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Chapter Text

Men liked to believe it was they who rolled the dice. That they were players, not pawns.

But long before kingdoms burned, before Kurukshetra’s ground choked on the blood of kin, there were gods. 

And the ruin born of their bruised prides.

Phalguna gave way to Chaitra, and the new year bloomed with all the promises of spring. The realm of mortals prepared for harvest, for the new cycle.

But Amaravati wasn't quite ready to move on yet. 

The city of gods stood adorned like a bride. Ever-burning diyas lit up every corner with their deathless flames, painting the city orange. Shining flowers—the likes of which no mortal had ever laid eyes upon—carpetted the road walked upon by the devas.

In the centre of it all, Devendra’s palace loomed, blinding in its golden glory.

The devas lounged within the marble halls, their mirth more intoxicating than the flowing amrit. The divine music of gandharvas and kinnaras swirled through the air as a living thing, carrying every graceful step of the apsaras. 

The celebrations began nearly three weeks ago, when Indra's godly son had been born from Pritha's womb. It seemed they weren't coming to an end any time soon.

At the far end of the hall, the twelve Adithyas sat together, drinking from golden chalices. Here alone, the festivities were somehow quieter. Like something heavier had curled up between them.

“My son,” Indra declared, draped across his throne, for what felt like the hundredth time, “will reshape the world. He will be Vishnu’s right hand, the greatest archer to ever live. And when dharma triumphs, the heavens will say—Indra’s son led the charge.”

No one spoke to contradict him. Not Surya, radiant and weary. Not Vivasvan, lips thinned and eyes burning.

“He is mine.” Indra's voice struck again, resounding like thunder. “My son. Parth Arjun. Born for power. Born for glory. His legacy will live on for millenia to come.”

Dhata tried to smile. Tried not to show it on his face how tired he was of hearing the same words for the millionth time. 

His trial was in vain. 

The smile looked like it hurt.

Indra spoke again, and a few looked away before they started a war by yelling.

But not Varuna. He watched, silent as the oceanic depths, patient as the rivers that carve through rocks. 

Then, voice soft, he said, “Let destiny take its course, Indra.”

That caught Indra’s attention. His gaze turned, sharp with triumph. 

“I haven't heard you speak once since Phalguna Purnima. And when you finally speak, this is what you say? What is it, Varuna? Envy?”

Varuna's nostrils flared, but he didn't speak. Vishnu sat up straighter, lotus eyes darkening.

But Indra wasn't done. He smiled, milk white teeth bared. 

“You mustn't look so unhappy, bratha. Not everyone gets to father legends. Not everyone gets chosen.” Indra's smile sharpened. “It's just the way of things, you know? Kunti is blameless here. She prayed to the skies and the wind and to dharma. Because the waters are treacherous, Varuna. And no mortal wants a son they can't trust. Oceans—”

“That is enough, Devendra,” Vishnu cut in, warning in his voice. “This is an occasion of joy. Do not ruin it.”

“I'm not ruining anything,” Indra said. “I've been seeing it, you know? The way he looks at me. At Surya. It is pure, bitter envy.”

“Devendra—” Suryadev began, but he was cut off by a sharp laugh.

“Envy what? Your son?” Varuna chuckled, low and dangerous. “Ahankaar is ruinous, brother. Do not let it consume you.”

The god rose to his feet, slamming his chalice onto the low table. Before Indra could speak, he turned on his heels and walked out of the hall of the gods.

Yojanas beneath him, the oceans of the earth began to stir.

And on the first purnima of the year, a daughter was shaped from the waves.

Ten fingers, ten toes, and seaborn vengeance in her veins. 

As Varuna pulled her out of the sea, a storm was already brewing on the horizon. The smell of ozone lingered in the air. 

“What have you created, Varuna?”

The voice came wrapped in silence, bearing the weight of endless time.

Varuna turned. There, Vishnu stood upon the waves, watching the fractured waters beneath his feet. 

“A daughter,” the jaldev answered simply.

“An anomaly,” Vishnu corrected. “Something inhuman.”

“I wasn't trying for a human, Narayana.” Varuna's eyes gleamed with something deeper than defiance. “All I need is a daughter to walk among those sons of gods. Nothing turns the world on its head like the will of a woman.”

Vishnu lifted his chin, midnight-dark eyes shining with a timeless fury. “You play a dangerous game. This is not creation. This is vengeance.”

“Nahi, Narayana. It is balance.”

In Varuna's arms, the baby cooed. Vishnu looked at her, and his face softened. But not his eyes. 

“You will unleash her into the world over Indra's insults?”

Varuna shook his head. “The moon is full, and the tides are high. Tonight, the waves will take her onto land. She will find her own way after that.”

“We do not know what she will bring,” Vishnu said, almost sad now. “She might unravel the cosmic order, Varuna.”

“Or she might not,” the sea god said. “She is not a danav. She's my daughter.”

A silence stretched between the two gods. Storm clouds swelled in the sky above, blocking out the son. A low rumble of thunder in the distance made the baby squirm.

At last, Vishnu let out a breath that carried the weight of the universe.

“Listen to me, Adithya,” he spoke. “I will let her pave her own path. But if that path leads to destruction—of the world, of herself—then I will have no mercy left for her.”

Varuna smiled then, slow as the tides. He looked down at the baby in his arms, that gleam still bright in his eyes.

“Then let us hope she learns to control the ocean within her. Water answers to no one, afterall.”

Chapter Text

They found his corpse on the second day. 

Hidden in the branches, his killer watched triumphantly as soldiers inspected the scene below.

It was a clean kill, a throat slit in the darkness. His body had been stripped bare. Not a single one of his belongings could be found, not even the leather skins for storing water. 

Any lowly thief could have murdered and robbed a palace official. The roads between Panchal and Kosala were filled with them, afterall. 

But this wasn't a simple bandit’s work. The soldiers must've figured as much when Gramani Vrishabha’s horse returned with a white lotus instead of its rider.

“I told him to take soldiers with him,” snapped the senani, his handsome face twisting in fury. “Or at least stay home until that rakshasi has been locked away.”

Another soldier perked up at that, going pale. “Is it true, sir? Is she really a rakshasi?”

The “rakshasi" in question smiled. It gave her such a thrill, watching the unmistakable fear that took over the men standing below her.

“Rakshasi or not,” scoffed the senani, “she won't be pillaging our men for long.”

He turned on his heels, ordering his soldiers to carry the corpse to the cart before stomping off to his own horse.

The senani’s words, however, did nothing to encourage the soldiers. They glanced around the woods, eyes wide, as if waiting for her to jump out and murder them too. 

And their fear was justified. Despite being jokingly nicknamed Pundarika by King Drupad and his ministers, there was nothing remotely funny about Panchal's infamous female bandit. No one who crossed her lived to tell the tale. 

That was why, whether she be a human or a rakshasi or an asura, within their ranks, she went only by Mara–death.

* * *

A short while after the soldiers were gone, Mara, who was completely human, jumped down from her hiding spot. Brushing herself off, the girl started towards Ahichhatra.

Unlike what the whole of Panchal believed, she didn't live in the forest. And she didn't kill everyone who laid eyes on her. That would've been quite inconvenient, seeing as she lived right in the heart of the city.

Infact, she was pretty popular within the city too. 

“And here I was, thinking you'd finally left for good.” 

The sneer on the city guard's face was about as warm a welcome as she could've expected from the townsfolk.

“How could I ever leave this beautiful city and its lovely people?” She smiled sweetly, causing the guard to scoff, before walking past.

She caught the usual mutterings and curses but let them slide past her like whispers in the wind. 

Suddenly, a younger girl grabbed her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. Her eyes burned with poorly concealed rage. 

Mara cocked an eyebrow.

“I want my earrings back,” the girl, Sumitra, demanded. “Please, they were a gift from my father.”

“You shouldn't have staked something so valuable, then.” Mara only shrugged. “If you lose, you lose. That's how dyut works. No use crying now.”

“How can you be so heartless?” Sumitra was on the brink of tears again, just like she had been for the past whole week.

“How can you be so stupid?” Mara shot back before pulling her arm out of Sumitra’s grip. “I’m a gambler. That's my job. No one's forcing you to play with me. And you're definitely not being forced to bet on sentimental things.”

“But you–”

“Oh, shut up!” Mara snapped.

Without another word, she stormed off.

Still, she didn't miss the way Sumitra spat “Chhalini!” in a very audible whisper.

Any other day, Mara would've kept talking, if only to watch the younger girl squirm under her verbal assault. But not today.

Today, she had to go home and celebrate. Then travel down to Vrishabha's village, and give out some of the things she'd taken.

And that was the biggest misconception Panchal had about her. That she was a bandit.

The truth? She never killed someone to rob them, she simply happened to take what she found while killing someone. Her goal was simple. Take out those who abused their power. And take everything she could from them.

Vrishabha hadn't been any different. He did all he could to exploit the farmers of his village. It was the least she could do to make sure he never did it again.

She walked into her house and didn't even bother sitting down. Rushing past the dyut table, she all but dived into her bath, sighing contentedly as the cool water enveloped her. 

Even though six years had passed since she ran away from her home in Kalinga, she still missed the sea. She laid there in her bath, eyes closed, imagining the waves lapping against her legs. She could almost smell the salty sea water, and hear the seagulls as they cried. 

It filled her with an inexplicable warmth, and she let herself be lost in it.

* * *

That evening, she set out for the farming village Vrishabha had nearly run into the ground. She had taken almost half the jewellery she stole with her. She figured that was enough gold to give those suffering farmers a proper boost.

It was the village elder Teja’s house that she visited first.

The older man opened his door, looking slightly troubled to see her there.

“Shyama,” he called, the name that she went by when people weren't calling her Chhalini. It still wasn't her real name, but it worked for now. “Putri, what are you doing here?”

Shyama smiled, wide and sincere. “Did you not receive the news?”

“I did,” he replied simply, still looking grim.

Her smile faltered. “Is something wrong?”

The farmer glanced inside his house for a second. Then, sighing, he held his door open.

“Nahi, putri,” he said with a small smile. “Come in.”

Despite the strange behaviour of her host, she stepped into the small mud house. 

“I have something for you,” she announced, placing her pack on a small table. “Call your sons, and the other villagers too. This is for all of you.”

She began to unpack, placing the heavy golden jewellery onto the table. Teja remained silent as footsteps announced his sons’ arrival. Finally, she turned around, pulling out Vrishabha's biggest necklace.

“This one is for you–”

She stopped short. Her smile fell. Her breath caught in her throat.

There, around a cowering Teja, stood half a dozen armored soldiers, fully armed. And in front of them, smirking, stood the senani who had recovered Vrishabha's corpse.

She had been caught.

Trapped.

Betrayed? No, Teja didn't know the whole truth. She'd simply walked into a trap. Like an idiot.

“Well, well, well,” the senani drawled. “Looks like our dear Chhalini does a lot more than just cheat at dice.”

Shyama tried to steady her breathing. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“You see, devi,” he mocked, then pointed at the jewellery. “Those happen to belong to a dead man.”

Shyama instantly had a story ready in her head. A newcomer in the city, another deceptive game of dice, a bag full of wealth… It was simple.

“I don't understand,” she tried to sound as helpless as possible. “Is there something I should know?”

“Oh, shut up!” the senani barked. “Don't act stupid, Shyama. We both know you're smarter than that.”

Yes, she was smarter than that. But the senani's words made her hesitate. He was one of the many people who had played a role in making her rich. One of the many victims of her dice games.

Even if she crafted her tale, he would still find a way to bring her down.

That was the thing about being hated—people never stopped waiting for your downfall.

“Senani–”

“Don't!” the man snapped. That's when she noticed the smirk on his face.

He felt as though he'd silenced her.

And that pissed her off more than anything ever could.

Just like that, a new plan took shape in her head. It relied a lot on royal schedule, but if she wanted to win, now was the time to shift the power in her favour.

She threw her head back and laughed.

The soldiers stepped away, suddenly frightened. But the senani pressed her jaw together.

“Sainikon! Arrest her right now!” he ordered. “It's about time we brought Pundarika to the king.”

The soldiers approached with caution. “Mara?” they whispered among themselves. 

Their real questions were clear. This simple girl is the rakshasi we were looking for? This conwoman? 

As the chains were tightened around her arms, Teja let out a sob. 

“Shyama!” he cried, devastated. 

It almost reminded her of her mother back in Kalinga, who wielded her words like fatal weapons, then ran to comfort her, crying, “Varmaya!”

The whole scene felt surreal. She simply smiled. This was going according to her own plan. Victory awaited her. 

Yet a part of her still hoped—one day, someone would call her by the name she held dearest.

Navya. 

Chapter Text

Being arrested was not fun—but watching everyone's reactions certainly was.

The villagers were genuinely downtrodden, and Teja had collapsed immediately. The townsfolk, however, were a different story.

At first, they laughed, mocking the deceitful gambling orphan finally being dragged away. But news spread quickly—didn't you hear? That Chhalini Shyama is the Mara. Yes, the killer Pundarika—and suddenly, Navya was the only one laughing.

She was brought before the king in no time. King Drupad, surrounded by his sons and ministers, took one look at her and laughed.

Navya hesitated. Should she be offended? Relieved? For the second time that evening, she had been caught off guard.

"How old are you, girl?" King Drupad asked, his laugh still on his face.

"Eighteen, Maharaj," she answered, feeling a little stupid.

That earned another round of laughter.

"Is this a joke, senani?" asked Rajkumar Shikhandi. "You want us to believe this young girl is behind five murders from the past two years?"

"We might end up having to charge you with treason, Veersatru," a younger Rajkumar chimed in, laughing.

But the senani didn't back down. 

"I had my soldiers raid her dyut house, Maharaj." He gestured to a nearby soldier. Navya now noticed that he was carrying something wrapped in cloth.

