Page 30 of Scars and Crowns

"Does she like animals?"

The questions never feel rehearsed or rushed. He listens to every answer as though he's quietly storing each one away somewhere important. I know exactly why he's asking. Or at least I should. He's trying to know the little girl whose opinion now matters more than anyone else's. He's trying to make sure she feels comfortable around him. He's trying to earn her trust.

It's practical.

Logical.

Strategic.

It should feel like a strategy. Instead . . . It feels painfully close to care. And that's dangerous. Because I already know what it feels like to love Yuvaan. I don't know if I'll survive discovering he still has the power to make me feel loved too. By the time lunch arrives, my thoughts have tied themselves into knots so complicated I don't even try untangling them anymore. I smooth down Sara's little frock for what must be the fifth time. She sighs dramatically. "Mumma."

"Hm?"

"It was straight the first time."

"I know."

"So why are you fixing it again?"

Because I'm nervous. Because I don't know what will change today. Because my heart has forgotten how to behave ever since that conversation in the study.

Instead, I simply smile. "I like making sure." She rolls her eyes with the exaggerated patience only children possess. We begin walking toward the east wing together. Her tiny hand slips comfortably into mine. Normally, Sara spends every second walk talking.

About butterflies. Clouds. The shape of leaves. Stories she invents halfway through telling them.

Today . . . She's unusually quiet. I glance down. She's chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip. The way she always does when something is bothering her but she hasn't yet decided whether she wants to say it aloud. "Nervous?" I ask gently.

She shrugs. "A little."

I squeeze her hand. "So am I."

That surprises a tiny smile out of her. We reach the private dining room a few moments later. I push the door open. The room is flooded with soft afternoon light spilling through tall windows overlooking the palace gardens.

He's already there. Waiting. The moment Sara spots him . . . Everything changes. The nervousness disappears from her face as though someone has simply wiped it away. Her eyes brighten. A shy smile appears first. Then, within seconds, it blooms into the biggest grin I've seen on her face in days.

Yuvaan notices it too. And smiles back immediately. He's holding something behind his back. As Sara walks closer, he bends down until they're almost the same height. Only then does he bring his hand forward. A single white daisy rests between his fingers.

Fresh.

Simple.

Perfect.

He offers it to her with both hands. Like it's something precious. The sight steals the air from my lungs. For one impossible second, time folds in on itself. Because that flower . . . it belongs to us. Me handing everyone daises but no one ever thought to give one back.

Except him.

Always him.

Without realizing it, my fingers tighten around the strap of my handbag. Sara accepts the flower carefully, holding it as though she's afraid the petals might fall off if she's too rough. She looks at it for a long moment before her face lights up. "Mumma loves daisies!"

She says it with complete excitement, proudly showing him the flower. The words hit somewhere unexpectedly tender inside me. I have to look away. Just for a second. Blinking quickly before either of them notices.

Of course she knows. My little girl is very observant. Every week, no matter how little money I have left, I somehow manage to buy a few daisies for the tiny vase beside our window. The room may be no bigger than a cupboard. But flowers still make it feel like home. She must have noticed long ago.

Yuvaan looks briefly in my direction. Just briefly. Then his attention returns to Sara. A soft smile settles across his face. Not the polite smile the newspapers photograph. Not the reserved smile he gives dignitaries. The real one.

The one I haven't seen in years.