The palace was never quiet.

Even in the dead of night, there were whispers in the halls, the creak of distant doors, the low murmurs of guards keeping their endless watch.

But today, the noise was different.

Today, Duryodhana was returning.

And with him, the weight of a decision Rhea had been avoiding for far too long.

The gates of Hastinapura swung open, and Duryodhana rode in like a king.

His posture was straight, his confidence effortless, his cloak billowing behind him like a banner of victory. He had taken what he wanted—Bhanumati was his, and the world would know it.

Behind him, Karna followed, his expression unreadable, and further back, Ashwatthama, his usual sharp gaze scanning the crowd.

Rhea had no interest in the spectacle.

She should have stayed away.

But something kept her there, watching as Duryodhana dismounted, as the people cheered, as he strode through the gates with the ease of a man who thought the world belonged to him.

His eyes swept over the gathered nobles, the courtiers, the ever-present Kauravas standing in formation.

And then, they landed on her.

And he smiled.

Rhea immediately knew she was in trouble.

Duryodhana approached like a storm with purpose.

The last time they had spoken properly, he had been full of plans, certainty, and ambition.

Today, he was something more.

Something dangerous.

"Rhea," he greeted, his voice rich with amusement. "Still lurking in the background?"

She crossed her arms. "Someone has to watch the madness unfold."

Duryodhana laughed. "And yet, you never do more than watch."

There it was.

The reason he had sought her out.

Rhea didn't respond immediately, so he tilted his head. "Tell me, Rhea—where do you stand?"

It wasn't a casual question.

Not today.

Not after the swayamvara, not after his latest move, not when the pieces on the board were shifting.

This was a demand wrapped in a jest.

Rhea chose her words carefully. "I stand where I have always stood."

Duryodhana's smile sharpened. "On the sidelines?"

She met his gaze. "Observing is not the same as doing nothing."

"No," he agreed, stepping closer, his voice dropping slightly. "But neither is it choosing."

And that was the problem.

For years, Rhea had remained outside the fight. Neither fully in Duryodhana's camp, nor opposing him. Neither devoted to Yudhishthira's dharma nor blindly following Hastinapura's shifting alliances.

But that balance—**that neutrality—**was crumbling.

And they both knew it.

Duryodhana watched her closely, searching for something in her face. "The war is coming, Rhea. Whether you accept it or not."

She inhaled slowly. "The war hasn't begun yet."

"Hasn't it?"

She hated that she didn't have an answer.

Just as the tension between them reached its peak, Duryodhana's gaze flickered—something new in his eyes.

A different kind of amusement.

Rhea narrowed her eyes. "What?"

Duryodhana smirked. "I heard something interesting while I was away."

She already didn't like this.

He folded his arms, clearly enjoying himself. "Ashwatthama."

Rhea felt her stomach drop.

Duryodhana watched her reaction like a predator entertained by its prey. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

She forced her face into perfect neutrality. "People say a lot of things."

"Yes," Duryodhana agreed. "But not all rumors make it to my ears. This one did."

Rhea clenched her jaw.

Of course, it had.

Of course, out of all the absurd things people could gossip about, this had to be the one that reached him.

Duryodhana grinned. "Tell me, Rhea—when were you planning on inviting me to the wedding?"

Karna, standing just behind Duryodhana, cleared his throat slightly, clearly signaling that the topic should be dropped.

Duryodhana ignored him.

Ashwatthama, on the other hand, said nothing.

He had been silent the entire conversation, watching—but Rhea felt his presence like a blade at her back.

She exhaled sharply, leveling Duryodhana with an unimpressed look. "I didn't take you for a gossiping noblewoman."

Duryodhana laughed. "Don't avoid the question, Rhea."

"There is no question," she snapped.

Duryodhana gave her a long, thoughtful look. "No? You sound very defensive for someone unaffected."

Rhea clenched her fists. "I have no interest in these games, Duryodhana."

His expression shifted—just slightly.

And that was when she realized...

It wasn't just teasing.

It was curiosity.

Because Duryodhana did not understand her.

She was an outsider in his world—a presence he had come to accept but never fully predict.

And now, something had changed.

Something he hadn't controlled.

She saw the flicker of something in his gaze, something calculating, something new.

It wasn't about Ashwatthama.

It was about her.

And she did not like that at all.

Duryodhana sighed dramatically. "Well, if you ever decide to stop playing the observer, do let me know."

Rhea refused to take the bait.

Instead, she inclined her head slightly, expression perfectly calm. "And if you ever decide to think before acting, do let me know."

Karna choked on a laugh.

Duryodhana's brows lifted in amusement. "Ah, there she is."

He turned, moving away without another word—because he had already planted the thought.

Rhea stood still, forcing her breathing to remain even.

And only when he was gone did she glance at Ashwatthama—

Only to find him already looking at her.

He did not smirk like Duryodhana.

He did not laugh.

He only studied her, as if trying to understand something even she hadn't figured out yet.

And without a word, he, too, walked away.

Leaving Rhea standing there—in the middle of a storm she could no longer ignore.