He opened the bundle before the rajya sabha. Navya watched wordlessly as their smiles dropped. The entire court zeroed in on the five objects before them: four signet rings and a dangerously sharp dagger.

"These rings belong to the four past victims, Maharaj," the senani announced. "We don't know where the rest of the stolen goods are, but I believe she kept these as some kind of twisted souvenirs."

The king blinked, looking between the rings and Navya. She could see his mind trying to piece together what he was seeing.

"Do you have nothing to say in your defence?" he finally asked. "Are you pleading guilty?"

Trying not to look too eager about being locked away, Navya confessed with lowered eyes, "Yes, Maharaj."

For an eternally long moment, not even a fly buzzed in Panchal's royal court.

Then, King Drupad shot up from his throne.

"Ghataki!" he screamed, burning with fury. "You insolent kanya! I will punish you in such a way that no other soul would dare to raise their weapons against Panchal's officials!"

"Maharaj Drupad," the Mahamantri spoke to the fuming king. "Before you announce this kanya's punishment, let me remind you of your penance."

Navya fought to keep herself from smirking. She already knew her crimes were worthy of a death penalty. But this... This was what her plan depended on.

"The yuvraj abhisheka is next week," the Mahamantri continued. "As grave as this crime is, you currently cannot pronounce a death sentence."

"Yes, Maharaj," agreed the aged high priest. "It is important for you, your wife and your sons to remain untainted until then. Even the life of a sinner cannot be taken by you."

King Drupad let those words sink in. Slowly, the redness of his face disappeared. With a sigh, he turned to his soldiers.

"Senani Veersatru, take this ghataki away, and give her a taste of what happens to criminals in my kingdom," he ordered. His eyes bore straight into Navya's. "And make sure the next time she sees the light of day is during her beheading."

Navya knew she should've been scared. Her plan could go wrong any moment. And death really wasn't the worst that could happen to a girl her age in the palace dungeons. 

And yet, somehow, all she could think about was bleeding the palace coffers dry during the fated yuvraj abhisheka pooja.

* * *

After being left bruised and bleeding by the third soldier, Navya was fairly certain they were taking revenge on Shyama rather than punishing Mara.

None of them held back, tying her down and beating her up like a wild animal. The pain was unbearable. Yet, they had somehow managed to leave her unbroken. She wondered what that meant.

In the beginning, she couldn't even think through the pain. Staying in her dingy, windowless cell, she had lost all sense of time. She didn't know when, but a soldier had stripped her bare at some point. He'd thrown her an uttariya and a dhoti made of some coarse fabric that scratched her skin when she haphazardly draped it. 

After that utterly dehumanising ordeal, she had hoped he would leave. But, to her horror, he grabbed hold of her hair. He pulled out a dagger, and, ignoring her protests, began to slice through her locks. 

Navya kicked and screamed. She grabbed at his legs. His flesh tore beneath her nails. Still, he didn't stop. Her long hair fell around her, and it felt as though her limbs were being chopped. 

She begged him to stop.

He didn't.

When he was finally done, he left her there, surrounded by her fallen locks. He hadn't once hit her, but he was the only one who had managed to turn her into a helpless sobbing mess.

For a girl who spent six years on her own, being beaten or stripped of her clothes was not something unknown. But her hair was different. Hair held memories. And now, the soldier had taken the one thing that had always been hers.

She had been so confident coming in. But now, it seemed like it was all slipping through her fingers. Her entire being hurt.

Chapter Text

It's just hair, she tried to tell herself. You can't lose yourself over hair.

Sometimes it worked. But then she would see the chopped up hair lying on the floor, and her heart would ache again.

Murkh, a part of her would chide. Is this how fragile your strength is?

She tried to focus on her plan. Judging from the guard shift, she must've been here for at least three days. That meant, four days from now—or maybe three; she wasn't completely sure—on the day of the yuvraj abhisheka, the palace would have to be purified. Not one person would be allowed to remain inside. The prisoners too would be moved to a smaller outhouse through the tunnels.

That would be her chance. She'll have to escape the guard and hide within the palace. The palace would be completely empty, and she would have no trouble entering the treasury. Pillaging wouldn't be too time-consuming; she would be in and out in less than half an hour.

Then she could get out of the palace and Panchal altogether.

The thought saddened her a bit. Even though she was hated all over Ahichhatra, it had still been her home for the past three years. It was the longest she'd stayed in one place, and she'd even built a life for herself.

Starting over somewhere else wouldn't be so easy. A girl of her age without the protection of a father or husband would raise too many questions. And not every kingdom was as safe for such girls as Panchal was.

Navya could survive on her own. But that didn't make it any easier to leave her current comfort behind. Afterall, there was a certain permanence in being hated too; a sense of familiarity. Once she left, she would truly be alone again.

As she drowned in thoughts, a pleasant coolness prickled at her palm. She looked down to see water seeping through the bare earth. Navya smiled as a salty scent filled her cell. Seawater in a landlocked kingdom. A reminder from her father that she wasn't completely alone.

Navya still vividly remembered her first time meeting him.

On a random day six years ago, she had woken up with blood on her sheets and a persistent pain in her stomach. It had sent her into a frenzy, screaming her lungs out until her mother pulled her away from her terrified younger brothers, and calmly explained the dharma of women.

Navya didn't fully understand it, but it seemed like menarche was an important milestone in the fishing clan of Kalinga. "You are no longer a child," her mother had said. "You are now a woman."

Those words delighted her. If she was no longer a child, that meant she was now free to go out with other girls her age, and maybe even venture out to sea on one of the boats. She had been raised within the four walls of her parents' hut, and this newfound idea of freedom intoxicated her.

She had already woven unending dreams in her head, when, sometime after sunset, she caught her parents conversing.

"She's of age now," her mother was saying. "She's well-mannered and very good looking. She would make a perfect wife."

"You're right," her father agreed. "But she's still too young. It won't hurt to wait another year."

With a jolt, Navya realised they were talking about her... and her marriage? She listened more intently.

"I believe it will hurt to be on the verge of starvation for yet another year, Arya," said her mother. "The faster we marry her into a wealthy family, the less we have to suffer."

"It would still take time," her father argued. "A marriage cannot be arranged overnight. It will take time to find someone suitable enough to give her away to."

A painful lump lodged itself in Navya's throat. The way her parents spoke broke her heart. Like she was simply another fish to be sold.

"Take all the time you need, Arya," replied her mother, unaware of Navya's presence. "Just think about your wife and two children too, sometimes."

Navya froze. Two? She knew her mother hadn't actually birthed her. She'd been found at sea; a baby in a basket. But she had always been their eldest daughter. So what changed now?

She heard her father sigh deeply before speaking, "Varmaya will bring us fortune, my dear. Our hard work won't be in vain."

Whatever they said next, Navya couldn't hear through the ringing in her ears. Her eyes went blurry with tears. What was happening? The people who raised her were talking about her like she was commodity.

Feeling the traitorous organ shattering within her chest, Navya stepped out into the cold night through the back door. Without waiting to see if her parents noticed her, she ran to the beach. Her stomach hurt. She could feel the blood between her thighs. But it didn't matter. She couldn't stay in the house anymore.

She didn't know how long she sat there, her tears mixing with the seawater. The waves caressed her gently, soothing her. Despite the chilly night, the water felt warm.

"Your tears burn me, putri," a voice spoke behind her.

Navya jumped. Turning around, she saw a terrifyingly handsome man with blue eyes that shone in the moonlight. His complexion was dark, but lighter than Navya's. She had never seen him in the village before.

"Pranipath," Navya greeted him.

"You have my blessings, putri." The man's tone was gentle, but his voice was surprisingly strong. "Tell me dear, what are you doing out here alone?"

"I was just—" Navya couldn't bring herself to finish her lie. Something about the sturdy strength of the man made her want to tell him everything. She sighed, trying to think of a proper way to talk to this stranger.

"I needed some time to think," she replied finally. "A lot has happened today."

The man smiled. "An auspicious day today, is it not?"

Navya stared at him, her face plain. "Today was the worst day of my life," she deadpanned.

She expected the man to be embarrassed. Maybe leave her alone. But, to her surprise, his face fell. His blue eyes glowed with fury. The waves grew wilder at her feet. Navya stepped back in fear.

"What are you talking about?" he hissed.

He asked it like a question, but it felt more like a command. Before she knew it, Navya was revealing everything to the strange man. She couldn't have stopped even if she wanted to. The man listened quietly, but she could see the way the muscles on him tensed with anger.

When she was done talking, fresh tears had gathered in her eyes, threatening to spill over. Suddenly, the man embraced her. His hold was so strong, so comforting, that she let herself break down against his chest.

The man softly stroked her hair, whispering sweet nothings. It felt like the flow of a forest brake, cool and comforting.

Finally, she pulled away. The man held her at an arm's length, and wiped her tears away.

"I'm sorry, my dear," he said, soft as the waves lapping at their feet. "These people, this small village, this isn't where you're meant to be. This isn't your place, putri. I know this would sound foolish to you, but you will never be accepted in a place you don't truly belong in."

"What do you mean?" Navya asked, eyebrows drawing together. "Where do I belong?"

"You belong in the palaces of Aryavart, my dear," the man declared. "You belong in the courts of kings. You belong among those immortalised by legends for ages to come."

Navya stood there, trying to make sense of what he was saying. She had heard stories of royal children being floated down rivers and raised somewhere else, only to return to their rightful place later. It seemed like the man was mocking her.

"I'm not a princess." Navya scowled.

The man chuckled. "No," he said, "you are not a princess." His gaze held a strange intensity as he looked at her. "But you're not entirely human either."

That shut her thoughts completely. "What?" was all she could get out.

"You are not a mere human, putri." The man seemed completely serious. "You weren't found on the sea; you were given by the sea. You are a blessing formed from the sea itself. You are divine."

Navya stood completely still. She couldn't process what she was hearing. "How do you know?"

The man smiled. For a moment, Navya wondered if he was actually crazy.

"I know everything about you, putri," he said. "Something huge is going to happen. Something that will alter the course of history. The end of a yuga.
The gods are taking forms on earth. Suryadev and the mighty Rudra have found their place. Vishnu himself has split in three. The five Indras came from the same womb. Indrani Shachi will soon be born from the fire."

None of that made sense to Navya. The gods being born on earth? Yeah, the man was actually insane. Still, she kept quiet.

"You are one of them, putri," the man continued. "You are a part of the sea god. You weren't born of a womb, but formed from the waters of the earth. Varuna blew life into you. He created you for a greater purpose, Varuni, and you'll never find that purpose here."

"What on earth are you talking about?" was the first thing that came out of Navya's mouth. "Incarnations of the gods? Yugantar? Varuni? How do you know all this?"

"I already told you, priya, I know everything." The man was still smiling.

"How?" Navya pressed. "Did Varuna dev tell you? Did my father tell you?"

If it was even possible, the man's smile grew wider. "I am your father, Varmaya."

Navya forgot how to breathe. Too much information, her head screamed. It refused to let her fully understand what the man—the god—had said.

She wasn't human.

She was born of the sea.

Her father was the god Varuna.

He was standing right before her.

Varuna only stood by wordlessly as Navya repeatedly opened and shut her mouth, lost for words. He didn't wait for her to get back to her senses, though.

"Remember what I told you," the god said. "This isn't where you belong."

With that, he disappeared. Literally.

Completely baffled by that final stunt, Navya slowly trudged back towards her house. She needed a good night's sleep. There was a high chance her mind was playing tricks after staying up so late.

If she had been a little attentive, she would've noticed the single white lotus that had appeared where the god had been standing moments ago.

Dream or not, that encounter had changed something in her. She started noticing how her adoptive parents were actually treating her, things that she'd dismissed as normal before. She had no friends, never having been allowed to talk to any of the other kids. Her parents, mostly her mother, spoke of her like a parasite that had gotten into their family. And she sure hadn't forgotten how they were planning on basically selling her to some man.

Something had broken in her the day she heard her mother speak that way. And that was never going to be fixed again.

All of that, combined with her father's words, had given birth to a new plan in Navya's head. Four days later, when the bleeding finally stopped, she had already packed everything. That night, she left her childhood home, and never looked back again.

Navya chuckled lightly at the memory, the movement making her bruised body ache. You belong in palaces, her father had said.

"Well, I'm in a palace dungeon, if it counts," she muttered into the quietness

Chapter Text

Navya knew her plan was going to fail the second the panting soldier ran into the dungeons.

He grabbed the guard, shaking him violently as he tried to form words.

"Attack!" he gasped out. "Kuru princes— attack—"

The guard scowled. "Calm down," he said. "What's going on?"

"Dronacharya," the soldier gasped again. "Attack!"

At that, the guard's eyes went wide. He ran, leaving the breathless soldier behind. The soldier quickly regained his breath and jogged off after the prison guard.

It took Navya only a moment to understand what was happening.

Dronacharya, a Brahmin skilled in every known weapon, a man as mighty as Indra himself. The news that he was training the 105 princes of Kuru rashtra, along with other Aryan princes, warriors, and his own son, had reached all over Aryavart.

But what most didn't know was that Guru Drona and King Drupad had been childhood friends. Guru Bharadwaj, Drona's father, had taught them both.

Navya didn't know the details, but later in life, King Drupad had rejected and insulted Guru Drona. Rumour had it that he took in all those princes as disciples to get revenge on the king.

Well, now it sure seemed like the rumour was true.

Navya was all for the king of Panchal being put in his place, but not this time. Whether the war was won or lost, it meant only trouble for her.

If the princes—that is, Guru Drona—won, there would be no yuvraj abhisheka, no pooja, and definitely no heist. Navya would simply rot away in her cell or be killed.

If King Drupad won, his tapasya would be broken. The pooja will be postponed. And Navya would be executed the very next day.

Either way, she wasn't going to survive the outcome.

Soon, a conch horn blew so loud it was heard all the way in Navya's cell. The battle had begun.

