Chapter 1: The Maharani’s Last Wish

Before her final breath, the Maharani whispered her deepest regret—a secret only I would ever hear.

As her last moments slipped away in the dim, incense-laden chamber, she spoke with a trembling voice, her eyes searching mine as if hoping for forgiveness. The heavy aroma of sandalwood filled the air, mingling with the distant clang of temple bells. Her golden bangles, once proud symbols of royalty, now clinked weakly on her thin wrists.

"If there is a next life, I want to switch places with you. I’d rather be a lowly maid in the palace, endure until I turn twenty-five, leave the royal household, and finally be free."

Her words, heavy with longing, seemed to linger between us, as if the very walls of Surya Mahal absorbed her pain. The ceiling fan above creaked in slow circles, powerless to offer comfort.

"This so-called royal favour, this hollow wealth and glory—whoever wants it can have it."

Her kohl-lined eyes glistened with unshed tears. Even the pearls on her neck looked dull, heavy with her sorrow. For the first time, her voice trembled not as a queen, but as a woman.

She wept, confessing that all she had ever wanted was a pure and genuine love.

Her sobs echoed in the stillness, their rawness cutting through the hush only truth can bring. She clutched my hand tightly, her nails digging into my skin, as if anchoring herself to life for one last instant.

Even in her last moments, she refused to let go of my hand.

"Meera, would you be willing? Would you switch places with me?"

Tears streaming down my face, I pressed my lips close to her ear.

"This maid is willing."

Her sigh was so soft, it barely reached my ears. I pressed her cold fingers to my forehead, as if seeking her blessing one last time, just as Amma taught me. In that instant, a strange peace washed over her, the lines on her forehead softening as though her burdens had melted away. Outside, a koel called out mournfully, as if nature itself mourned her passing.

After a lifetime spent cleaning up after her, I truly am exhausted.

I looked down at my cracked hands, remembering years spent scrubbing marble floors, the scent of phenyl and rosewater forever clinging to my skin. Even as I gave my promise, my heart felt hollow—emptied by servitude, yet warmed by her fragile trust.