Page 8 of The Promised Queen
But rather shelter. Walls that no one can kick down. A place where my father’s voice can’t reach me, where neighbours don’t gather like vultures every time they smell weakness.
The thing I’ve feared most—tying my life to someone else—now feels like the only lifeline dangling in front of me. And I’m standing here, ankle-deep in water, watching my ship sink, while still pretending I can swim.
I used to think love was the only good reason to marry, but love doesn’t pay rent. Love doesn’t fix broken doors. Love doesn’t stop you from being thrown out onto the road with everything you own in two thin suitcases.
Safety. Stability. Dignity. That’s what I need. And maybe, from behind the walls of the Maharaj’s palace, I could still keep an eye on my father… from a distance, where his chaos can’t pull me under.
My pride wants to scream at me not to give in, but my pride doesn’t have to sleep on the street. So I stop fighting it. I stop pretending I have choices I don’t. And for the first time, I let the thought settle in like a stone dropping to the bottom of a well:
I am going to marry him.
CHAPTER 7
Terms of a Queen
DEVRAJ
She sits across from me, back straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her chin lifted—not high enough to seem defiant, but not low enough to seem submissive, either. It’s that perfect in-between where she could tilt either way, depending on what happens next.
The confusion from our last meeting is gone. No furrowed brows, no restless shifting in her seat, no incredulous, “What are you talking about, Maharaj?” She looks… settled. No—settled isn’t the word. Composed.
It’s the kind of calm that makes you think of still water—flat and quiet on the surface, but you know it’s hiding currents strong enough to drag you under.
“I agree,” she says, her voice even. Each word feels weighed in her mind before she lets it out, like she’s laying stones in a straight path and making sure they’re steady before she steps. I don’t miss the tiny pause before the next line. “But I have some conditions.”
I almost laugh. Conditions. She’s proposing conditions… to me. To a king. Not bargaining for more gold or better jewels,not trying to charm me into granting her extra privileges. Not lowering her eyes and softening her voice so I feel magnanimous for saying yes.
No—she’s looking right at me. Calm. Steady. As if we’re discussing curtain colors.
She’s gutsy, I’ll give her that. And maybe… maybe I like that more than I should.
I lean back in my chair, letting my fingers tap once against the armrest, keeping my tone light. “I’m listening.”
She doesn’t hesitate. “First, I can still dance and teach in the royal school.”
She says it like it’s carved in stone. Like if I refuse, she’ll stand up, walk away, and I’ll never see her again. And I believe she would.
I don’t answer right away. I’m watching her. That tilt of her head—barely there, but enough to tell me she’s trying to read me.
No fear in her gaze. Just… expectation.
“What are the other conditions?” I ask, shifting forward before she decides I’m refusing the first.
“My father,” she says, steady as before. “You will take care of him financially. And—”her lips twitch, not in amusement but in something closer to resignation—“…I won’t be expected to take on any royal responsibilities. Because, let’s be honest—” she lets out a short, humorless breath “—I’m clearly not made for it.”
I just look at her for a moment.
The women who’ve sat across from me in this very chair have wanted titles, silk-lined rooms, their names etched in gold. They’ve rehearsed which fork to lift first at a royal dinner before they even stepped inside this palace.
But her… she’s not here to collect a crown for her dressing table. She’s here to bargain for her survival. And she knows she’s not what anyone imagines beside a king. She’s not pretending to be. She’s not apologizing, either.
There’s a bluntness to her that would terrify most people in my position. But for me… it’s almost freeing.
I nod slowly. “I accept. For the last condition, though—” I catch the faint narrowing of her eyes, suspicion flickering there “—as the queen, you will be expected to accompany me to certain events. But I assure you, you don’t have to involve yourself in the political side of things.”
She studies me for a long second, then nods once. No smile. No sigh of relief. Just agreement.
She stands. “Then I’ll see you at the wedding, Maharaj. Let me know when it is.”