The entire palace seemed to be buzzing restlessly. Hurried footsteps and worried chatter could be heard even in the dungeons. Navya could feel the anxiety seeping through the stone walls.

After what felt like a lifetime of crushing tension, Navya heard it. Drums. The battle had ended.

Something shifted within the palace. The restless thrum halted. They were all waiting for the result to be revealed. Without realising it, Navya's fists tightened in anticipation, nails digging into her palms. It felt like Ahichhatra itself was holding its breath.

And then—one voice, raw with disbelief, shattered the silence. Then another. And another.

Navya could hear the palace staff running above, passing on whatever news they'd received. The screams and yells gave way to loud wails, and soon, the entire palace lamented like a widowed wife.

The outcome of the battle seemed pretty obvious. King Drupad had lost.

Navya had somehow dissociated from her own thoughts, focusing on the people's sorrow instead of thinking about what it meant for her. She ignored the bloody crescents that had cut into her palms. She tried—and failed—to steady her breathing.

Her plans had all fallen apart. She had been so close to achieving it all. But now, here she was, locked up with her life on the line.

A long while after the laments had died down, the guard who did the night shift walked on, looking utterly dejected. He wordlessly handed rotis to the prisoner, then settled down at his usual place.

Navya, who had been starving all day, tore into the dry food immediately. She expected the usual snide remark from the guard, but the man seemed lost in thoughts. It piqued her curiosity.

"Is it really bad?" she asked, voice raspy from being so unused.

The soldier perked up, then scowled when he saw the speaker.

"We lost the battle," he snapped. "Of course it's bad."

Navya shrugged, trying to be unbothered. "Kings sometimes lose."

"You don't understand, do you?" he sneered. "The king lost? It's Ahichathra's pride and honour that lost." His gaze turned venomous. "But what would you know about that? You're a thieving, murdering snake with no honour."

"I just want to know what happened," Navya defended, unfazed by the hostility.

"Our king was humiliated by that brahmin," he spat. "Even after those princes defeated Maharaj, Drona kept calling him his mitr. He even said he forgave our king, and wanted to remain as close as they were in childhood. The audacity of that fool!"

Navya tried to imagine what that must've been like. Being defeated by your estranged childhood friend, all because he wanted to teach you a lesson about friendship. It almost got a chuckle out of her.

"How exactly does Dronacharya plan on continuing the friendship once King Drupad leaves for vanvas, though?" Navya asked. Friend or not, defeated kings weren't allowed to remain in their kingdom.

The guard looked close to tears. "That's the worst part. He didn't even want the whole kingdom."

Navya blinked. "What?"

"Dronacharya has decided to split Panchal. King Drupad was given the southern half. The royal family will move to Kampilya tomorrow."

If she was being completely honest, Navya saw this as a win. But the guard looked like he was trying not to cry.

"Isn't that... a good thing?" she asked slowly.

"No it isn't!" the guard shrieked. "To be defeated is one thing. But to be allowed to rule as some kind of charity... it is unacceptable. It destroys a man's honour."

"Really?" Navya asked. "You keep screaming about pride and honour. Is that all you care about?"

"Of course, I care about honour," the guard said, indignant. "A man without honour has nothing to live for. A kshatriya would rather die!"

A silence fell, in which Navya only blinked in confusion. The guard turned away with a groan.

"Why am I even talking to you?" he grumbled. "You are like water that takes the shape of the pot it's in. Spineless, prideless scum like you would do anything to stay alive."

"Yeah, well, I like staying alive," Navya said, raising an offended eyebrow.

"Good luck with that," the guard shot. "Who knows what the new king plans to do with you."

That shut Navya up. She had been trying to avoid the nervousness growing in her chest. The guard was right, she didn't know what Guru Drona would do with her. And that uncertainty scared her more than awaiting her execution.

In a day or two, the new king would be instilled, and a new order would begin in Ahichhatra. Navya had heard countless stories about the illustrious Guru Drona. In fact, she quite admired the person she'd heard about. But now, she could only hope that his new order included releasing prisoners.

Chapter Text

Ashwathama was... overwhelmed.

Yes, that was the right word. The end of his gurukul life, the battle, and the sudden ascension into kingship had been a bit too hectic for the son of Drona. Just one week of trying to keep the kingdom together had him thoroughly exhausted.

But it wasn't just the burden of duties that had taken hold of him. Ashwathama now had something he'd desired—no, obsessively craved—his entire life. Luxury and comfort.

He had servants attending to him every minute of every day. His clothes were of the finest fabrics, and his bed covered in silk was as soft as a cloud. And, most importantly, he never had to spend another day on an empty stomach.

Any time of any day, he could walk into the kitchen and have whatever exotic dish he wanted. Hell, he could make a servant bring it to his bedroom if he wanted to. It seemed almost dream-like.

The best part, however, was the pure joy on his father's face. Dronacharya tried his best to be an unbiased preceptor, but Ashwathama had seen his tears while his son was being bathed in milk during the rajabhishek. His father's smile hadn't once faltered in the past week.

It was the first time he had seen Dronacharya with so much unbridled happiness after his mother's death. And he never wanted it to end.

"Putr Ashwathama?"

His father's voice pulled the new king out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Guru Drona standing in the doorway.

"What is it, pitashri?" Ashwathama asked, smiling.

"How are you holding up, my dear?" Drouni could practically feel the love brimming in his father's voice as Drona sat down on the bed. After nearly a decade of watching his father choose Arjun over him, it felt like things were finally going right.

Ashwathama couldn't hold it in anymore. Without warning, he jumped into his father's arms. Drona didn't hesitate to embrace his son. In all honesty, he missed him.

"This is going to take a lot to get used to," Ashwathama said, moving to rest his head on his father's lap. "I'm not complaining, though."

Drona chuckled. "I'm sure you'll do well, putr," he reassured, running his hand through Ashwathama's long hair. "Even though you're a bit young to be a king."

That earned a snort from Ashwathama. At twenty two years old, he was by no means too young to be a king. In fact, back at the gurukul, he had been younger only to his mitr Radheya Karna and the two princes of Avanti.

"I'm not that young, pitashri," Ashwathama defended. "Look, my mitr Duryodhan is three years younger than me. And I'm sure he'll soon be crowned Yuvraj of Hastinapur."

Ashwathama didn't fail to notice the way his father grew stiff at the mention of Duryodhan. He had to stifle a long-suffering sigh. Such a renowned guru, and his father still couldn't get over his petty bias.

"Speaking of Hastinapur," Drona started. "The princes will have to exhibit their talents in the arena in six months. All my students from Hastinapur will be doing it. We have to attend the ceremony."

"Of course," Ashwathama agreed immediately. "There's no way I'll miss it. In fact, I don't plan on returning till after the yuvraj abhisheka."

If Drona had any objections to the plan, he didn't mention it. They simply stayed there, father and son, no politics among them. The moonlight reflected off the silks and metals, making the room glimmer. A beautiful tranquility settled in.

Eventually, Drona retired to his own chambers, and Ashwathama laid in the luxurious bed, mentally preparing himself for the court meeting tomorrow.

"I've already taken care of it, Maharaj," Mahamantri Ranadev said sharply, leaving no room for argument.

Ashwathama raised an eyebrow at the older man's tone. He wondered if he'd said anything offensive. Despite the bright sunlight streaming in through the large windows, the son of Drona was still drowsy.

"I just wanted to know what the state of the prisoners are," the king defended. "It wasn't an attack on your credibility, Mahamantri."

Ranadev sniffed indignantly. "Before King Drupad's family moved here last year for the sacrifices, I was the one who was in charge of Ahichhatra. You cannot undermine my credibility, Maharaj."

Ashwathama raised his arms in surrender. "I wasn't trying to."

Drona watched the exchange silently. It was quite obvious Ahichhatra's old courtiers weren't happy to have a new king. But they maintained their decorum. Ashwathama supposed he should be happy they weren't plotting on stabbing him in his sleep. Hopefully.

"Either way, maharaj," chimed in Mantri Anand, "it is better to leave the charge of the prison to us. We're more experienced, after all. And this isn't some petty thief we're dealing with here."

That piqued Ashwathama's interest. "What do you mean?"

The ministers glanced at him like he was a particularly stubborn toddler. In fact, pinned under their scrutinising gazes in that huge courtroom, he did feel like a small child.

"Her, maharaj," the mahamantri enunciated, as if that was supposed to make sense. Then, his eyes widened in false concern while his friends chuckled quietly. "You don't know, do you?"

Ashwathama didn't reply. He waited for someone to speak, not wanting to make a fool of himself.

"In the last two years, a woman had been mercilessly slaughtering our noblemen." It was the senani, who had been quietly fuming the entire time, that finally spoke. Judging from his overall conduct, Ashwathama could tell he was the least pleased with King Drupad's defeat.

"She has no sense of dharma," he continued. "She killed through deception and lies. Once, she even stooped low enough to poison her victim. That too, at a public event. And, every single time, she left a white lotus to let us know it was her."

Veersatru looked up, straight into Ashwathama's eyes. His gaze burned, as though Drouni had personally orchestrated the murders.

"We finally managed to catch her last week," the senani Veersatru hissed. "She would've been executed after Rajkumar Shikhandi's yuvraj abhisheka."

Ashwathama blinked. "Wait—you're upset because I haven't ordered her execution?"

"No no, Maharaj." The senani's eyes widened slightly. "I cannot be angry at any of your decisions. I was just helping you understand the dangers of keeping her alive."

"But she's locked up now," Ashwathama said. "Is an execution really necessary?"

In all honesty, he didn't want to be responsible for a woman's death. He'd been raised to be a warrior with strict ethics, and even raising one's weapons against a woman or child was considered a sin. He glanced at his father for an answer, and Guru Drona too seemed hesitant.

"This isn't an ordinary woman we're talking about," Mahamantri said, like he was reading Ashwathama's thoughts. When he spoke, though, there was a hint of fear in his voice. "It was a bigger shock when we found out who she was. See, Maharaj, this cold blooded murderer had been living in this very city for years. She was a rogue woman with no father or husband. She ran a dyut house, where she stole the fortunes of countless people through deception."

A cloud passed over the sun, dimming the light in the courtroom.

"She is truly evil," Veersatru insisted. "She can talk anyone into doing anything. A lowly seductress, she is."

Ashwathama exchanged another glance with his equally concerned father. It felt so weird to listen to these men speak of a woman so hatefully. It was weirder still imagining a woman who did all those things.

As if sensing his unease, Drona spoke up. "This seems like a sensitive topic. The king might require time to think about it."

"Pitashri's right," Ashwathama agreed. "I need to assess the situation before pronouncing her death sentence."

The ministers looked amused, like they'd just caught him in the act of thieving. The Mahamantri looked disappointed, almost concerned, while the senani seemed restless with frustration. This meeting wouldn't end well if it continued any longer.

"I will make a decision tomorrow," Ashwathama tried to convince them. "At sunset tomorrow, this woman you speak of will surely be punished."

None of them seemed happy, but they didn't argue. Ashwathama declared the meeting closed, and they all left with half-hearted greetings.

"Remember, putr," Drona said, placing his hand on Ashwathama's shoulder. "It isn't sinful for a king to punish criminals. And you are a king now."

Ashwathama could only nod wordlessly to his father. It wasn't that he didn't know it. But he was a fighter; a warrior who defeated enemies in battle. The thought of simply ordering someone to be killed, especially a woman, felt unfair.

You're a king now, his father's voice said again as Ashwathama too left the meeting hall.

He would've preferred killing her in a fight. An unfair fight that would eat at his soul, sure, but at least she would be given a chance to defend herself.

Are you an idiot? a voice that sounded suspiciously like Duryodhan's said in his head. You cannot fight a woman. And kings definitely don't fight criminals. You have to execute her.

Ashwathama's head swam with thoughts of kingship and his own dharma. He'd been so distracted, he didn't notice where he was going until he stood in the earthy tunnels of the palace dungeons, looking through iron bars at the woman he was supposed to kill.

Chapter Text

Whatever Ashwathama had expected to find, it wasn't this.

He had expected—no, hoped—to find a rakshasi or a naga. Someone not completely human, so he wouldn't have to think too deeply about sentencing her to death.

But there she was—Shyama or Pundarika or whatever her name was—fast asleep on her straw mat. She was scantily clothed, her ragged white uttariya and threadbare dhoti barely covering her thin body. Her dark skin glistened with sweat from the hot dungeon air. Fading yellow bruises marked her limbs.

Ashwathama lowered his gaze. It felt scandalous to be seeing her like that.

The cell floor was littered with some dusty, heavy black rags. Ashwathama looked closer.

No, not rags. Hair.

Someone had cut off her hair a little below her shoulders. It had been shingled off haphazardly, leading the king to believe she had fought against it.

He didn't know what to think. She lay there, her expression one of blissful calm. She had a peculiar way of breathing; in through the nose, out through the mouth. Her chest rose and fell with each breath.

So normal. So delicate. So human.

Ashwathama couldn't take his eyes off her. She was beautiful. Every single feature of hers seemed to have been carefully crafted by a god. He had a hard time connecting the divine beauty before him to the criminal Pundarika, who seemed to have shaken Panchal's very core. There was just no way.

A strand of hair fell into her face, and Ashwathama's hand twitched to move it aside.

As if sensing it, her eyes flew open. Before he could even blink, she was standing up straight, looking at him with barely concealed suspicion.

"Who are you?" she croaked. Her voice was raspy, as though she hadn't used it in a while.

Ashwathama was slightly offended at not being recognised. Then he remembered he'd left his crown in the courtroom.

"You're new in Panchal," she went on before he could talk. "But you already have access to the dungeons. So you must be pretty well-connected."

Ashwathama almost chuckled. "That's one way of putting it."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Are you related to any of the ministers?" she asked. She didn't wait for his reply before asking, "Or are you a new minister brought by Guru Drona? That would make more sense, I guess."

