Page 124 of Scars and Crowns

I promise to consider it.

She yawns. Then again. By the time we reach the top, she's asleep. Just like that. Her head settles against Anamika's shoulder, one tiny hand still curled around the edge of her dress. Anamika looks down at her and smiles. The kind of smile that makes everything inside me go quiet.

I reach across Sara carefully. Anamika looks up. Our eyes meet.

For a moment, neither of us says anything.

Below us, the entire park stretches out in pools of warm light. Empty.Quiet. Ours for one evening.

I take her free hand. She lets me. Our fingers lace together naturally.

Her thumb brushes once over my knuckle. "You know," she whispers, "I think she had a very good day."

I look at our sleeping daughter. Then at her.

"I think I did too."

Her smile deepens.

I squeeze her hand.

There are kingdoms I've inherited. Estates I've spent years protecting. Rooms filled with paintings and gold and things people would consider priceless. But sitting here, with Sara asleep between us and Anamika's fingers woven through mine, I understand something I never did when I was younger.

An empire doesn't have to be made of land. Sometimes it's three people sitting together in a slowly swaying Ferris-wheel cabin, laughing until their stomachs hurt, sharing food from paper plates and sticky pieces of cotton candy. Sometimes it's a little girl who calls me Papa. Sometimes it's the woman I've loved since I was too young to understand what love was. And if this is all I ever get to rule over, I think I'd happily give every crown I've ever been handed for it.

I look down at our joined hands. Then at the two of them. And for once, I don't wish for anything more.

TEACH ME

ANAMIKA

The invitation sits on the dresser for two whole days before I finally pick it up and force myself to read it properly.

I have looked at it enough times to know every detail without actually taking in the words. The thick ivory card. The gold border. The Devgarh Foundation crest pressed into the corner. And, beneath the date and venue, my name.

Maharani Anamika Jadeja.

I still have to read it twice every time.

There was a time when my name appeared nowhere in this palace unless someone was calling for my mother. I grew up knowing exactly which doors I could walk through, which corridors I could use, which rooms I was supposed to disappear from before the important people arrived. Now my name is printed beside Yuvaan's on an invitation that will go to council members, industrialists, royals, politicians and people whose families have been attending these events for generations.

And apparently, I'm expected to stand among them and look like I belong.

That is the part that scares me.

I've watched Yuvaan attend this gala before I left. I remember seeing him leave for it in perfectly tailored suits, his expression already tired before he'd even stepped into the car. He would return hours later, tie loosened, jacket draped over one arm, looking like he'd spent the entire evening being someone the room expected him to be.

This year, I'll be standing beside him. The thought makes my stomach twist.

I find him in his study that evening, bent over some papers at his desk, glasses sitting low on his nose. He looks up the moment I enter, and I immediately regret not rehearsing this conversation first.

"Yuvaan."

He sets his pen down. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." His eyebrow lifts.

I sigh. "Okay. Something."