The grand hall of Panchala was alive with anticipation.

Silken banners draped from towering pillars, the scent of sandalwood and rose lingering in the air. Every seat was filled, every eye turned toward the grand platform where the challenge stood—the great bow, a weapon only the strongest could lift, let alone string.

The swayamvara of Draupadi was about to begin.

And Rhea had no place here.

Or at least, she shouldn't have.

Yet here she was—standing among the commoners.

Rhea exhaled, shifting slightly in her position near the back of the hall.

She had chosen to stand here, with the merchants, travelers, and lesser nobles who had gathered to witness history.

Because she wasn't a princess. She wasn't a suitor. She wasn't part of this game.

She was simply watching.

Observing, the way she always did.

And from here, the view was... different.

She could see the excitement of the people, the whispered bets, the careful speculations.

To them, this wasn't just a marriage.

This was a story. A legend unfolding before their eyes.

Rhea sighed. Stories never ended well for people like her.

At the front of the hall, the great seats for the suitors were already filled.

Rhea's gaze flickered toward the far side of the court, where Duryodhana and Karna sat together.

Duryodhana was leaned back in his seat, entirely at ease, as if he already knew the outcome.

Karna, by contrast, was calm. Silent. Unreadable, as always.

They had arrived with confidence.

Because to them, this was not a question of whether they would win.

It was a question of whether Panchala would accept them when they did.

Rhea's eyes moved to the other side of the court, where Ashwatthama stood.

Unlike the suitors, he did not sit.

Instead, he stood among Drishtadyumna's men, his posture rigid, arms crossed.

He wasn't here to compete. He was here as Panchala's guest—its ally.

And yet, even from a distance, she could see it.

He was uncomfortable.

Drupada's son, Drishtadyumna, stood beside him, his expression carefully neutral.

The two of them were not friends.

They were warriors who understood each other, but did not trust each other.

Rhea had to fight back a smirk.

Ashwatthama standing with Drishtadyumna, Karna sitting among the suitors, and her in the crowd.

What a strange arrangement they had all fallen into.

"You don't belong here."

Rhea blinked, turning to find a merchant staring at her.

He wasn't wrong.

She had chosen to stand among the commoners, but she wasn't exactly dressed like one.

She had left behind any visible markers of Hastinapura, but even so—her posture, her speech, the way she held herself—it gave her away.

Rhea smiled lightly. "Neither do half the men here. But they're all pretending, aren't they?"

The merchant chuckled, nodding toward the front. "Who do you think will win?"

Rhea followed his gaze to the bow at the center of the platform.

"The one no one expects," she said simply.

Because if Krishna's words had meant anything—this swayamvara would not go the way anyone had planned.

And she wasn't sure if that was thrilling or terrifying.

The drums sounded.

The hall fell silent.

Draupadi entered.

She was dressed in the richest silks, her dark hair woven with gold, her expression composed, but unreadable.

She moved with a grace that did not waver, her presence commanding attention without effort.

She was not just a bride.

She was the moment.

The turning point in all their lives.

And as she stood before the gathered warriors, looking at the great bow in front of her, Rhea saw it—

The faintest flicker of something in her eyes.

Not excitement.

Not nerves.

But...

Expectation.

As if she already knew what was coming.

Rhea inhaled sharply.

Dushasana's absence.

Krishna's knowing words.

Draupadi's certainty.

Something was about to happen.

Something none of them were prepared for.

And Rhea?

She was going to witness it all.