The evening air in Panchala was different from Hastinapura's.

It was lighter. Warmer. Carried the scent of blooming jasmines rather than the heavy scent of burning lamps.

Hastinapura had always felt like stone—unmovable, firm, towering over all who entered.

But Panchala? Panchala was open. Wide courtyards, sprawling gardens, corridors that let the sun in without hesitation.

It suited her, Rhea thought absently as she wandered through the palace grounds.

She had not been expected to come here. But fate, it seemed, had a habit of placing her in places she did not plan to be.

Her sandals brushed against the cool stone as she walked past the long, open corridors, the distant hum of the evening preparations filling the air.

She was searching for a moment of quiet before the chaos of the swayamvara began.

Instead, she found her.

Draped in deep blue, standing by the edge of the courtyard, watching the sky.

Draupadi.

The woman the world had been waiting for.

The woman who would make a choice that would shape everything.

For a moment, Rhea simply watched her.

She had met many women of nobility. Some were graceful, some sharp-witted, some calculating.

But Draupadi...

Draupadi was something else.

She stood with the kind of elegance that didn't need to be practiced. As if it came as naturally as breathing.

Her skin had a warmth to it, as if kissed by embers. Her hair cascaded down her back, black as the midnight sky.

She did not fidget. Did not shift.

She was still.

Not out of hesitation—but out of certainty.

She looked like a woman who knew she was meant for something great.

Rhea had always thought stories exaggerated beauty, that no one could truly look like they were born from fire.

But looking at Draupadi now, she thought—perhaps this time, the stories had not lied.

Rhea would have left, but Draupadi turned before she could.

Her gaze landed on her—steady, curious.

Then, she smiled lightly. "You are not from here."

It was not a question.

Rhea inclined her head. "No, Rajkumari."

Draupadi studied her a little longer.

Then, she gestured slightly toward the railing. "Walk with me?"

Rhea hesitated.

She was used to formal introductions, to conversations filled with polite restraint. She was not used to being invited so simply.

Still, she nodded. "Of course."

And so, they walked.

For a few moments, there was only the sound of their footsteps against the polished stone.

Then, softly—"Do you think they will all fight for me?"

Rhea glanced at her. "Isn't that the point of a swayamvara?"

Draupadi let out a soft breath. "That is what they say."

A pause. Then—"But I wonder... do they fight for me? Or do they fight for the idea of me?"

Rhea hummed, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "That is a very good question, Rajkumari."

Draupadi glanced at her, amused. "And what is your answer?"

Rhea considered it for a moment.

Then, honestly—"I think most men do not know the difference."

Draupadi chuckled. "You speak like someone who does not belong to court."

Rhea smirked. "That's because I don't."

Draupadi turned her gaze back toward the sky, something distant in her expression.

Then, softly—"There was a time when I did not think I would have to choose."

Rhea frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

Draupadi exhaled. "Because my heart had already chosen."

Rhea stilled.

She had not expected that.

But the way Draupadi spoke—soft, reverent, almost hesitant—

This was not the love of a girl making a political match.

This was something else.

"Who?" Rhea asked.

Draupadi let out a slow breath, as if saying the name itself was something sacred.

"Arjuna."

And just like that, Rhea understood.

Of course.

The greatest warrior of his time. The most revered among the Pandavas. The one who had died in the fire.

Rhea had heard the news weeks ago.

The House of Lac—a cruel end, a calculated betrayal.

For days, the court of Hastinapura had whispered about it. Some with grief, some with relief, some with suspicion.

Rhea had watched as Duryodhana spoke of it with triumph.

She had seen how Karna had remained silent, his thoughts unreadable.

And she had felt something strange, something she had never admitted to herself.

Guilt.

Not because she had caused it.

But because she had survived it.

She had lived, while they had burned.

Rhea looked at Draupadi carefully now, understanding her in a way she hadn't before.

"I'm sorry."

Draupadi exhaled, fingers tightening slightly over the railing. "I thought my path was set. That he and I—" She cut herself off. "But the gods had other plans."

Rhea swallowed.

She did not believe in fate the way others did.

She had seen too many lives crushed under the weight of "what must be."

But this?

This was cruel.

And yet—there was something in Draupadi's eyes that did not look like grief.

Not fully.

"You still speak of him in the present tense," Rhea noted.

Draupadi was silent for a moment.

Then—"Because he is not dead."

Rhea froze.

Her breath caught, the weight of those words settling heavily in her chest.

"What?"

Draupadi finally turned to face her fully. "Arjuna is alive."

Rhea's heart hammered.

"How do you know that?" she demanded.

Draupadi inhaled softly. "Because Krishna told me."

Rhea blinked.

She had heard many names thrown around in politics. Warriors, kings, strategists, advisors.

But this?

"Who is Krishna?" she asked.

Draupadi smiled faintly. "A friend. A guide. A man who sees the world far more clearly than most."

Rhea frowned. "A man who sees things that have not happened?"

Draupadi let out a soft laugh. "Perhaps."

Rhea wasn't sure what to make of that.

The world did not work on fate alone.

And yet—if Arjuna was alive...

The swayamvara, the alliances, all of it meant something else entirely.

Draupadi turned back toward the city. "He will come for me."

There was no doubt in her voice.

And for the first time, Rhea believed her.

Tomorrow, everything would change.