Ashwathama didn't understand why he was entertaining her at all, but something about her seemed to be pulling him towards her, like a river to the sea.

"I'm not a minister at all," he found himself saying.

"No?" She leaned back, still taking him in. "You're dressed too finely to be anything lower." She tilted her head. "But you're standing here smiling, so I refuse to believe you're anyone important."

"What?" Ashwathama gasped. He wasn't sure if he should be offended or not.

"Well, if you were important within the court, you'd already know who I am," she explained. "So I'm going to go with 'some minister's useless relative.'"

"Wrong again." Ashwathama smirked. "And I do know who you are, Pundarika."

She didn't look convinced.

"And you're still here?" she rasped out. "Why?"

"You see," Ashwathama said, "it's now my job to assess the situation completely before passing a verdict."

She looked confused for a second. Then, her eyes went wide. Not fear, he noticed. Surprise.

"You're too young to be Guru Drona."

That actually got a laugh out of Ashwathama.

"That's because I'm not," he told the confused girl in front of him.

That only seemed to increase her confusion. "Then how can you pass a verdict?"

"Because I'm the king," Ashwathama replied simply.

"But you said you're not— oh." Ashwathama could almost see the exact moment the pieces clicked into place for her. "Dronacharya got the kingdom for you."

"When you put it like that..."

Her gaze travelled over him, resting a bit longer on his jewel.

"You're his son," she stated plainly. "That warrior. Dronaputra Ashwathama."

Ashwathama jolted. Shiva shiva, his name sounded so good in her mouth. Sharp. Clear. Every syllable enunciated, as though she was savoring it. He wanted to hear it again.

Oblivious to his thoughts, she smirked. Her eyes glinted as they ran over him again. It was slow this time, almost suggestive. Heat rose to his cheeks as she met his eyes again.

"I must say, Maharaj," her voice was suddenly laced with honey, "I wouldn't mind being executed by you."

Ashwathama forgot how to breathe. He tore his eyes away, unable to meet her gaze. What the hell was happening?

The son of Drona didn't wait to find out. Without a word, he turned on his heels and left. He should never have come here.

As though his earlier dilemma wasn't bad enough, now he genuinely couldn't imagine sending that spirited girl to her death. It scared him, the effect she had on him in just a few minutes. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest.

Suddenly, Ashwathama had no difficulty in seeing her as the gambler who could rob anyone in broad daylight.

Navya had been prepared for Guru Drona.

She had everything perfectly crafted; a young girl who committed grave sins for survival. She would gain the old man's sympathy, and beg for her life.

Simple. A bit shameful. Effective.

But then, he had shown up, and she'd completely screwed up.

In her defence, Navya hadn't eaten in two days. She'd just woken up. And, most importantly, she had absolutely no clue that Drouni had been crowned the king.

She sighed as she paced in her dingy cell, pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance. It must've been half an hour since Maharaj Ashwathama had left. What the hell had she just done?

Despite her mortification, a part of Navya was still scheming. She couldn't try to gain Ashwathama's pity. He was closer to her in age, and a warrior through and through, from what she'd heard. She'd need his respect, his understanding. And for that, she needed to bring his walls down.

Assuming he doesn't have you executed immediately for that disaster of an interaction, her mind supplied helpfully.

Navya groaned internally. Ever since her arrest two weeks ago, all her plans had been failing. She would've been lying if she denied the small knot of fear that had nestled in her heart.

She'd gotten so used to winning, now it felt like death to fail at all.

* * *

In a different corner of the castle, the king of Ahichhatra was reading through a newly arrived scroll. Kampilya Naresh Drupad had apparently performed a yajna, and obtained a son and daughter.

Ashwathama snorted as he noticed something. The son, Dhrishtyadumn, was born to slay Drona himself. As if a man born yesterday could kill his father, a warrior as skilled as Parashuram himself. What a joke.

As he read on, though, Ashwathama found his thoughts drifting. Away from the scroll in his hand, away from his chamber bathed in afternoon light, to the dungeons below.

He had been too hasty in going down there earlier. He should've been more prepared to face the manipulator who literally everyone had warned him against.

And she was a manipulator, alright. A few sentences, and somehow she had occupied all his thoughts. Way too often, Ashwathama caught himself staring out at the palace grounds below. His eyes would land on the small pond covered in white lotuses, and his thoughts would drift to Ahichhatra's Pundarika.

He hadn't mentioned it to the ministers yet, but Ashwathama wasn't ready to execute her just yet. Perhaps it was his damning curiosity. But he wanted to know what made her so intriguing. So... unignorable.

Besides, it wasn't like he was committing treachery by simply talking to her. He could have her executed at any moment, after all. And he would—after getting a proper idea about her.

Ashwathama got up to draw the curtains of his room, blocking out the harsh sunlight and the scenery down below. He sighed, sitting back down at his table.

It was decided. Before sunset, before he had to announce his decision to the ministers, he would go back to her again... and maybe bring her some actual clothes.

Chapter Text

Navya seriously hated staying in the cell.

In that first week, she'd been in too much pain to notice much else. But now that it was starting to fade, she was getting bored.

She walked around in the small space, repeating her new routine of studying every nook and cranny. The torch outside threw flickering light on the rock walls that hadn't changed at all from yesterday. The pail of soil the guard had brought in a few days ago stayed untouched next to the hole in the ground meant for excrement. It wasn't like a starving woman had anything to bury.

The air was thick with the scent of rust and decay. It whispered with the ghosts of men who had begged for their lives.

With a sigh, Navya sat down cross-legged on her itchy mat. She was again berating herself for that disaster of a conversation earlier, but part of her knew it had done something. What, exactly, she wasn't sure—but if she were really doomed, he wouldn't have left so quickly.

And now, here he was again. A whole day earlier than she had expected.

She had heard the heavy boots approaching before she saw him, but she stayed where she was, feigning disinterest. Only when he stood before her bars did she bother looking up.

Maharaj Ashwathama stood there, backlit by the lone torch. His smooth muscles tensed under his jewellery and angavastra. The jewel on his forehead shone like the moon. He seemed even taller in the dim lighting, his presence imposing, but his face—it didn't quite match.

There was something wary about his sharp features, like he wasn't used to questioning himself. Like she had unsettled him earlier, and he was still trying to understand how.

Good. That meant she had a chance.

"I brought you these," he said.

Navya blinked, surprised. Her gaze flickered down as he tossed a bundle into her lap. Dark blue antariya. Uttariya. Fine fabric. Not royal, but far better than the ragged mess she was in.

Navya knew immediately. A test.

Ashwathama had likely seen enough criminals to know what they did when given a gift. If she reacted too quickly, too gratefully, he would know she was desperate to please him. If she reacted too slowly, too coldly, he would see it as defiance.

She needed to find that delicate balance between the two.

Navya ran her fingers over the cloth once, then looked back up at him, unimpressed. "Silk? Bit much for a dead woman, don't you think?"

Ashwathama exhaled sharply, almost a laugh. "Haven't decided if you're dead yet."

"Oh?" She tilted her head. "And here I thought the Panchal ministers were dying to see my head roll."

"They are." His voice was even, unreadable. "But I haven't decided yet."

Navya sat up properly now, leaning forward just enough to show interest. "What's stopping you?"

She caught the flicker in his eyes—the slightest hesitation. She almost smiled. There it is.

"I don't act on impulse," he declared.

"Liar." Navya smirked. "You came to see me within hours of finding out about me. You left before you meant to. And now you're back again, because you haven't stopped thinking about me."

Ashwathama went rigid.

"I came here to make sure you understand the gravity of your situation," he finally said, though the words sounded hollow as soon as they left his mouth.

She smirked, clearly unconvinced. "Oh, I understand perfectly. But I wonder if you do."

Ashwathama raised his brows. "What should I understand?"

"Your decision." Navya's words were vague enough, but their target was quite specific.

And she knew she'd hit it when the king drew in a long breath.

Navya almost laughed. Too easy. She wasn't some naive girl dazzled by his title. She knew. He was a warrior first, a king second—he had likely spent his whole life surrounded by people obeying his every word.

She just had to remind him that no one owned him. That he commanded the court of Panchal, not the other way around.

"I'll have to make a decision soon," he said after a pause, regaining his composure. "They'll expect one by sunset."

Navya leaned back against the wall, staring at him through her lashes. "Who's 'they'?"

"The ministers," he said, brows furrowing.

She made a sound of amusement, tapping her fingers against the stone floor. "I must be missing something, Maharaj. When did the ministers become kings?"

Ashwathama's frown deepened. "They're not."

"No?" Navya tilted her head. "Then why do they expect anything from you?"

He stared at her. But she had her opening now, and she wasn't going to back out.

"You're the one with the crown," she pushed. "The throne. The army. They call you Maharaj, not themselves. So why does it sound like they hold the leash?"

The muscle in his jaw twitched.

"You're a warrior," Navya said, voice softer now, but no less sharp. "If a soldier tried to command you in battle, would you listen?"

"No."

She smiled. "Then why listen to one in court?"

The words hung in the air between them.

She had meant to plant doubt, but now that it was there, it felt like a wildfire catching onto dry leaves.

Ashwathama looked away for a brief moment, exhaling slowly, like he was running her words through his mind. When he turned back to her, there was something new in his eyes.

Not just curiosity. Consideration.

Navya pushed a little further.

"Everyone told you I was dangerous," she murmured. "They warned you. You still came." She met his gaze, unflinching. "You're already ruling the way you want. So why stop now?"

Ashwathama didn't reply. His gaze locked onto Navya's. The silence stretched on, his green eyes boring into hers.

Then, out of nowhere, he spoke, "Change."

Navya blinked. "What?"

Ashwathama crossed his arms, something unreadable flickering across his face. "You asked what's stopping me from killing you. My answer is change."

She had not expected that.

"I will not be a king like Drupad," he said. "I will not be a king who lets his court do his thinking for him. If I execute you, it will be my decision. Not theirs."

He took a step back, away from the cell.

"And my decision needs more time."

And then, just like before, he was gone.

But this time, Navya had control.

She looked down at the dark blue silk in her lap, running her fingers over it again. He's hesitating now. And he will keep hesitating.

Why? Because it wasn't "change" that kept him from killing her. It was his curiosity. He wanted to understand her. And Navya had to make sure he understood perfectly.

Soon, he'll choose to let her live.

Because that's what she had led him to believe.

That it was his choice all along.

Navya had been minding her own business, revelling in the comfort of her new clothes, when someone stomped into the dungeons.

She sighed at the thought of playing along with Ashwathama for the third time that day, but as the fuming senani stepped into the light, she wished it had been the king instead.

"Missed me, Veersatru?" Navya taunted, plastering on a smirk.

But the senani was clearly here for a reason; to violently groan and kick at her bars.

Navya raised an eyebrow. She couldn't guess why the man who hated her very being was here, taking out his frustration on the innocent metal.

"You!" Veersatru's growl was almost animalistic. "What did you do?"

"What did I do?" Navya had to put conscious effort into not laughing. "What exactly do you expect me to do in here?"

But Veersatru wasn't in the mood for games, apparently. He reached into the cell and grabbed Navya's bicep, pulling her forward with a bruising grip.

"How did you convince the king to wait?" he growled.

Oh.

He'd made his decision, then.

"To wait for what?" Navya asked innocently. "What does the king's decision have to do with me?"

Veersatru bared his teeth. Took another look at Navya. Then another.

His eyes widened. "Those clothes..."

Navya shrugged. "The king sent them through a guard," she lied smoothly. "Something about women's dignity."

"Lies," the senani hissed. "He didn't send anyone anywhere. He brought them to you." He pulled her roughly, banging her against the metal bars. "You seduced him, didn't you, you filth?"

He was about to drag her into the bars again, but Navya pinched his arm. He flinched, and she pried herself out of his grip.

"What makes you think a poor gambler like me can seduce a king?" she drawled, moving out of his reach. "Whatever Maharaj Ashwathama had done has nothing to do with me."

"You're lying!" Veersatru's aggressiveness was starting to irk Navya. "You seduced that hormonal young king the first chance you got, didn't you? Just like you seduced me."

There it was. The senani's age old grudge.

"I didn't seduce you," Navya said calmly, disinterested. "You simply believed everything I told you. It should've been obvious what was happening after you lost your house." Navya leaned forward, still out of reach. "The house I still returned out of my compassion."

Veersatru looked murderous. "Compassion? Chhalini! You seduced my wealth out of my hands, and you call yourself compassionate?"

Navya folded her arms. "Seduction is for people one can use," she said. "You are useless to me. Why would I try to seduce you?"

That shut the senani up. He glared at her, surprise mixing in with the rage in his eyes.

"You've done something to the king," he said again, as if to convince Navya to accept it.

"I had one conversation with him," Navya defended.

"One conversation is all it takes for you to sink your teeth into your victims!" He was yelling now. "Maharaj Ashwathama doesn't know you. But I do, Shyama."

Navya didn't reply. She didn't need to. Veersatru was riling himself up at this point. She could simply breathe, and he'd still ramble on about it.

Her expression must've been too smug for his liking, for he growled again, baring his teeth.

"Don't think you've escaped, Chhalini," he hissed in a dangerously low voice. "If that stupid king ends up sparing you, I will personally detach that evil head of yours. The day Ashwathama decides against your execution, you will die by my sword." He leaned in close. "Count your days. You won't walk out of here alive."

With that, he left, stomping out angrier than he had been coming in.

Navya rolled her eyes at the antics. She knew the senani's thirst for her blood shouldn't be underestimated, but even he wouldn't dare go against the king's orders. Because at the end of the day, power was still power, and Navya knew exactly who wielded it.

Chapter Text

“Shyama is a snake. I hope the new king beheads her soon.”

“They should've locked her up a lot earlier.”

“Chhalini's been robbing Ahichhatra dry ever since she got here and nobody cared.”

