The departure for Panchala was meant to be uneventful.

The princes would go. Karna would go. Ashwatthama would go.

Rhea was supposed to stay behind.

And yet, here she was—preparing to leave for Draupadi's swayamvara.

Not because she wanted to.

Not because she had any interest in this spectacle of power and alliances.

But because, at the last moment, fate had other plans.

She had just left Gandhari's chambers when she heard the voice.

"Rhea."

She turned to see Kaka Vidur standing in the corridor, watching her with that unreadable gaze of his.

There was something different in his posture today.

Not quite urgency. But not quite calm, either.

Rhea frowned. "What is it?"

Vidur sighed. "I need you to pack your things."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

Vidur crossed his arms. "You are going to Panchala."

Silence.

She stared at him, waiting for the real explanation.

When none came, she let out a sharp laugh. "Surely, you're joking."

Vidur did not blink. "Do I look like a man who jokes?"

Unfortunately, he did not.

She folded her arms. "Tell me why."

Vidur exhaled, as if debating how much to tell her.

Then—"King Drupada has personally extended invitations to members of Hastinapura's court. Not just the princes."

Rhea narrowed her eyes. "Then why me? Why not Kunti, or Gandhari?"

Vidur's lips twitched, but it was not amusement. "They would not travel so far for a swayamvara."

That was fair.

Kunti had no reason to go. Gandhari rarely left Hastinapura.

But that still didn't explain why she had to.

"What do you expect me to do there?" she asked carefully.

Vidur's gaze softened—just slightly. "Observe."

A simple word. But never without meaning.

Rhea exhaled, tilting her head. "And?"

Vidur gave her the barest hint of a smile. "And try not to cause trouble."

And so, somehow, an hour later—she found herself on horseback, riding toward Panchala.

With Duryodhana.

With Karna.

With Ashwatthama.

Duryodhana looked at her as if she had personally fallen from the sky. "You? Attending a swayamvara?"

Rhea rolled her eyes. "I did not choose this."

Ashwatthama smirked. "Fate did."

Rhea shot him a glare.

He did not seem concerned.

Karna, riding a little ahead, said nothing—but when their eyes met, there was understanding there.

As if he knew something neither of them did.

Days passed.

And soon—they saw the banners of Panchala on the horizon.

It was not a kingdom that despised Hastinapura.

Nor did it revere it.

It was simply its own.

Panchala had grown powerful in recent years. Not because of hatred, but because it had a king who knew the game.

And as they rode into the capital, Rhea could feel it—a kingdom waiting for something.

Not war.

But something else.

Something greater.

And standing at the heart of it—Draupadi.

A woman who had always been meant for something more.