51. SCENTED CROWN
VEERAJ
Children are laughing, someone is running across the courtyard, and the scent of marigolds and damp earth fills the warm afternoon air. Sunlight filters through the old neem trees while four little troublemakers crowd around the table where I'm sitting.
I'm perched on a tiny wooden stool that is clearly not built for a man my size. My knees are bent awkwardly, my trousers are covered in dust, and somehow . . . I don't care.
Two weeks have passed since the accident. The bandage on my temple is gone now, leaving behind a faint silver scar.
A reminder of the day everything in my life changed.
There was a time when my world revolved around meetings, schedules, and rules. Everything had to be neat. Predictable.
Now I'm sitting in the middle of an NGO courtyard trying to string flowers together because it'll make my wife smile.
Strangely . . . this feels like the most important thing I've done all week. "No, Prince uncle," Rani sighs dramatically before smacking my hand away from the marigold thread. "You're doing the knot wrong. Again."
She picks up the cotton thread and quickly demonstrates the loop with practiced fingers. "You might run the whole state," she says very seriously, "but your fingers are way too big for flower garlands."
She points toward Laila. "Look. She's already finished four sections."
I glance sideways. Laila beams proudly before lifting her neat row of white jasmine flowers for inspection. Across the table, Keshav hums to himself while sorting fresh rose petals one by one.
"This one's torn." He tosses one aside. "This one's good." His concentration would impress any quality inspector.
Beside me, Raj taps my arm gently.
When I look at him, he signs something quickly before pointing toward the office where Diya's voice floats through the hallway.
He joins his fingers together, taps his chest, then signs “beautiful.”
She's going to love it.
I can't help smiling. A quiet laugh escapes me as I try Rani's knot again. "I disagree," I tell her. "Every good knot needs a strong foundation."
She rolls her eyes dramatically. "If the knot isn't stable," I continue, pretending to be completely serious, "the garland won't survive one of Diya didi's homework speeches."
Keshav bursts out laughing. "So we're building something strong enough to survive her temper."
Even Rani snorts before trying to hide her smile.
The courtyard fills with easy laughter. Looking around at these children, something settles quietly inside me.
Growing up in the palace, every relationship came with expectations.
Politics. Legacy. Responsibility.
Everything had a purpose.
But here . . . None of that matters.
These children don't care about my title. They don't care about royal traditions or political influence. They simply accept me because they know how much I love the woman who gave them a home.
I watch Raj carefully slide another rose petal onto the thread, smiling to himself.
A quiet promise settles inside me.
As long as I'm here, this place will never face another corrupt officer or legal threat again.
This isn't just Diya's NGO anymore. These children are family.
"She's coming!" Keshav whispers suddenly. Instant panic. Rani shoves the flower basket under the table. Laila grabs the finished garland and stuffs it behind my back. Raj signs, “Secret.” with a grin.
Then we all pretend absolutely nothing suspicious is happening. A second later, Diya walks into the courtyard carrying a stack of donor files.
She stops looking at all of us. Then slowly narrows her eyes.
She's far too smart.
"What exactly is going on here?" she asks, walking toward us.
Her gaze lands on my hands. They're covered in bright orange pollen. Her eyebrows shoot up.
"Veeraj . . . why do you look like a corporate executive who just got caught stealing government funds?"
She turns toward Rani. "And if he's destroyed my flower supplies, I'm holding you responsible."
The children instantly point at me. Traitors. I laugh quietly before standing up. The garland is still hidden behind my back. I walk over to her.
She looks between me and the children, completely confused.
Without saying anything, I bring my hands forward. The thick crown of marigolds, jasmine, and red roses rests across my palms.
Her eyes widen.
I gently lift it and place it around her head. The flowers settle against her hair, their sweet fragrance surrounding us.
My fingers linger for a moment near her collarbone before I step back just enough to admire her. "The children and I decided you deserve a proper crown while you're running this place." I hold her gaze. "You look beautiful today, my wife."
She forgets to breathe.
Her hands slowly rise to touch the flowers around her head before she looks back at me. Then at the children.
Behind me, Rani, Laila, and Keshav are trying—and failing—not to cheer.
Raj signs, “Beautiful,” again with a proud smile.
A tear gathers in Diya's eyes. She laughs softly through it. Then she steps closer, grabs my lapels, and gently pulls me down. She presses a soft kiss against my jaw.
The children erupt into loud cheers.
"So much for keeping it a secret!" Rani groans dramatically.
Keshav claps anyway.
Laila giggles.
Raj signs, “finally.”
I laugh, wrapping one arm around Diya as she hides her blushing face against my shoulder.
Standing here in the middle of this noisy little courtyard, surrounded by flowers, laughter, and the family we never expected to find . . . I realize I've never felt more at home.