“Took her murdering a bunch of arrogant murkhs for the authorities to finally do something.”

“Finding out she was Pundarika almost made me forgive her for the gambling.”

Ashwathama blinked at the merchant’s mother, clad in her gold jewellery and brutal honesty.

His decision to speak to the locals was a hasty one. He'd woken up feeling inadequate, like he was missing something. No matter what he asked, the ministers had only one reply: execute her.

So he decided to take matters into his own hands. He'd thrown on some cheap clothes and covered his forehead with a turban. Abandoning all his jewellery except his rudraksha mala, he set out for the town on his horse. After a few hours of gathering what he could from others, now Ashwathama was seated in the house of one of the most influential merchants in Ahichhatra. Surprisingly, the matriarch of the house seemed a little too admiring of the woman who went for the throats of powerful rich men.

“You aren't afraid of her, kaki?” he asked, surprised. 

“Afraid?” She looked offended. “You think my son is a criminal?”

Ashwathama's eyes widened. “What? No, I don't mean that. Why would your son be a criminal?”

Sudeshna Kaki simply chuckled. She took a sip of chai. “You're new to this town, aren't you, putr?”

“Yes, I'm only passing through,” Ashwathama said quickly.

The older woman leaned back in her chair. “There's a lot of things you don't know about Pundarika’s victims. They worked under the king, sure, but they were bad people.”

“What do you mean?” Ashwathama asked.

“The townsfolk are not of high enough class to know those men,” she explained, “and they are rich enough to not care about what they did. If you want the truth, putr, go down to Vrishabha's village.”

Ashwathama inhaled sharply. “The village from where she was caught?”

“The village that sold her out,” Sudeshna Kaki corrected. “My son might not be as powerful as those men, but he has enough influence to know that that hot-blooded senani had simply been a pawn in the ministers’ trap.” She shook her head sadly. “Poor Veersatru still walks around boasting about his brains. As though the villagers hadn't already been paid to expose their secret helper.”

That was a lot of information for Ashwathama to take in at once. His head took a while to process it all. 

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked at last.

“Because you're a traveller, my child,” she replied immediately. “Someone should know the whole truth. Someone should let Aryavart know how a young girl had Ahichhatra's corrupt lords fearing for their lives. So that when Shyama is killed one day, her hard work wouldn't go unknown.” She smiled, sipping her chai. “Perhaps someone will even stop it.”

Ashwathama had left the house with more questions than he'd come with. From what Sudeshna Kaki had said, it seemed Pundarika had been some kind of a vigilante. Now, the dharmic warrior in him couldn't imagine executing her at all. But a king must uphold the law. And yet—What justice was there in slaughtering the one who fought for it?

His mind reeled as he rode out of town, to the farmers’ village. It was a short distance, and Ashwathama soon found himself on the village elder’s doorstep.

Teja Kaka was a wonderful host. The man gave Ashwathama water for his feet, and attended to him genuinely despite his commoner appearance.

Still, it was impossible not to notice the heaviness in the man's eyes, a kind of persistent sadness.

When Ashwathama finally asked about Pundarika, Teja Kaka broke completely.

“I bit the hand that fed me,” he mumbled shakily, supporting himself on the table. “All of us did. We betrayed the one who saved us.”

“Who paid you?” Ashwathama asked. “The ministers?”

The older man nodded. “Mahamantri Ranadev. He had been after Pundarika ever since she poisoned Lord Bhallava at a palace gathering.”

“How did he know she would be here, though?” Ashwathama inquired, trying not to sound too pushy.

“After each kill, Pundarika had a habit of somehow bringing her victim's wealth to those who were exploited,” Teja Kaka started with a deep breath. “That was what made the poor admire her so much. When Mahamantri showed up here after Vrishabha's death, he said he'll have to take in whoever showed up here for interrogation.” He choked on his own words. “Interrogation! Now our Shyama’s on the death row!”

Ashwathama studied the man carefully. “Did you know she was Pundarika all along?”

“I didn't.” His eyes were haunted as he looked up. “I knew the gold she secretly brought us was won through gambling. When Vrishabha was killed, I thought,”—he whimpered—“I thought she was somehow working with Pundarika. But when the soldiers took her away—”

With a sob, Teja Kaka buried his face in his hands. 

Ashwathama didn't know how to comfort the man. He put a hand on the older man's shoulder, letting him cry it out. 

“We are sinners,” he whispered finally, voice choking with tears. “I was afraid of what would happen if we didn't comply with the Mahamantri. But now?” He whimpered again. “Fear ruined us. The fields, the cattle, the very air—it’s all empty now.”

He let out a ragged breath. “Maybe the gods left with her, putr. Maybe they left us to rot for what we did. Her blood is on our hands.”

* * *

The welcome Ashwathama received as he rode in through the palace gates that afternoon was colder than when King Drupad had been defeated.

The ministers were seething. Ashwathama could feel their rage seeping through the palace like a living thing, threatening to choke him any moment.

But they wouldn't. Because he was their king. And their stupid plans couldn't fool him.

Whatever her crime be, Pundarika had taught him one thing; he wouldn't be given power until he proved himself worthy of wielding it. If this was to be his test, then so be it. He would show them that her execution would be on his terms, and nobody else's.

Assuming he executed her, that was. But with everything he'd learned today, his hand on the sword felt less steady.

"Did you find what you were looking for, Maharaj?” Ranadev’s lips thinned as he trailed after Ashwathama.

“I guess you could say that,” Ashwathama mumbled dismissively. 

He wasn't in the mood to face his ministers right now. Sudeshna Kaki’s revelations and Teja Kaka's confession still had his mind rushing. Besides, the disguise was starting to get uncomfortable. He couldn't wait to peel it off and take a nice bath.

Call him entitled, but Ashwathama never wanted to feel cheap clothes against his skin again. Just as he didn't want rice flour anywhere near him.

Ranadev, however, hadn't noticed his discomfort. 

“Will you not address the court?” the man pushed. “The verdict has been held off for too long.”

Ashwathama turned around, his anger flaring. 

“Oh, I'll pass a verdict, alright,” Drouni snapped. “But tell me what the punishment is for, murdering or gambling?”

“For murdering, of course.” Ranadev looked offended. “Gambling is not a crime, Maharaj.”

Ashwathama folded his arms, staring his prime minister down. “Then why do my subjects defend Pundarika even while berating Shyama? In fact, most of them want her hanged simply for her skill with the dice.”

Ranadev’s gaze held Ashwathama's, calculating. He didn't reply immediately. A long silence passed between them before he finally spoke.

“Did the townsfolk tell you that?” he asked carefully.

“Yes, they did,” Ashwathama confirmed.

He watched as Ranadev's expression shifted from anticipation to relief, as if those words were exactly what he wanted to hear. Ashwathama ground his teeth in annoyance.

“That's because the townsfolk have been victims of her games,” said Mahamantri, now bolder. “It's more personal to them than the murders, I think.”

“Are you telling me the townsfolk are more bothered about losing wealth than the murders of their kin?” Ashwathama's question made Ranadev falter.

“They're bothered by the murders, too, Maharaj,” he defended. “They're terrified of her. Most consider it a blessing she's locked up.”

“A blessing because she won't be gambling anymore,” Ashwathama retorted, unconvinced. 

“No, no, Maharaj, you're mistaken,” Ranadev argued. “This isn't just about the gambling. Or the townsfolk, for that matter. The men she killed were all village heads and landlords, from outside the city.”

Ranadev was oblivious to the sinister eagerness that was taking over Ashwathama. He was making a mistake.

“They were more involved with the villagers,” the prime minister went on. “If you want to understand the real effect Pundarika had made, you should talk to them, Maharaj. I'll take you to them myself, if you want to. They'll tell you everything.”

There it was. 

Ashwathama tilted his head, watching him. “The villagers?”

“Yes, Maharaj. The villagers.” Ranadev nodded eagerly, as if reassuring himself. “They’ll tell you the truth.”

“The truth?” Ashwathama echoed, his tone eerily soft. “You mean the truth you paid them to say?”

Ranadev sucked in a sharp breath. His body stiffened before he could stop it, his hand twitching at his side. “I—”

Ashwathama smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“How much did it cost?” he asked, voice smooth as a dagger’s edge. “How much does it take to make a man betray himself? How much to make sure your perceived threat is eliminated at all costs?”

Ranadev’s lips parted, then closed again. His throat bobbed as he struggled for words, but nothing came.

Silence.

Ashwathama let him choke on it.

Then, with a sharp inhale, Ranadev straightened. He forced his expression back into something composed, something unshaken. “I do not know what you mean, Maharaj. If you wish, I will—”

“The verdict will be made when I want to make it,” Ashwathama cut him off coldly, his voice a final strike of the blade.

Then he turned on his heels and left.

Chapter Text

Over the past week, the honour-obsessed prison guard, who talked too much for his own good, had turned into Navya's news source. He spoke as if to spite her. Little did he know, she was pressing his buttons just right to get information.

Today, he had brought her something interesting.

Maharaj Ashwathama had apparently spent the previous day among his subjects, in disguise. When he'd finally returned, he had some kind of verbal showdown with the Mahamantri; then locked himself in his room without even bothering to acknowledge the court.

Very intriguing.

Navya was still deciding whether this was in her favour or not when a familiar set of footsteps echoed down the tunnel. Ashwathama.

She sat up straight, combing through her shingled hair so she wouldn't look as ragged as she felt. Any sign of weakness could immediately crumble the delicate balance she'd maintained with him.

When the king finally stepped into the light, Navya smiled sweetly. “Pranipat, Maharaj.”

Ashwathama ignored the greeting. “I want to talk to you.”

A witty retort rested on Navya's tongue, but the seriousness in Ashwathama's eyes stopped her from saying it out loud.

“Talk?” she asked instead. “About what?”

“About you.” 

The king's response was swift. He didn't hesitate, didn't seem to be thinking over his next words. It was almost like he had a script planned in his head.

Navya studied him carefully. His stance was stiff, his muscles wound too tight. His expression hadn't wavered once. He wasn't just here to talk about her. He wanted answers.

“What about me, Maharaj?” Navya pushed, leaning forward.

Ashwathama's gaze darkened. “Who are you?”

That caught Navya off guard. She let out a laugh.

“Who am I? Really? I thought you'd have an idea by now.”

“So did I,” Ashwathama said, lips thinning in annoyance. “But the more I hear, the less sense it makes.”

Navya raised an eyebrow. 

“The ministers are afraid of you,” Ashwathama went on. “They try to deny it, but I can see it. Their hate stems from fear.”

That wasn't news to Navya. She knew just how badly she'd shaken Panchal's court in the last two years. She didn't say that out loud, though.

“The people in town don't care,” Ashwathama went on. “If anything, they're impressed. But they still hate you for something as trivial as gambling.”

Navya couldn't help but grin at that.

“It wasn't trivial, Maharaj,” she beamed. “A good chunk of them lost almost everything to me.”

Ashwathama inhaled sharply. “You were robbing them, then.”

“Robbing them?” Navya put on an expression of mock offense. “They kept betting, Your Highness. They kept rolling the dice. I never forced anyone.”

Drouni looked like he was debating whether to argue or not.

“Maybe,” he said finally, deciding against it. “But the point still stands that they do not fear you. At least, not as much as the ministers do.”

Navya shrugged. Ashwathama's eyes didn't leave her for an uncomfortably long moment.

“But the villagers loved you.”

A subtle smirk appeared on the king's lips as Navya stirred at his words. For the love of Mahadev! Now he knew that had gotten her.

“They loved you when you were just a gambler bringing them money,” Ashwathama pressed, “and they still love you as their Gramani’s murderer.”

“Did you not hear about the part where they turned me in?” Navya asked casually.

“They were paid to do that,” Ashwathama said. “Gold and a full year of tax exemption for turning in ‘Pundarika's messenger’.”

Navya blinked.

She blinked again.

It took everything in her to not react to that revelation.

Teja Kaka and the villagers hadn't just been caught in the middle; they were paid to betray her. 

Navya didn't know what to do with that information. And she definitely couldn't let Ashwathama know the impact it had on her.

So she plastered on a smirk.

“They were paid off?” she mused. “Was that what your little argument with the Mahamantri was about?”

Now it was Ashwathama's turn to be caught off guard. His eyes went wide.

“How did you know?” the king breathed.

“I have my ways.” Navya's grin grew wider. 

The orange glow of the torches seemed to highlight Ashwathama's growing curiosity. Navya could see his resolve being broken down piece by piece.

He wanted to understand her. She could tell as much from the way he looked at her, like she was a vault he couldn't wait to open.

When Ashwathama spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. “How do you do this?”

“Do what?” Navya quirked an eyebrow.

“Be so unaffected,” he said. “You murdered people, Pundarika. You've been caught. Any day now, you will be executed. Does it not faze you?”

Navya smiled. He was playing into her hands at last. Now, she needed to focus. This conversation might make or break her future and survival.

“It doesn't faze me, Maharaj,” she stated lazily. “Because I won't be executed.”

“What makes you so sure?” Ashwathama asked, nostrils flaring.

“Ah, this dance again,” Navya drawled. “You will insist you can kill me right now, I'll say you won't. Yet, you will keep insisting until you finally walk away, because, no matter what you say, you can't kill me.” She looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Isn't that what's going to happen?”

Ashwathama had gone pale. He looked lost for words, his mouth slightly ajar.

Navya stood up and moved closer to bars, closer to Ashwathama, and looked directly into the man's eyes.

“But, if you really wanna know, maharaj,” she started, “I’m so sure because I believe in the effect of karma. I will not be executed, because I haven't committed a crime.”

Ashwathama's brow furrowed. He stepped forward, slightly taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you think I was just wandering around, killing people for fun?" She shook her head. "Those men were corrupt, Maharaj. They were guilty of far worse crimes than anything they could accuse me of.”

