Backstage, the crew buzzed with adrenaline as the lights dimmed and the audience exited, still talking excitedly about the royal couple's rare and charming appearance. Cameras were packed, makeup wiped away, and laughter echoed in the halls.

But in the quiet corner of the green room, Veer and Mayuri lingered, shielded from the public eye for the first time that evening.

Mayuri had changed into a simple ivory kurta, her earrings still sparkling from the shoot. Veer remained in his black bandhgala, now slightly unbuttoned at the top. The air between them was warm — not just from the studio lights, but from the quiet rush of adrenaline and admiration that only came after being completely vulnerable in public.

She turned to him, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve.

"You didn't tell me you'd sing," she whispered.

Veer smiled. "You didn't tell me you'd steal the show with a piece of ghungroos."

They both laughed softly. Then silence — thick and electric — settled between them.

His fingers reached up, gently tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. She looked up at him, eyes glowing.

"Still nervous around cameras?" she teased.

"Not nervous," he murmured, stepping closer. "But if there's one more camera around... I might do something scandalous."

She arched a brow. "Like what?"

He didn't answer. His lips found her temple first, then traced a slow, reverent path down to her cheek. Her hands rose to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt as he pulled her into him.

Their laughter dissolved into soft sighs and half-whispered words that only they understood. A love so deep, so sincere — it needed no permission, no stage, no script.

But...

Little did they know — the green room had a discreet camera, installed for security reasons, automatically triggered after every on-set event. While the crew assumed all recordings were off, a small red light blinked in the corner, capturing the entire final few moments — Veer gently lifting Mayuri into his arms, pressing his forehead to hers, and whispering, "Let the world see the King blush again... just for you."

The video never aired.

At least not officially.

But two weeks later, an anonymous "leaked clip" began circulating on social media. A hazy, golden-toned moment of tenderness, too private and yet too powerful. It wasn't explicit — it was emotional. Real. It showed love stripped of royalty, of titles, of power.

Just a man in love with his wife.

Just a woman rediscovering joy in the arms of someone who cherished her completely.

The world fell silent for a few seconds. Then exploded.

#RoyalReal trended in over forty countries.

Artists painted it. Poets romanticized it. Fans adored it. And children — children smiled, not because they saw royalty, but because they saw something true.

Meanwhile, Mayuri sat with Aryan, scrolling through the comments, laughing softly at how the world thought they were acting. "They think it was a scene," she told Veer.

Veer, holding his son in his lap, replied, "Let them. After all... love this real does look like a fairytale."

And as Aryan climbed over his father's shoulder to kiss Mayuri's cheek, the king smiled again — a blush unmistakable.

This time, perhaps, on purpose

It was a bright Saturday morning, the kind that smelled of sunblock, fruit juice, and the nervous excitement of young children. The gates of Aryan's school were festooned with colorful balloons and banners that read "Family Fiesta – A Day with Our Parents". Kids ran around with painted faces, giggling and shouting, while teachers tried to maintain order in vain.

But the real hush fell when the black Range Rover pulled in.

Mayuri stepped out first, dressed in a pastel blue linen saree and white sneakers — graceful yet ready to run. Veer followed in jeans and a crisp black polo, his royal stature unmissable even in casuals. Little Aryan, holding both their hands, walked between them like a proud prince entering his castle.

The buzz began immediately. Some parents stared. Others nudged their partners. Teachers straightened their backs and adjusted their lanyards. But the couple paid no mind. They were here not as King and Queen — just as Mama and Papa to Aryan Singh Rathore.

Their little boy beamed with pride. "That's my mummy and papa!" he shouted to his classmates, who had already begun whispering. Some were curious, others starstruck, and a few, simply envious that their parents weren't this cool.

The day began with introductions. Every student had to walk up to the stage and introduce their family. Aryan marched forward confidently.

"My name is Aryan. This is my mummy — she's the best cook and gives the warmest hugs. And this is my papa — he's a little scary to bad people but very funny when we're alone."

Laughter spread like a wave. Mayuri chuckled, cheeks flushed. Veer smirked, clearly enjoying the way his son had summed him up.

Then came the games.

The first competition was the Three-Legged Race for Parents. Mayuri and Veer looked at each other and smirked. "You ready, Queen?" he whispered.

"As long as you don't trip, King," she winked.

Their legs were tied together with a red satin ribbon, and on the whistle, they were off. Coordinated steps, hands around each other's waist, laughter bubbling in between — they glided to victory. The crowd roared.

Next, came the Tug-of-War between parents. Mayuri stood tall with other mothers, sari tucked up, determination in her eyes. When the whistle blew, she pulled like a warrior queen, feet dug deep in the earth. The rope snapped from the other team's hands. She had won. Aryan screamed in joy.

There was a dance-off, and to everyone's surprise, Veer joined in. A Bollywood remix echoed through the schoolyard. The King of Udaipur pulled Mayuri into a quick twirl, his foot tapping in rhythm. She burst out laughing, holding her stomach as she tried to keep up with him. The crowd cheered louder than ever.

The teachers stood slack-jawed. Never in the school's history had the royal family participated in so much... fun. And so effortlessly.

During the painting competition, Aryan painted a castle, with three stick figures on the balcony — one tall, one in a saree, and one small with a crown. "That's us," he explained proudly. "We laugh a lot. But don't tell Papa I gave him pink hair by mistake."

When lunchtime rolled around, the family sat on a picnic mat under a tree. Aryan leaned against Veer's shoulder, munching on a sandwich. Mayuri offered him a juice box.

"You two were amazing," Aryan whispered sleepily.

Veer kissed the top of his head. "Only because you make us feel that way."

A young girl came up shyly. "Queen Mayuri... will you be my mummy for today? Mine couldn't come."

Mayuri knelt down and hugged her. "I'd love to, sweetheart."

And just like that, the Queen became a stand-in mother for three other children that day — dancing, laughing, braiding hair, and cheering at every game.

By the end of the event, everyone — students, parents, teachers — was speaking of one thing: the royal couple who played like kids, laughed like friends, and loved like family.

As they drove back home that evening, Aryan fell asleep in the backseat, a medal around his neck, hands still clutching the winning ribbon from the race.

Mayuri leaned her head on Veer's shoulder, tired but glowing.

"Do you realise," she whispered, "we won every single competition?"

Veer looked at her and smiled. "Of course. Royals always win... especially when they're in love."

She laughed softly, "Even the mother's race?"

"That," he smirked, "was your crown moment."

They held hands in the silence that followed, the road winding ahead like their life — unpredictable, exciting, but always together.