CHAPTER 23
Thorns in the Garden
MEHER
The garden is the only place in this palace where I can breathe without feeling watched.
The sound of the fountain trickling into the marble basin, the sway of the bougainvillea against the breeze, the little sparrows hopping around the stone pathway—it all grounds me in a way nothing else does.
I sit on the bench tucked under a gulmohar tree, letting the branches filter the sunlight across my face.
The breeze carries a faint smell of jasmine, and I close my eyes for a second.
For the first time since this morning, my chest feels lighter.
I almost forget the palace walls and the weight of expectations pressing down on me. Almost.
A crunch of footsteps on gravel makes me open my eyes. Rajmata.
Her posture is as rigid as the ivory cane she carries, her saree perfectly draped, pearls glinting on her neck. The look in her eyes is enough to make anyone straighten up, but I don’t move. Not today.
She stops in front of me, her gaze sweeping over me as if weighing my very existence.
“You have bewitched him,” she says finally, her voice low, cutting. “But kings don’t marry dancers, Meher. They discard them.”
The words slice through me before I even have time to build a wall. My throat tightens, heat creeps into my face. Bewitched him? As if my every breath, my every glance, is a carefully crafted trap. As if love, respect, companionship could never be real between Devraj and me. Only manipulation.
For a heartbeat, I want to shrink back. To stay silent. That’s what people expect from women like me. A dancer—someone who can be admired, applauded, but never truly respected. But no. Not anymore.
I stand up, my palms slightly trembling but my voice steady when I speak.
“I am a dancer, Rajmata. I will always be a dancer.” My chin lifts. “But now, I am also your queen.”
Her eyes narrow, but I push past the lump in my throat. My anger burns hotter than my fear.
“Consider this your last warning. I may have not done anything yet to claim my place in this palace, but don’t expect me to sit silently while you humiliate me. That’s not me.”
My voice echoes louder than I expect in the garden. The fountain splashes steadily behind me, the sparrows flutter up into the branches as if even they’ve heard the sharpness in my tone.
For a moment, Rajmata doesn’t speak. Her expression doesn’t soften, but I see the flicker of surprise in her eyes. Maybe she didn’t expect me to fight back. Maybe she thought I’d bow my head, lower my gaze, whisper apologies.
Not this time. Not ever again.
I turn before my strength can falter and walk down the stone path. My sandals click against the ground, my hands clenched at my sides. Every step feels like I’m reclaiming a part of myself that’s been slowly chipped away since I stepped into this palace.
I am a dancer.
I am his wife.
I am their queen.
And they will learn to live with all three.