The king looked away, uncomfortable under her burning gaze. 

“I'd gathered as much,” he mumbled. 

He let out a breath, as if to steady himself.

"But you still killed them," he said, his tone more forceful now, as though trying to bring everything back to the one undeniable truth. "You killed them with deception, with poison, with no honor in your methods."

"I never claimed to be honorable," Navya shot back. "I never claimed to fight like a warrior. I’m not a warrior, Maharaj. I’m a gambler. I play risky games.”

“Did you just call murder a game?” Ashwathama sneered. “That doesn't really help your defence.”

“No, it doesn't,” Navya agreed. “But, tell me, do you believe in justice, Drouni?”

Ashwathama's jaw clenched.

“That’s what you call yourself, isn’t it?” she pressed, eyes gleaming. “Son of Dronacharya. Bound to the throne.”

Ashwathama narrowed his gaze. “And?”

Navya tilted her head. “Do you believe in justice?”

“Of course, I do,” he said.

Navya smiled. “I served justice by killing those men.”

Ashwathama scowled. 

“Justice would've been reporting those men to the authorities,” he retorted. “You could've gone to the king.”

“Gone to the king?” Navya laughed in his face. “Do you really think that would've done something?” She shook her head. “When powerful men commit crimes, the poor suffer, maharaj. Such men need to be removed, not reported.”

“Removed?” Ashwathama snapped. “You became a murderer by killing those men!”

“I'm a murderer for punishing criminals?” Navya asked. “Then tell me, Maharaj, won't you become a murderer by executing me?”

Ashwathama drew in a quick breath. The torchlight seemed to dim.

“It's not the same,” he said at last.

Navya's lips curved up slowly, gaze never leaving Ashwathama's.

“How is it not?” she pushed.

Ashwathama looked lost again. His eyes wandered. His arms twitched at his sides.

Navya watched him patiently. The talks of justice and karma didn't really matter much to her. Sure, the murders were for a reason. But this conversation, her exaggerated sense of justice, was meant for Ashwathama alone. She was going to use his own sense of honour and duty against him.

And when Ashwathama once again stormed out with clenched fists, growling, “It just isn't,” Navya knew she'd won.

Chapter Text

The last rays of the setting sun cast an orange glow on the snow white marble of Ahichhatra's palace. With the ministers and courtiers retiring to their chambers, a silence had descended all over. Only the footsteps of servants remained, hurrying to light the torches.

An evening as calm and peaceful as a warm bath.

And yet, Ashwathama's mind was in a raging turmoil.

He paced the corridors like a madman, a stark contrast to the castle's tranquility. The feelings running rampant in him didn't make sense—anger? Frustration? Helplessness?

Ashwathama had gone to his father earlier, when his thoughts threatened to eat him alive. Tomorrow, his father would return to his gurukul, to train the princes of Hastinapur for their upcoming kalapradharshan. Drona had also offered to train Dhrishtyadumn, a peace offering that Drupad had taken reluctantly.

Ashwathama thought it foolish, but he hadn't mentioned it. That wasn't what he'd wanted to talk about.

He'd sat by his father's legs and poured his heart out. Guru Drona had listened patiently as he told him about the venture into Ahichhatra, Mahamantri Ranadev's scheme, senani Veersatru's constant nagging, the court's disapproval, and his conversation with Pundarika the day before; the one that had him spiralling.

"You are a warrior, putr," was his father's response. "A king. Don't let your emotions get the better of you. Do what you believe is dharma. I know you're capable of making that decision."

Ashwathama didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't that. Frustration and hurt had robbed his breath in that moment, and it took everything in him to not set the room on fire.

If I were Arjun, would you have given a different answer? he wanted to ask. If I were Arjun, would you have held me in your arms and comforted me? Told me what to do with this mess?

But he wasn't Arjun. He was Dronaputra Ashwathama. And this was all he was ever going to get.

The thought stung more than he expected.

So he'd left without another word.

Now here he was—a lost king haunting his own corridors.

Even as Surya Dev took his leave for the day, Ashwathama didn't head for his chambers. He didn't want to. He wanted to walk and walk and walk until he was far away from Ahichhatra and its politics. Far away from the ministers and the subjects and that hot-headed senani. Far away from the woman responsible for it all.

The torches had begun casting flickering shadows everywhere when Ashwathama came upon the maid carrying a large pitcher of water. She stopped in her tracks, immediately bowing with respect.

"Pranipath Maharaj," she greeted, a tremble evident in her voice. Perhaps surprised at being caught by the king at such a late hour.

"Can I have some water?" the king asked before he could think his words through.

Ashwathama still wasn't used to having servants. He constantly found himself asking instead of ordering, and it only fueled his frustration.

He groaned inwardly as the maid shifted, tensed.

"Of course, Maharaj," she stammered, placing her pitcher down. Confusion overtook Ashwathama as she turned to walk away.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To get you water, Maharaj." Her answer was shaky. "I'll fetch it from the kitchens."

Ashwathama blinked. He wondered if he was going crazy, or if the girl was playing with him.

"There's water in the pitcher," he stated, feeling stupid.

"You can't drink that water!" the girl exclaimed. "It's meant for the prisons."

"But it's water, yes?" Ashwathama asked, to which the girl nodded meekly. "Then why can't I drink it?"

"Because..." The girl's eyes flitted around as she wrung her hands nervously.

Something about her panic amused Ashwathama. He smiled.

"What's your name?"

The girl looked shocked at the question. So shocked, that Ashwathama wondered if he'd offended her somehow. She just gaped at him for a moment, not speaking.

"Rakhi, maharaj," she answered at last.

"Well, Rakhi," Ashwathama said, "I'm thirsty and you have a pitcher of water right here. Don't you think running off to the kitchens right now is a bit pretentious?"

"But, Maharaj—"

"No, don't," Ashwathama cut her off, smiling. "Let's not argue about this right now."

He picked up the pitcher and took a sip before Rakhi could pass out from being accused of arguing with the king. Only when he drank it did Ashwathama realise just how parched he was. His throat was raw, his mind weary from too many hours spent tangled in thoughts. He drank as if the water might wash away his frustration. One sip. Then another. And another, until the pitcher was empty.

Ashwathama sheepishly handed the empty pitcher to the wide-eyed Rakhi.

"Looks like you might have to run back to the kitchens afterall," he observed.

"That's not an issue, Maharaj," Rakhi assured him. "It is my duty to serve the king."

Ashwathama grinned awkwardly as the girl turned away.

"Let's hope I don't catch you taking food into the prisons," he chuckled.

But Rakhi stopped in her tracks. She whipped around, eyes wide and chest heaving. Her pitcher dropped with Ashwathama's smile.

"Nahi, Maharaj," she squeaked. "I wouldn't— I would never—"

"What's going on?" Ashwathama stepped closer to the panicking maid. "Are you alright?"

"You would never catch me taking food to the prisons!" Rakhi declared, looking close to screaming. "I wouldn't dare disobey you, maharaj."

Ashwathama was absolutely stunned by her reaction. He hadn't meant to cause such trouble for the young maid. Now that he had, he didn't know how to fix it.

"Rakhi, please, calm down," he urged. "I was only jesting. You don't have to worry about me while taking food to the prisons."

Rakhi looked even more shocked, if that was even possible.

"I have to take food to the prisons?" she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Oh, is that someone else's task?" Ashwathama scrambled to make sense of where this conversation was going. "You need not worry if it isn't yours. Focus on your duties alone, it's alright."

"Maharaj," Rakhi said slowly, as if she too was trying to understand the situation, "are you retracting your order?"

Ashwathama frowned. "What order?"

Rakhi looked as confused as he felt.

"The order you gave us a few days ago, Maharaj," she explained. "You ordered us to stop feeding Pundarika."

Ashwathama froze. His mind came to a complete halt. A torch crackled out behind them. The corridor turned darker.

All Ashwathama could do was breathe out a dazed, "What?"

As Rakhi spoke, Ashwathama's thoughts began to spiral, and he could almost feel his heart thudding painfully against his ribs. The air seemed to grow heavier with each word she said.

They didn't make sense at first. He couldn't reconcile what Rakhi was saying with the reality he knew. As she spoke, the pieces began to fall into place, and the horror slowly dawned on him.

They were starving her.

"Who?" Ashwathama's voice was low, but sharp as a knife. "Who told you to do it?"

"You did, maharaj," Rakhi answered, though she sounded doubtful. "You ordered it."

"I didn't," Ashwathama growled. "Whoever told you to do it lied." He stepped forward, steadying his breathing. "Tell me, Rakhi. Who was it?"

Rakhi sucked in a sharp breath, looking at Ashwathama with wide eyes.

"Mahamantri Ranadev," she mumbled. "He said it was your order."

Burning fury spiked through Ashwathama. He ran his hand through his air, jaw clenched.

Mahamantri Ranadev.

Everyday, the man revealed another scheme meant to undermine Ashwathama. From his open defiance to bribing the villagers, Ashwathama had already accepted his own Mahamantri as his most powerful opponent.

But this? Starving an already imprisoned woman? This was a new low that Ashwathama couldn't have possibly imagined. The lack of honour, the absolute cruelty of it...

He had just left his father, burning with frustration, with no answers, no comfort. And now, as he stood in the darkening hallway, the anger swelled once more, at the honorless schemes in his own court.

As if noticing his mounting rage, Rakhi bowed her head.

"If it helps, maharaj," she started nervously, "most of us believe Pundarika isn't human."

Ashwathama's nostrils flared. "I have to be okay with this inhumane cruelty because you think she isn't human?"

"No Maharaj," the maid defended. "What I meant to say is, she doesn't seem to be starving."

"What?" Ashwathama snapped.

He tried to think back. Had she looked weaker? Thinner? He had seen her, spoken to her—but he hadn't noticed.

Fury twisted in his gut, not just at the Mahamantri, but at himself. He should have known.

"I haven't told the Mahamantri about it," Rakhi said, "but it looks like she can survive on water alone, Maharaj. We think she might be an asura or a..."

Rakhi trailed off as she noticed Ashwathama's hateful scowl.

"You can ramble all you want," he sneered. "But you cannot defend withholding food from anyone. Not even someone who commited the crime of killing a woman's womb."

Rakhi looked lost, trembling under Ashwathama's burning gaze. Her fingers picked at the hem of her dupatta. She kept blinking, as if trying to hold in her tears.

"I- I didn't know, Maharaj," she stammered. "I was only..."

Ashwathama sighed. There was no use taking his anger out on the maid. It wasn't like she could've done anything.

"Listen, Rakhi," Ashwathama started, his voice softer, "I didn't mean to be rude. I know you thought you were following my order, but I never ordered such a thing."

Rakhi nodded, lips trembling.

Ashwathama sighed again. The anger still churned in his chest, but it was replaced with something more urgent. He couldn't stand by while injustice went unchallenged. He was done waiting around while everyone around him made moves under his very nose.

"Go to the kitchens and take some food down to her," he ordered. "Right now."

"Yes, maharaj." Rakhi was about to walk away, still trembling, when another thought struck Ashwathama.

"Wait," he called. "Bring the food to me. I'll take it to her myself."

Rakhi's eyes went wide again, but the girl didn't argue. As she hurried away with a curt nod, Ashwathama stood still in the dark corridor. The weight of what he had learned felt suffocating, but his resolve was clear. He would not let this adharma stand. Not under his watch.

The platter grew heavier in Ashwathama's arms as he stepped into the dungeons. Even as the sleepy guard scrambled to greet him, Ashwathama could focus only on the strange feeling churning in his gut: guilt.

Ashwathama didn't want to face her. His own lack of awareness had brought this torture upon her. How could one meal make up for it? What would he even tell her? Hey, I'm sorry I didn't notice my Mahamantri trying to murder you under my nose. Here's some roti to compensate.

Despite his misgivings, he found himself standing before her cell again, taking in her sleeping form through the bars. Ashwathama watched her rest, peaceful and calm.

Maybe it was because she was sleeping, but he couldn't find any signs of starvation on her. She seemed quite healthy. A little worn out, maybe, but definitely not dying.

As if sensing his presence, her eyes shot open. Ashwathama barely had time to blink before she was standing up straight, arms folded and a faint smirk on her lips.

"Quite late for a visit, isn't it, Maharaj?" she asked in a voice laced with sleep.

"I... brought you food." Ashwathama held up the platter.

He didn't know what exactly he was expecting, but it wasn't for her smirk to widen.

"Whatever happened to not feeding me?" she joked, eyebrows knitting together.

Something painful twisted in Ashwathama's gut. The guilt was unbearable. And yet, he felt a need to defend himself.

"Do you really believe I would do something as dishonourable as starving you?" he inquired, slightly hurt.

"Let's be honest, Maharaj," Navya scoffed. "I know you about as well as you know me, which is not at all." Her gaze darkened. "Besides, I haven't eaten in days. So forgive me if I believed it was Ahichhatra's king's decision."

Ashwathama looked away.

"I didn't know." His words tasted bitterly naive. "I never wanted this to happen, but the Mahamantri..."

Ashwathama sighed, feeling her eyes on him. There was nothing he could tell her without sounding dangerously irresponsible. And that was not a good look for a king.

"Let me guess," she drawled, "Ranadev decided to not take any risks with you sparing me?"

Ashwathama's grip on the platter tightened. "Something like that."

To his surprise, she snorted out a laugh. "Smart move!"

She walked closer to the confused Ashwathama, her eyes boring into his. A venomous smile still adorned her lips. It hadn't left once since they started speaking. She didn't seem to pay any heed to the food he held either. Was she truly unbreakable, or was it an act to hold onto some semblance of power?

Whatever it was, it still rattled Ashwathama more than he was willing to admit.

"It seemed more cruel than smart," Ashwathama argued, trying not to sound fazed. "Beheading you in your cell would've been kinder."

