If fate had a sense of humor, I was its favorite joke.

One would think the grand city of Hastinapura—the heart of the Kuru dynasty—was built for warriors, nobles, and scholars. It was. Unfortunately, it also had treacherous, uneven stone paths that no one except me seemed to trip over daily.

I wasn't supposed to be here. My life was supposed to be simple—wake up, survive, avoid being noticed, and repeat. But no, fate had other plans. And by fate, I mean my own two left feet.

It all started with a delivery.

I was supposed to take a small parcel to the palace kitchens. Easy job. In, out, no drama. But because I had the balance of a newborn calf, I didn't just walk into the palace. I stumbled in, tripped over the threshold, and face-planted onto the cold marble floor with all the grace of a falling coconut.

Right in front of Prince Duryodhana himself.

I looked up. He looked down. There was a pause.

"You're bleeding," he finally said, pointing at my scraped chin.

I touched it. Oh. Right. That happened. "I do that a lot."

Another pause. Then, instead of berating me for my very unladylike entrance, Duryodhana smirked. "Try not to die before lunch. You look like the kind of person who might."

And that was the day I somehow caught the attention of the future king of Hastinapura.

The thing about blending into the background is that it works best when you aren't making a scene. Unfortunately, between my clumsy tendencies and an uncanny ability to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, I was more of a walking scene.

After my grand entrance, the palace guards did the expected thing and dragged me to the kitchens, which had been my original destination anyway. The head cook, an old woman with the patience of a saint and the vocabulary of a sailor, scowled at me.

"What did you do this time, Rhea?" she demanded, hands on her hips.

"Tripped into royalty," I muttered, rubbing my bruised forehead.

She groaned. "Do you try to find trouble, or does it just hunt you down?"

I wished I knew.

I handed over the parcel, relieved to find it miraculously intact despite my fall. That was one small victory. But my luck didn't last long.

Because a few hours later, while I was busy trying to not die before lunch (as advised by a literal prince), another accident happened.

This time, it involved Bhishma.

Yes. That Bhishma. The granduncle of the Kuru princes. The legend. The man who took a vow of celibacy so powerful that it probably scared off romance itself from entering the palace.

And I? I crashed straight into him while carrying a tray of spiced wine.

Wine. On Bhishma. Who probably hadn't so much as smelled liquor in decades.

For a moment, the entire world held its breath. The nearby servants went silent. The musicians playing in the courtyard abruptly stopped. Even the birds in the trees seemed to understand that I had just committed a grave mistake.

I stared at Bhishma. Bhishma stared at the deep red stain spreading over his otherwise pristine robes.

In hindsight, this was the moment where I could have apologized, fallen to my knees, and begged for mercy. But no. My idiot brain decided now was the time for humor.

"Uh...well, at least it's not blood?"

Silence.

Then Bhishma sighed, looking skyward, as if asking the gods why me?

"Child," he said, voice calm despite the disaster. "Please—before you bring more ruin upon this house—go. Just...go."

I went.

Fast.

Author's Note: And here we have it, folks—Rhea's first official disaster in Hastinapura. She's been here for less than a day and has already managed to spill wine on Bhishma and trip in front of Duryodhana. Place your bets: how long before she unintentionally insults a god?

(Answer: probably soon.)