Chapter Don’t walk away
Don’t walk away
DHRUV
Meetings drain me in a way nothing else does.
Not because they’re difficult—I’ve been doing this long enough that numbers, proposals, and polite threats roll off me like rain—but because they require a version of me that is constantly guarded.
King. Diplomat. Decision-maker. The man who never hesitates, never softens, never lets anyone see where it hurts.
By the time I step out of the conference room, my jaw aches from being clenched for too long.
“Sir, the Jaipur delegation will need—”
“Push it to tomorrow,” I say without slowing down.
Mayur, my assistant, blinks. “But—”
“I said tomorrow,” I repeat, tone flat.
He nods immediately and falls into step beside me. “Anything else?”
I exhale, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “For the next hour, I don’t exist. No calls. No interruptions.”
He hesitates. “Sir—”
“Unless the palace is on fire,” I add.
That does it. He gives a short bow and veers off, already pulling out his phone to redirect whatever chaos usually follows me like a shadow.
I don’t have a destination in mind at first. My feet carry me on instinct through corridors I’ve walked a thousand times. And then—through the open archway—I see her.
Sitara stands in the library, framed by towering shelves that make her look smaller than she already is. She’s on her toes, arm stretched upward, fingers grazing the spine of a book just out of reach.
She huffs under her breath. I stop. Something loosens in my chest. She tries again, standing higher on her toes, muttering something I can’t hear. The determination on her face is almost comical, and for a moment, I just watch. I don’t announce myself. I don’t interrupt.
Because this—this unguarded version of her, alone with her thoughts and a stubborn book—is something I don’t get to see often.
A soft smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it. I step forward. Quietly.
“You know,” I say mildly, “that shelf hasn’t moved in years.”
She startles, spins around too fast, and nearly loses her balance.
“Dhruv!” she snaps, pressing a hand to her chest. “Do you enjoy giving people heart attacks?”
“Only selectively.”
Her eyes narrow. “I was managing.”
I glance at the shelf, then at her. “Were you?”
She turns back stubbornly and reaches again, as if to prove a point. Her fingers fall short. I hum thoughtfully.
“Do not,” she warns without looking at me, “say anything about my height.”
I take another step closer. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“Was I?”
She turns, scowling now. “You guys think just because you’re tall—”
“—that the world is designed for us?” I finish calmly. “Yes. Unfortunately, it often is.”
She crosses her arms, clearly flustered, cheeks faintly pink. “You’re impossible.”
“Yet, here I am,” I say, reaching up and pulling the book off the shelf with ease, “helping you.”
Her eyes flick to the book. Then to my face. “Give it,” she says. I hold it just out of her reach.
She gasps. “You did not just—”
“I did.”
Her jaw tightens. “You’re enjoying this.”
I don’t deny it. She makes a frustrated sound and turns on her heel, clearly intending to walk away.
I react without thinking. My hand wraps gently but firmly around her wrist. She freezes.
The moment stretches—too long, too quiet.
“Be angry with me, Sitara,” I say, my voice low now, stripped of teasing.
“Get mad. Yell if you want. But don’t ever walk away from me. ”
She turns slowly, eyes wide—not with fear, but surprise. Something vulnerable flickers there. I release her wrist immediately, like I’ve crossed a line I hadn’t seen coming.
She looks at me for a long second, then sighs. “You’re dramatic.”
I exhale, some tension easing. “Occupational hazard.”
I hand her the book this time, no games.
She takes it, clutching it to her chest. “Thank you.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a daisy. Her brows knit. “Is this another flower lesson?”
“Yes.”
She groans. “Of course it is.”
“I couldn’t give it to you after breakfast.” She smiles at me. “Cheerfulness,” I say simply. “And simplicity.”
She looks at it, then at me. “You carry flowers around now?”
“For you,” I correct.
She rolls her eyes but takes it, a blush creeping up her cheeks despite her best efforts. “Thank you,” she mutters.
“Short or tall,” I add, before I can stop myself, “I like you the way you are, Sitara.”
The words hang between us, heavier than I intended. Her breath catches. Just a little. I immediately clear my throat. “There’s a charity event tomorrow.”
Smooth, Dhruv. Very smooth.
She blinks. “Oh.”
“I was wondering,” I continue quickly, “if you’d like to accompany me. Only if you want to. I’d be grateful.”
She studies me, then suddenly—laughs. A real laugh.
Light. Unrestrained. The one I have realized lights up my days and always manages to ease the tightness in my chest. “I’m supposed to be your wife,” she says, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“Isn’t it part of my duties to be with you wherever you go? ”
I frown slightly. “I don’t want you anywhere you don’t want to be.”
Her smile softens then she adds softly, “I would like to go with you, Dhruv.”
Something warm settles in my chest. “Alright,” I say quietly.
And for the first time all day, the palace feels a little less heavy.