"Kinder and more honorable, right, Maharaj?" Her eyes glinted with mirth. "But that would get him into trouble with you."

"As if this wouldn't," Ashwathama sneered.

"Ah, but that's only because he got caught," she purred. "He wasn't expecting you to find out."

Ashwathama was forced to avoid her gaze again. Everything his Mahamantri said and did seemed to be specifically for undermining his authority. It was blatantly obvious that Ranadev considered him incompetent, maybe even stupidly ignorant. It set Ashwathama's blood on fire.

Pundarika leaned closer, studying him with great care. Something about her look made his insides squirm.

"Thank you for the food, Maharaj," she said softly. "But it wasn't really necessary."

That caught Ashwathama's attention.

"What do you mean?" he snapped. "You haven't had food in days."

She quirked an eyebrow.

"Do I look like someone who's been starving for days?"

She stepped back and did a twirl, like a Rajkumari showing off her new silks. The motion was so absurd to Ashwathama, considering the situation, that his jaw fell open.

His obvious bafflement seemed to amuse her.

"Can you keep a secret, Maharaj?" she challenged, chuckling.

She didn't wait for his reply before stepping closer again. Then, in the softest of voices, she whispered, "I don't need food to survive, Drouni. The only sustenance I need is water."

Ashwathama blinked. For a moment, he couldn't process her words. When his senses returned from Devalok, he snorted.

"That story might work with the maids," he scoffed, "but not me. I am not a child."

"I didn't say you were a child," she shrugged. "I'm simply letting you know something. And if you really think it's a myth, then explain how I'm not dying yet."

Ashwathama didn't have an answer for that. He thought of different ways—a compliant guard or servant, stealing from the guards, something—but none of it seemed possible.

An irrational part of him was tempted to believe her. That smirk didn't belong to a starving woman. Those sharp words couldn't have come from a starving woman. Maybe Rakhi was right; maybe she wasn't human at all.

"How?" Ashwathama rasped. "How can you live on water?"

She hummed lightly, like someone reveling in their victory. Like he had just played right into her hands.

"I can't tell you that," she pouted. "Not for free, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Ashwathama asked.

"Secrets are valuable, Maharaj," she drawled. "If you want mine, I'll want yours."

Ashwathama couldn't tell where she was going with this. He tried to ignore his sense of foreboding. This time, his curiosity was winning.

"A secret for a secret?" he asked.

"Oh no, no, no," she laughed. "I'm not a trader, Maharaj. We'll gamble on our secrets."

The air in the dungeon seemed to get denser, like it was closing in on him.

"Gamble?" Ashwathama asked. "You want me to bet against you? Ahichhatra's most notorious deceiver?"

"You wound me, Maharaj!" She threw a hand over her heart. "I would never cheat against you."

"This is ridiculous," Ashwathama snapped. "Why would I even entertain this?"

"Because you're curious," she said without hesitation. "And I'm willing to play."

For a long while, Ashwathama considered it. She was right; his curiosity was going to be the death of him. This was foolish. Reckless, even. But, just for the sake of it, he wanted to know what she was playing at.

"Well?" she pressed again. "Are you going to play?"

There couldn't have been anything inherently malicious about her request. As long as they were betting on secrets, nothing could possibly go wrong. Besides, if she truly had a way to cheat death, wasn't it his duty to know?

Ashwathama sighed. "Yes," he muttered finally.

He called out to the guard before he could change his mind. "Open the cell. I need to go in."

The guard obeyed without questions, unlocking the metal bars to let Ashwathama in with the food.

He was about to walk away when Ashwathama uttered the words that made the guard freeze in his tracks;

Chapter Text

Navya had nearly finished her meal—roti, daal and some spicy meat—when the guard returned. She couldn't help the thrill that rose within her as he handed the dice to Ashwathama.

Dyut was her thing. Her strength. Suddenly, the cell didn't feel so claustrophobic anymore.

"Stake a secret, Maharaj," she told Ashwathama, who didn't share her excitement. "You can roll first."

Ashwathama gazed at her, green eyes glowing with suspicion. He didn't seem too comfortable on the cold earth floor, but he didn't speak.

They chose their odds.

The king rolled.

Navya grinned.

"You lost, Maharaj," she purred.

In the orange torchlight, Ashwathama's displeasure seemed sharper; darker. Yet, he stayed quiet. Navya could almost see the thoughts running through his head. He was weighing out the risks of revealing his secrets; just like everyone else who gambled.

Navya knew the drill. They'd all start small—harmless secrets and cheap possessions. But dyut had a way of tying down even the most judicious of them all. In the end, she alone would emerge victorious.

"If you really wish to know," Ashwathama started, "my Mahamantri is already running schemes behind my back. I wouldn't be surprised if he organised a revolt against me."

Navya tilted her head. Testing the waters. Smart.

"That isn't really a secret," she pointed out. "But I'll let you have it."

She picked up the dice and chose her odds. She rolled.

Ashwathama's defeated sigh was like that of a man who'd lost his only son. A bit dramatic, if Navya was being honest.

This time, Navya didn't wait for him to come up with a secret. She had her own questions.

"Tell me, Maharaj," she drawled. "What's the story behind the jewel?"

Ashwathama's hand immediately went to his forehead, where the gemstone shone like the moon.

"I was born with it," he answered without hesitation. "It gives me protection. From everything."

Navya raised an eyebrow.

"An exploitable weakness," she observed, a coy smile on her lips.

Ashwathama's nostrils flared. He sat up straight, muscular chest puffed out.

"My greatest strength," he corrected.

Navya didn't reply. She simply smiled, enjoying the way she'd gotten under his skin so easily. Ashwathama scoffed and prepared to roll again.

Now, she had to let him win.

The victory would soothe his annoyance. He would keep going, if only to get at her. He'll get himself stuck too deep. And soon, Ahichhatra's Maharaj Dronaputra Ashwathama's soul will be laid bare before her.

Her heart skipped at the thought. Grinning to herself, she chose the losing odds this time.

Ashwathama's eyes lit up as the dice rolled in his favour. "Your turn, Pundarika," he challenged.

"Well, Maharaj," Navya said, "I think you'd like to know that your scheming, revolting Mahamantri is a slave to wine and soma."

Ashwathama stared at Navya, his mouth agape.

"How do you even know this?" he stammered.

"It's common knowledge, really." Navya shrugged. "You might be the only one in this palace who didn't know."

Ashwathama blinked, clearly stunned. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he shook his head.

"That's not a valid secret," he said. "I need to know how you survive on water."

"Of course you do," Navya chuckled. "You wouldn't believe me, though."

Ashwathama narrowed his eyes. Navya could see the curiosity flickering in them, but she wasn't ready to make this easy for him.

"I'm not entirely human, Maharaj," she said. "I was born from the sea."

"Oh, shut up," Ashwathama snapped. "I have enough subjects running around believing that rumour."

Navya raised an eyebrow. "What, that I was born from the sea?"

Ashwathama faltered. "No, that you're not human."

Navya huffed out a laugh. "That's just their way of calling me a rakshasi. Nothing factual about it."

"But being born from the sea is completely factual?" Ashwathama scowled, clearly not amused.

"I'm not lying," Navya defended. "My father, Varuna dev, formed me out of the waves. I'm made of water, Maharaj. So I can live on water."

Ashwathama was quiet for a while, his bewilderment almost amusing to Navya.

He let out a sharp exhale, eyes flickering in the torchlight. Then, a smirk. A slow, dangerous one.

"So if I cut you," he mused, "will you bleed water instead of blood?"

Navya tilted her head, smiling. "Only one way to find out, Maharaj."

Ashwathama's fingers curled, but he didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he let out a breath and leaned back against the stone wall.

"You're lying," he deadpanned.

"Why would I lie?" Navya was trying hard to hide her amusement. "Maharaj, you possess a mani that makes you invincible. How is it so hard to believe my father is a god?"

Once again, Ashwathama was speechless. He didn't take his eyes off her, studying her with a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

Finally, he sighed. The torches flickered, casting long shadows on the walls.

"So you're Varunaputri." It wasn't a question. Just a statement.

Navya nodded.

"Shambho..." Ashwathama whispered, inhaling deeply.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Navya grabbed the dice.

"My turn," she said, getting ready to roll.

Ashwathama shook himself back to reality. He chose his odds. Navya smiled as she rolled the dice.

She won.

Ashwathama sighed.

This time, he didn't wait for too long. As though he was waiting for a chance to reveal it, the king said, "I didn't want to be king."

Navya would've been lying if she said she wasn't startled. Her smile faltered. Her breath quickened.

"What do you mean?" she pressed.

For a moment, Ashwathama's words hung in the air, fragile, as if spoken against his will. His gaze dropped to Navya's now empty plate, his fingers tapping nervously against the stone floor. When he finally spoke, it wasn't as a confident king, but as a man weighed down by the chains of his own fate.

"These schemes and court politics and duties, they're stomping me down." He sat up straight and met Navya's eyes. "I'm not trying to be ungrateful. My father has done everything for me. Made sure I never have to experience poverty again. But..."

He sighed again. "Sometimes it feels like I just replaced one burden with another."

Navya wanted to feel something for the man's revelation. Maybe sympathy. But the best she could do was skepticism.

Sure, it was her plan to have him spilling everything. This, however, was a bit too personal, a bit too early. What was he playing at?

"Why are you telling me this?" Navya asked, voice low.

"Because we're betting on our secrets," Ashwathama said nonchalantly. "And I figured I might not have another chance to say this. To get it out of my mind."

"You're taking the opportunity to vent?" Navya raised an eyebrow.

Ashwathama shrugged. "I guess you could say that."

Navya narrowed her eyes. But she didn't argue. For the first time since meeting Ashwathama, she felt something bubbling within her: curiosity. If he was going to talk, she wanted to listen.

And yet, she didn't let any of her thoughts out. She simply pushed the dice towards him. "Your move, maharaj."

Navya didn't know why she chose the losing odds this time. Maybe she wanted to let him breathe after that confession. Maybe she was just bored.

Whatever it might be, when Ashwathama won the round, Navya only smiled.

"Ask me something you wanna know," she offered.

Ashwathama tilted his head.

"If you were born from the sea," he said, "you can't be from Panchal."

Navya let out a chuckle. "You wanna know where I'm from?"

"No." The king shook his head. "I want to know how you got here."

Once again, Navya couldn't help but admire his cleverness. She hadn't expected him to figure it out, much less probe so deep into her past.

"It's a long story, Maharaj," Navya deflected.

"We've got time," Ashwathama replied with a casual shrug.

The earthen floor grew colder beneath her palms. But Navya didn't back down.

"I was raised in Kalinga," she said, the words slipping out easier than she imagined. "When I began my life at twelve, I took shelter under Maharaj Kali. Learned everything about poisons from him."

"Wait, Maharaj Kali of Kalinga?" Ashwathama interrupted. "The head of the biggest spy network in southern Bharatvarsh?"

Navya gave him a taunting smirk. "How many other King Kalis do you know of?"

Ashwathama narrowed his eyes. "You're telling me you worked for the most cunning strategist and spymaster in recent history?"

"I didn't work under him," Navya corrected. "He trained me. Until he died in the second year. I left after King Chitrangada was coronated, because I wanted to know what lay beyond Kalinga."

The torches were burning lower. Time was passing faster than Navya expected.

"What did you find beyond Kalinga?" Ashwathama pressed.

Navya shrugged. "A year of moving around and learning dice from Kousilyan locals. And then Panchal. Not very eventful."

"Uneventful?" Ashwathama raised an eyebrow. "What about the five murders?"

"You can't ask about those yet, Maharaj," Navya teased, picking the dice up. "That's for another turn."

Ashwathama's expression didn't change, but Navya caught a flicker of a smile on his lips.

"Born from the sea, trained by a king, currently a vigilante assassin," he scoffed, shaking his head. "What next, destined to save the world?"

Navya snorted. Not mockingly, but with a genuine laugh.

"Who knows," she joked. "Maybe I am."

This time, Ashwathama actually smiled. His dimpled grin caught the fading light, and for the first time, Navya saw just how ethereally handsome he was. Her eyes lingered on his face for a moment longer than she should have.

She didn't look away as she picked the dice up. She chose her odds and rolled again. She won, obviously.

But this time, when she asked, "What is it like having Dronacharya as your father?" it wasn't just a question to get him talking. There was something deeper. She was genuinely curious.

She wanted to know more about him, and she couldn't decide if it was a good thing or pure idiocy.

She put her thoughts on hold when Ashwathama started speaking.

"It feels almost surreal," he admitted. "Every time someone speaks of him, I can't help but be proud. The greatest preceptor of our time birthed me. I am honoured to be my father's son. But..."

Ashwathama's smile faded, and when his eyes met Navya's, there was something heavy in them.

"Sometimes," he started, "I feel I'll never be enough for him."

Navya leaned forward, eyebrows furrowing. "What do you mean? I've heard you're a formidable warrior yourself."

"Formidable warrior, indeed," Ashwathama jeered. "I can be the best warrior in the world, and yet, Arjun will somehow be better."

"Arjun?" Navya cocked her head.

Ashwathama nodded. "He's a prince of Hastinapur. The third Pandava. My father's favorite disciple. Pitashri was so focused on making his found son the best archer in the world, that somewhere along the way, he forgot he had his own son."

Navya let out a breath, the weight of his words settling in. She wasn't sure what to say.

"It must be difficult," she said, her voice softer than before. For a moment, she saw beyond the façade of the king and caught a glimpse of the man behind it. The son who longed for his father's approval.

"It was bad enough that all my life I had to share my father with nearly 150 others," Ashwathama went on. "But it hurts knowing I'll never be anything more than his second choice. Maybe even third or fourth."

Navya fell silent, the air thick with the quiet intensity of his confession. After a moment, she spoke carefully. "And yet, your father won a kingdom for you. Isn't that choosing you over Arjun?"

