Hastinapura was a kingdom of grand palaces, crowded bazaars, and endless whispers.

It was a city of power, but never security.

Rhea had known this for years.

But today, as she stood by the arched window of her chambers, watching the golden glow of sunset cast long shadows across the streets below, the realization settled like a stone in her chest.

She could not stay here forever.

She had been blind to it before—distracted by court politics, by tangled loyalties, by the sheer weight of existing in a palace where she was watched but never truly seen.

She had nowhere that belonged to her.

Nowhere safe.

Nowhere to disappear, if she ever needed to.

And that was a mistake.

A mistake she intended to fix.

Karna was gone.

The moment the swayamvara had ended, he had left for Anga. His kingdom. His duty. His son.

There had been no hesitation. No delay.

And Duryodhana had gone with him. Not for long—but long enough. Long enough to stand by his closest friend, long enough to watch the weight of a crown, a throne, and fatherhood settle onto Karna's shoulders.

But now—he was back.

Ashwatthama had gone to Panchala.



And Karna—Karna had remained in Anga.

His son had entered the world, and Karna had stepped into the role of a king. Of a father. Of a man who had his own battles to fight, battles that had nothing to do with courtly games.

For once, he was putting something else—someone else—before his loyalty to Duryodhana.

Rhea had watched it all unfold from the background.

She had seen the way power shifted, how people moved. And she had learned something.

Nothing ever stayed the same.

And that meant she needed to prepare for the day everything changed again.

She had been comfortable for too long.

It was easy to pretend that because she had a place here, she had safety.

That as long as she played her role well, as long as she kept herself useful, she would never need to leave.

But that was a lie.

Today she was valued.

Today she was tolerated.

But tomorrow?

Tomorrow, everything could burn.

She had seen it before, in a dozen different stories whispered in the halls. People fell from favor overnight. Power changed hands in an instant. Alliances broke, and when they did, no one warned the ones who were crushed beneath the weight of it.

If she wanted to survive, she needed an escape.

A house. A second home. A place where no one would look.

Somewhere she could disappear, if she ever had to.

Because she was not stupid enough to believe she would always be welcome here.

She spread a map across her table, the flickering torchlight casting golden shadows over the parchment.

Hastinapura was divided into layers of power.

The palace district. The heart of Hastinapura. Too many eyes, too many ears. If she stayed here, she would never be invisible.

The noble estates. Grand homes, surrounded by walls and guards. Noticeable. A noblewoman purchasing a house in the city would be suspicious.

The merchant quarter. Crowded, loud, easy to blend into. But not stable. Merchants moved, people watched. It would not be permanent.

The outskirts. Small villages, farmlands, quiet homes along the river. Secluded, forgettable. But too far. If she ever needed to return quickly, it would be difficult.

The temple district. A house among the priests. No one questioned those who sought peace. A woman living alone might invite whispers. But whispers were better than suspicion.

The ruined estates. Once-grand homes that had been abandoned. Some still had strong foundations. No one would care if someone restored one.

Rhea traced her fingers over the map.

Which one?

Which would keep her safe when the time came?

She didn't know.

But she would find out.

Because she would not be caught unprepared.

A house did not just appear. It had to be arranged. Carefully. Quietly.

She could not go herself. Not yet.

Someone else had to make the inquiries, someone discreet. Someone who could act without drawing attention.

That meant a contact.

Who?

A trader. Someone who dealt with land, with quiet transactions.

A temple official. A priest who could arrange things under the guise of spiritual retreat.

A builder. A laborer who knew which places were strong enough to rebuild.

Rhea needed to decide.

And she needed to do it before anyone started asking why she was planning an escape.

She stepped away from the table, rubbing her temples.

This wasn't just about a house.

This was about control.

For too long, she had been moving at the mercy of this palace.

For too long, she had reacted instead of acted.

This was different.

This time, she was preparing.

And when the time came, when the world shifted again—she would not be the one left without an escape.