The door clicked shut behind Draupadi.

Rhea stayed still, listening to the silence that followed.

It stretched long and heavy, pressing against her skin, settling in the corners of the room like something waiting to be acknowledged.

She exhaled, slow and measured, before letting herself move.

Her body was restless, her mind even more so.

"You stood up for me."

Draupadi's voice still lingered in her ears, quiet and uncertain in a way she had never expected.

Rhea had not done it to be thanked.

She had done it because it was wrong.

The idea of dividing a person like a possession, like land, like a thing—it had made her stomach churn with something sharp and ugly.

She scoffed under her breath, shaking her head. "What is it with this palace and treating people like they don't have a say?"

No one answered, of course.

No one ever did.

She moved toward the far side of the room, kneeling beside the wooden chest she had kept hidden. Her fingers traced the edges before flipping it open, revealing the worn parchment inside.

The deed.

To her house.

The words were faded, ink slightly smudged in places, but they were still there, still real.

She ran her fingers over the paper.

Almost ready.

Just a few more repairs. A few more payments to keep the workers from asking too many questions.

Then, she could slip away when she needed to—disappear for a while.

Be herself without the weight of Hastinapura pressing into her ribs.

A part of her wanted to laugh at the thought.

Who was she when she wasn't tangled in court politics?

Who was she when she wasn't dodging expectations, whispering around consequences, balancing on the edge of someone else's war?

She frowned, shaking her head.

"You're thinking too much, Rhea."

"Stick to the plan. Get it done. And then—"

She let out a sharp breath.

Then what?

She pushed the thought aside, turning back to the parchment, trying to focus.

But she couldn't.

Because the scent was still there.

Sandalwood. Steel. Wood.

Rhea froze, fingers tightening around the parchment.

The air in the room was still thick with it. Lingering. Unsettling.

She hadn't imagined it.

He had been here.

That man.

The one who had moved too quickly, who had stood in her room like he belonged, who had held her wrist like he was testing something.

Who was he?

Her jaw clenched. "And what the hell does he want?"

No answer.

Only silence.

She sat back, tapping her fingers against her knee, replaying everything in her mind.

This wasn't the first time, was it?

No.

He had appeared before. She just hadn't noticed.

Because she had been too busy—too distracted by other things.

By Dushasana.

Rhea exhaled sharply, shaking her head.

She should have realized it sooner.

It always happened the same way.

She would leave the palace—whether to check on her house, whether for something else—and when she returned, she would cross paths with Dushasana.

And then, like clockwork—he would appear.

Always unseen. Always slipping just beyond her reach.

She scoffed under her breath. "Well, isn't that just fantastic?"

She could not decide which part of this was more frustrating—the fact that she was being watched, or the fact that she hadn't noticed it until now.

Her fingers curled into fists.

She hated being blindsided.

Absolutely hated it.

She needed answers.

Needed to know who this man was, what he wanted, why he kept showing up like a shadow she couldn't shake.

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

Maybe it was time to turn the game around.

"If he's watching, let him watch. Let's see how long he lasts before he makes a mistake."

The thought settled in her mind, cold and sharp.

She would draw him out.

And then—she would decide what to do with him.

The wind outside shifted suddenly, rushing through the open window, rattling the loose frame. The torchlight flickered against the walls, throwing shadows that stretched and twisted.

Rhea exhaled, dragging a hand through her hair.

She needed to sleep—or at least try.

She had too much to think about.

Too many pieces that didn't fit.

And then—

Something fell near the window.

The sound was soft. Barely there.

But she heard it.

Her breath stilled.

Rhea turned, gaze flickering toward the window, her body already tense, already alert.

The torch outside crackled.

The wind whispered.

But the thing—whatever it was—sat just beyond the threshold of the light.

Waiting.

Watching.

Rhea's pulse thundered once against her ribs.

She did not move.

Not yet.

Instead, she inhaled slowly, eyes narrowing.

Oh, you want my attention?

You have it.

The game had changed.

And Rhea did not like losing.