chest feels like it is caving in. I do not care if a servant walks by the door, if someone hears me, if tomorrow the whole of Jodhpur whispers that their king cried on the floor like a lost child. Let them whisper. Let them roar. I do not care.
I do not want the crown. I do not want the throne. I do not want the carefully measured respect or the hollow power. Without her, it means nothing.Nothing.
Why did she not understand? I told her. I told her I would take care of everything. That she need not carry this guilt, this weight of whispers and disapproval. That I would shield her. That I wanted her. Always.
Why couldn’t she see?
Does she not know that I can only be Devraj with her? That the man she wants me to be—the one without the crown, without the endless duties—that man only exists in her presence? Without her, I am just a machine. A puppet draped in gold, reciting what others expect.
She says she wants to give me freedom. Foolish woman.Stubbornwoman. Does she not understand that my freedom is her? My freedom is her laughter echoing through the palace, her small hand curled into mine at night, her eyes softening when she looks at me like I am something more than a king. She is my freedom. She is my everything.
And now she is gone.
“I love you too, Meher,” I whisper, my voice cracking as the tears fall harder. My palms press against the letter like it can carry my words back to her. “I love you, too. You are my whole heart, my whole world. Why would you leave me?”
The question hangs in the silence, heavy, unanswerable.
I remember her smile, shy and quick, the way she tilted her head when she argued with me. I remember the first time I kissed her, how she trembled but didn’t pull away. I remember her laughter with the children, the stubborn tilt of her chin whenshe called meMaharajjust to tease me. Every memory burns now, too bright, too cruel.
I drag a hand over my face, smearing tears across my skin. The paper trembles in my lap. My knees ache from kneeling so long, but I cannot move. If I move, if I stand, it will mean admitting this room is empty of her. It will mean she is not just gone for an hour or two. She is gone.
But then—through the hollow of my grief, a spark catches. Small, faint, but alive.
This once, Meher, I will not respect your decision.
You have asked me not to look for you. But I am not made to obey this. Not when it comes to you. Not when you are the air in my lungs.
This once, I will be selfish. This once, I will not care about your stubborn pride.
I wipe my face with rough hands, swallowing back another sob. My jaw tightens. My tears still fall, but beneath them, something steadier rises.
I will look for you. Even if I have to search through every street in Rajasthan, through every train station, every corner of this country, every atom of this universe—I will not stop.
I will only rest when I find you, Rani-sa.
You cannot take yourself away from me.
Not you. Not ever.
CHAPTER 45
The Root of My Ruin
DEVRAJ
“If there’s one thing Meher loves more than anything,” I say, my voice low but steady, “it is dance.”
Veeraj and Vihaan sit across from me in my study, their faces intent, waiting for me to go on. The lamps burn low, casting long shadows across the carved walls. It is morning, but my body feels as though the night never ended.
“She can leave everything else,” I continue, my throat tightening around the words, “but she will never leave dancing. It is not just her talent. It is her language, her prayer, her way of breathing.” I pause, looking down at my hands that are clenched so tightly the veins stand out. “If we are to find her, we must begin there. I want a list of every dance event in Rajasthan. Every performance, every cultural gathering, every competition, every small stage where music is played. And not just that—I want the names of every dance academy, every class, every school where dance is taught. Search them all.”
They do not question me. They do not flinch at the enormity of the task. Both of them rise almost at the same time, tall, strong, determined in ways only brothers can be. Vihaan’s jawis set like stone, and Veeraj, before turning, steps forward and places his hand on my shoulder.
“We will find her, bhai-sa,” he says firmly. His eyes hold mine with the kind of faith I cannot summon myself.
I nod, though the gesture feels hollow. My throat is too tight for words. I watch them leave, their footsteps fading down the long corridor, leaving me alone again with the silence that seems to follow me everywhere now.
It has been only a day. One day since her absence became real. And yet, it feels like years have been carved out of me.
