Rhea had thought she was prepared for anything.

She had spent years learning how to listen, observe, and predict the tides of Hastinapura. She had walked through the shifting alliances, had watched kings and princes weigh their options like pieces on a game board.

And yet—she was not prepared for this.

Vidura's chambers were dimly lit, the scent of ink and old parchment heavy in the air. Scrolls were stacked neatly on his desk, a candle flickering beside them. But Vidura himself was still, his fingers hovering over a sealed letter.

Rhea knew that look.

Vidura was not easily shaken, but something about this letter had unsettled him.

She stepped closer, her voice calm. "What is it?"

Vidura didn't answer immediately. He unfolded the letter with slow precision, his expression unreadable. Then, finally—

"There's news," he said.

She expected it to be about Duryodhana. Or Karna.

Maybe about the swayamvara in Kalinga.

But instead—

"It's from Panchala."

Rhea's spine straightened. "Panchala?"

Vidura nodded. "Drupada has made an announcement. A competition. A swayamvara."

A chill ran through her.

She didn't need to ask who the competition was for.

Drupada had one daughter—Draupadi.

Rhea took a slow breath. "Drupada isn't just looking for a son-in-law, is he?"

Vidura's eyes met hers, sharp and knowing. "No. He's looking for a warrior. A future king. An alliance that will shift the balance of power."

She exhaled. "The Pandavas."

Vidura gave a small nod. "If they are alive, this is their chance to return."

The words sat heavy between them.

Everyone believed the Pandavas had perished in the fire at Lakshagraha. But Vidura had always suspected otherwise.

And now, it seemed—so did Drupada.

"This will change the course of everything."

Before she could fully process the weight of the news, the door to Vidura's chambers swung open.

Rhea turned, already knowing who it was.

Ashwatthama stepped inside, his expression as composed as ever, but there was a sharpness in his gaze—he already knew something.

Vidura didn't look surprised. "I sent for you as well."

Ashwatthama's eyes flickered briefly to Rhea before settling back on Vidura. "Then I assume you already know."

Vidura gestured toward the letter. "Drupada's announcement."

Ashwatthama gave a single nod. "And I have news of my own."

His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it.

"Duryodhana is returning from Kalinga. With his new wife."

Silence.

Rhea's fingers curled slightly over her tunic.

Vidura exhaled through his nose. "So it is done, then."

Ashwatthama nodded. "Duryodhana has married Bhanumati. He took her from her swayamvara, with Karna's help."

Rhea frowned. "Took her?"

Ashwatthama's lips pressed into a thin line. "Abducted her."

Rhea felt a rush of understanding.

Of course.

Duryodhana had never been one for subtlety. If he wanted something, he took it. And this time, he had taken a queen.

Vidura leaned back slightly. "That will cause tension."

"Kalinga won't forget it," Ashwatthama agreed. "But Duryodhana has promised Bhanumati that she will be his only wife. That might soften the situation."

Rhea almost scoffed at that. A forced marriage wrapped in the illusion of devotion.

But she knew better than to say anything.

Instead, she turned back to Vidura. "So Duryodhana has secured his alliance. And Drupada is making his move. This is all happening too fast."

Vidura sighed. "Power shifts are never slow, Rhea."

For a moment, the room was silent.

Rhea was aware of Vidura watching them both.

She was aware of Ashwatthama standing too close.

And she was aware of the fact that this was the second time in two days that their names had been spoken in the same breath.

Not because of rumors.

Not because of passing remarks.

But because, somehow, they were always caught in the same tide.

Ashwatthama broke the silence first. "So. What now?"

Vidura's expression was unreadable. "We wait. We watch. And we prepare for the moment we are forced to choose a side."

Rhea exhaled slowly.

That moment was coming faster than any of them wanted.

And somehow, she knew—she wouldn't be able to stay neutral for much longer.