The palace of Hastinapura was filled with voices—kings, warriors, scholars. Men who shaped history.

But Rhea had long since learned that the most important truths were never spoken in the court.

They were whispered in the shadows.

And tonight—she would hear one.

The halls were quiet at this hour.

Rhea should have been asleep, but her mind refused to settle. Supriya's departure, Bhanumati's words, Karna's confrontation... it all lingered.

And beneath it all, Vidura's warning.

"Something is coming, Rhea. Be prepared."

She exhaled, stepping onto the balcony. The moonlight bathed the palace in silver, its glow stretching over the courtyard below.

And that was when she heard it.

A voice—low, hurried.

She frowned, her gaze shifting.

Somewhere near the servants' quarters, two figures stood in the shadows.

She recognized them.

One was Giri, an older servant who had been in the palace since before she was born. The other was Nanda, a younger maid with sharp eyes and a cautious nature.

They were speaking in hushed tones, their backs half-turned toward her.

Rhea wasn't the type to eavesdrop. Not usually.

But something in their voices made her pause.

"It's happening again," Giri muttered. "They think no one remembers, but we do."

Nanda shook her head. "We should not speak of it. The last time someone did..." She trailed off, shuddering.

Rhea frowned. What were they talking about?

She stepped forward, letting her shadow fall over them.

Both servants startled, their conversation stopping immediately.

For a moment, they just stared at her, unsure whether to bow or flee.

Then—Giri sighed, shaking his head.

"Ah... you."

Not lady. Not noblewoman.

Just you.

It was the way the older servants spoke to her. They had known her before she had any real status, back when she was just a child watching the court from the edges.

Rhea tilted her head. "What is happening again?"

Nanda looked panicked. "We shouldn't—"

"Enough," Giri interrupted. He studied Rhea, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

Then, after a long pause—"Your father knew."

Rhea's breath caught.

Giri's voice dropped lower. "But he did not live long enough to act on it."

The words sent a chill down her spine.

Her father's death had always been surrounded by half-truths and silences.

And now—this?

She inhaled, steadying herself. "Tell me."

Giri hesitated. Then, with a glance around, he muttered—"Not here."

And just like that, the moment was gone.

Rhea had barely processed Giri's words when her morning was interrupted again.

A messenger arrived from Panchala.

She expected him to bring news of court affairs, perhaps another political shift.

But instead—he carried an invitation.

Vidura read it first, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Then, he turned to her.

"Drupada has sent word. A great swayamvara is to be held in Panchala."

Rhea stiffened.

She didn't have to ask who the bride was.

Draupadi.

Daughter of Drupada. Princess of Panchala.

And if the rumors were true—a woman born of fire.

She wasn't sure why, but a strange feeling settled in her chest.

Vidura exhaled, handing her the letter. "This will change everything."

Rhea took the scroll, her fingers brushing over the royal seal of Panchala.

She knew Vidura was right.

And somehow—she knew that this was only the beginning.

Later that evening, as the palace buzzed with the news of the swayamvara, Rhea found herself speaking with Bhanumati.

It wasn't planned. But as they crossed paths in the halls, the topic could not be ignored.

"You've heard, I assume?" Bhanumati asked, her expression unreadable.

Rhea nodded. "It's all anyone is talking about."

Bhanumati sighed. "Drupada is no fool. He wouldn't hold this kind of competition without reason."

Rhea tilted her head. "And what reason do you think that is?"

Bhanumati smirked. "Leverage. Power. A queen is not chosen for beauty, Rhea. She is chosen for the alliances she brings."

Rhea hummed thoughtfully. "And what of Draupadi herself?"

Bhanumati hesitated.

Then, after a moment—"I have never met her. But they say she is proud."

Proud.

That wasn't surprising.

Draupadi had been raised in a kingdom that had long been an enemy of Hastinapura.

She had been raised as the daughter of a king who wanted revenge.

And yet, Rhea had the strange feeling that Draupadi was not simply a pawn in her father's game.

Bhanumati glanced at her. "Will you go?"

Rhea blinked. "Go?"

"To the swayamvara."

Rhea scoffed. "Why would I?"

Bhanumati smiled slightly. "Curiosity, perhaps."

Rhea shook her head. "If I wanted to watch men compete for a woman, I would simply stand in the court and listen to the nobles fight over power."

Bhanumati laughed.

But beneath the amusement, there was something else.

Something thoughtful.

And as Rhea walked away, she couldn't shake the feeling—

That this swayamvara would be far more than just a marriage contest.

It would be the start of something far greater.

Something that would change the fate of Hastinapura forever.