Ashwathama scoffed again.

"Arjun doesn't need a kingdom," he said, eyes darkening. "He's a prince." He met Navya's eyes. "In fact, I don't want a kingdom either. I just—"

He trailed off, his eyes flickering to the dice. "Forget it. You wouldn't understand."

He reached for the dice again, his sudden dismissal leaving Navya confused. He had just opened up in a way she didn't expect, but now, he was pulling away. She could feel the tension, and though she didn't know exactly why, she knew he needed space.

If she pushed too much, he would break. And when powerful men lost control, people got hurt.

She gathered her thoughts quickly, realizing she had to choose her odds carefully. Even before the dice had fully settled, Navya knew she'd lost.

When the numbers came up, Ashwathama looked at her, his gaze intense.

"What's your name?" he asked, catching her off guard.

Before she could stop herself, navya blurted out, "What?"

"Your real name," Ashwathama pushed. "What is it? Is it— what was that name?" He tapped the stone floor, eyebrows knitted in thought.

"You want to know my name?" Navya still couldn't process why he would ask that.

Ashwathama snapped his fingers, the sound echoing through the stone dungeons.

"Shyama!" he exclaimed. "Is Shyama your real name?"

"It's one of my names." Navya shrugged. "I go by many."

Ashwathama's green eyes bore into Navya's very soul as he asked, "Which one is your favourite?"

Navya didn't reply. If he—or anyone, for that matter—had asked her that an hour ago, Navya would've answered 'Shyama' without hesitation. That was all anyone ever had to know.

But now, Navya felt a stirring inside her, an urge to reveal something she had long kept hidden. She could tell him the truth. He had already seen so much of her. Why not this?

Before she knew it, a small smile was tugging at her lips. For the first time in forever, the name she chose for herself was spoken out loud.

"Navya," she said, almost in a whisper, and for a moment, it felt like the world stood still.

"Navya," Ashwathama rolled her name on his tongue, as if testing it. It sent a jolt of emotion through her. When was the last time someone had used that name?

The truth was, never. She'd always kept it to herself. It was meant to be her own little secret.

But now? Now, it was his too.

Chapter Text

"What were they like, your father's disciples?"

Ashwathama let out a heavy sigh, leaning back slightly, his eyes flickering toward the flames in the sconces. He didn't know when it started—the open talking, the way she—Navya—asked questions like she genuinely cared—but the ease it brought was undeniable. He almost felt lighter, more at peace than he had in years.

"Most of them were princes," Ashwathama said, his voice softer, a bit more reflective. "From Avanti, Chedi, Hastinapur... But there were others, too. Like Karna."

Navya raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Karna? A friend?"

Ashwathama chuckled, the sound rough as it escaped his throat. "A friend? No. He was more like a brother."

Navya tilted her head, her smile widening. "A brother?"

Ashwathama's gaze softened as the memories rushed back. He hadn't spoken of these things in ages, and now, it felt like he couldn't stop. He spoke of the days at the gurukul, of Duryodhan's incessant rivalry, and Karna's unmatched prowess with a bow. He spoke of Dushasan, forever loyal, forever protective, following his brother like a religion.

"It was different then," Ashwathama said, his voice thick with the weight of memories. "We were inseparable."

Navya was quiet for a moment, considering his words. When she finally spoke, her voice was a soft whisper. "Must've been nice."

Ashwathama's smile was almost melancholic. "It was. More than I realized at the time."

His eyes fell on the dice, lying innocently on the floor like they weren't the cause of this trip down the memory line.

At this point, the game was just something to keep them talking, to keep him engaged. Did a part of him feel like she was only letting him win so he wouldn't feel too exposed and leave? Yes. But he didn't mind.

The dice tumbled across the floor, and Ashwathama realized, with an odd sort of awareness, that he was no longer playing for a win. He just wanted to keep rolling.

The numbers came up.

He lost.

Navya didn't miss a beat.

"Do you miss them?"

Ashwathama's heart tightened. He hadn't expected the question. "Yes," he said, quieter this time. "More than I can say."

"You'll meet them soon, though," Navya offered, her voice light, but there was an edge to it.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"They'll return to Hastinapur soon, right?" Navya shrugged, all innocent. "Surely, you'd go to meet them?"

Her eyes gleamed with some hidden knowledge, some calculation he couldn't quite place.

"How do you know that?" Ashwathama asked, his brows knitting in suspicion.

"Lucky guess." Navya grinned, but Ashwathama didn't miss the gleam in her eyes.

He stared at her, trying to read the subtle shift in her expression. But he was no longer sure of her intentions. In fact, he wasn't even sure of his own.

How was she doing this? Keeping him on his toes while somehow disarming him?

He shook his head to clear it as Navya picked the dice up. She casually tossed the dice again, clearly not worried about the outcome. Ashwathama was keenly aware, however. She wasn't playing randomly—this was strategy.

When she lost the round, he knew fate had little to do with it.

But still, he had some control over the game. And he was going to use it.

He leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "Do you have any friends?"

Navya's expression was guarded, and when her lips curved into a ghost of a smile, it didn't reach her eyes.

"I scam too much to make friends here," she said.

A gust of wind caused Ashwathama's hairs to stand on their ends. He tilted his head.

There was more beneath that response-he could feel it. He pushed a little harder. "Did you ever have friends?"

"Only one question per round, Maharaj," Navya reminded. Her grin was sharp, her eyes glinting, but—was that hesitation before she smiled?

Ashwathama's mouth fell open.

"You asked more than one," he pointed out.

Her grin grew wider, more playful. "You should've stopped me."

For a second, Ashwathama had the urge to start arguing like he would with his friends.

A breeze cut through the cracks in the dungeon walls, making his hair stand on end. Was he getting too comfortable with her?

No. He knew his boundaries. He knew what she was. He wasn't about to be stupid.

Without another word, he picked the dice off the cold floor. This time, he lost again.

Navya didn't ask him a question this time. She simply watched him, her gaze calculating.

When the silence stretched on for too long, he raised an eyebrow. "Well?" he prompted.

"I can't think of a question," she said. "You tell me something instead."

Was it a trap? Maybe. Quite possibly.

As he sat there on that stone prison floor, observing the woman before him, an ugly thought that had been asleep in the back of his mind reared its head again. A memory he had tried so hard to kill. A doubt that could be fatal if left to fester.

As if compelled by an invisible force, Ashwathama was suddenly answering.

"My father once made a mistake," he found himself saying. "He never accepted it. Always claimed he was being righteous. But..."

He gazed at Navya, who was leaning in, listening with interest.

"But I remember the day as clear as dawn. We were out hunting—pitashri and all of us boys. There was this Nishada boy in the forest—young, wild-eyed. He could shoot better than any of us."

"A hunter?" Navya asked.

Ashwathama nodded. "He had no guru. He'd taught himself archery. And somehow he was better than pitashri himself."

"Your father must not have been happy," Navya chuckled.

Ashwathama flinched before he could stop himself. Navya's smile fell. The air in the dungeons felt suddenly colder.

"What happened?" she asked gently.

"Pitashri was angry," Ashwathama said. "But he talked to the boy. He said he wanted to be my father's disciple. But my father, he—"

Ashwathama took a shuddering breath to calm himself.

"My father took his right thumb as Guru dakshina."

Navya's eyes went wide. For the first time since he'd met her, there was genuine shock in them.

"What?" she breathed out, and Ashwathama squirmed.

Ashwathama looked away, voice low. "I tried to believe it was just. That it was about dharma. But... it wasn't. It was unfair."

Navya looked lost for a second. Then, she took a deep breath. Her gaze softened, not pitying, but understanding.

"Your father was wrong," she said. Ashwathama felt as though he'd been slapped. "You don't need to convince yourself he was right, because he wasn't."

A childish part of Ashwathama wanted to jump to his father's defence. But the rest of him felt a little bit at ease.

He'd carried that doubt for so long, it felt good to hear someone agree with him. Even if the agreement put his father in the wrong.

He didn't say anything. Just sat there, carrying the weight of a truth he'd never said aloud.

But in the silence that followed, something shifted. Not trust, not yet—but something adjacent. Like two soldiers laying down their weapons, just for the night.

When Ashwathama picked up the dice again, he was almost eager. To stop thinking about the Nishada Ekalavya, or to learn more about Navya; he didn't know.

Navya lost, and Ashwathama didn't wait before asking, "So, did you have any friends?"

Navya was quiet for a long moment. Her gaze on him was still searching, still calculating.

"I did, once," she admitted, seemingly satisfied with her evaluation. "Lambha. From a village down by the Ganga."

Ashwathama nodded along. "Where is she now?"

Navya looked away. She ran her hand over some of the dusty locks that still littered the cell floor. "That's two questions, Maharaj," she whispered.

"Oh, come on." Ashwathama threw his hands in the air. "If we roll again, you will simply keep winning."

Navya's gaze found him, sharp and angry. "You think I'll cheat? Have I played unfairly with you?"

Ashwathama froze. "No," he said. "No, that's not what I—"

"Only one question for one roll," Navya said again.

Ashwathama sighed. Outside, the guard yawned in his sleep.

"Of course," he said, picking the dice up again.

This time, though, he won.

He looked at her, waiting for an answer. Once again, there was silence. But this silence held something heavy.

Ashwathama could almost see the way Navya's breaths seemed more laboured, her body tense. This was something big. Something important.

Finally, she said in a clear voice, "Lambha is dead."

Ashwathama's breath hitched. The cell seemed suddenly smaller, the air denser, pressing in on him.

Before he could stop himself, Ashwathama breathed out, "How?"

This time, Navya did not tell him to roll again.

Her hands curled at her sides.

"I met her when I first started playing dice in Ahichhatra," Navya started. "She was older, almost the same age as I am now. She was her husband's fourth wife. When she got bored, she sometimes ventured into town. That's how we got acquainted."

Ashwathama listened intently as Navya went on to tell him how Lambha's husband, the village head, had a habit of overtaxing the villagers illegally. Lambha, young and bent on justice, hated him for it.

When Navya told him she had started giving her own gambled wealth to Lambha so the older girl could secretly give it away, Ashwathama had expected a betrayal from Lambha's side. But the truth was worse.

"Her husband caught her distributing the gold among villagers." Navya's voice broke ever-so-slightly. "She never told him where she got the gold from. And he— he wasn't happy." Navya looked up at Ashwathama, something heavy in her eyes. "By the time I found out, her ashes had already been scattered on the Ganga."

There were no words known to men that could've helped Ashwathama in that situation.

He should have been angry, repulsed. He should've recoiled. But all he could feel was a strange admiration.

He already knew why she killed those men. He'd still called it a crime. But now?

I served justice by killing those men.

And Ashwathama believed her now.

Navya's eyes met his, dark and unflinching. She wasn't afraid of his judgment. She was, in some strange way, daring him to feel something.

"You... killed him?" Ashwathama whispered, the disbelief clear in his voice.

"Yes," she said, her lips curling into a smile that was colder than the air around them.

Ashwathama's hands trembled slightly, but he didn't look away. Her confession, raw and unfeeling, stirred something within him. Was it horror? Or something else?

He didn't want to dwell on it. He simply couldn't. The silence was suffocating. The weight of it pressed against him like the stifling heat of a furnace, burning away any remnants of doubt.

Ashwathama's hands trembled as he reached for the dice. He couldn't remember whose turn it was, but it didn't matter. It wasn't the game anymore. He needed something—anything—to steady himself. To grasp onto a shred of normalcy.

Apparently, she had the same idea.

Their hands collided, and the moment broke.

Navya pulled her hand away, as though she'd been burned. And just like that, all that had been laid bare between them was concealed again, wrapped in the veil of her cool detachment. She didn't need to say it, but he could feel the shift. The walls went back up. She wasn't vulnerable anymore.

"It's getting late, Maharaj," she said, her voice dripping with a casual indifference that didn't quite mask the catch in her throat. "The sun will rise soon."

Ashwathama, heart still tangled in the confusion of her revelation, could only nod. She was done talking. This was it. This was all he was going to get.

"You're right," he sighed in defeat. "I need to get going. My pitashri is leaving at dawn."

Navya's eyes twinkled. "I know."

He didn't ask how she knew. It didn't matter. She always did. And it wasn't as if he had anything left to ask.

Ashwathama pushed himself up, his muscles sore from sitting on the cold floor for too long. His legs protested as he stood, but it wasn't just his body that ached. His mind was hazy, a fog that clouded his thoughts. He felt... unsettled. A strange pull in his chest that had nothing to do with duty.

She'd done something to him, something subtle but undeniable. His every instinct screamed to walk away, to forget. But somehow, he couldn't. Not this time. Not after everything that had been laid bare.

Navya, standing by the cell door, watched him go. There was no longer a trace of the girl who had shared a quiet moment with him. She was the same enigma as before.

"I'll wait for your return," she said softly, her voice holding a quiet certainty. "Because you will return."

Ashwathama didn't argue. Not this time.

He stepped out, locking the door behind him. And as he walked up the stairs, he realized with a jolt that he had left the dice with her.

He sighed. Who would've known a pair of dice could change so much?
Or had it all been another plot, a gamble he hadn't seen coming?

As he walked through the sleeping palace, the halls stretching before him like some endless labyrinth, his mind wasn't focused on the road ahead. It wasn't even focused on the game. No, the realization had already come. It had sunk deep into him, like a seed planted in the dark.

Varunaputri Navya will not be executed.

And as the decision solidified within him, he felt an odd kind of peace. Maybe it wasn't the right decision, but it was his. He had chosen it.

But something inside him whispered that this wasn't the end. It was just the beginning.

Chapter Text

Ashwathama didn't return to his chambers that night. He wandered through the palace gardens, basking in the quiet darkness that existed between midnight and dawn.

The morning dew glistened on the grass. The birds slowly rose from their sleep, their sweet melodies breaking the silence. And soon, the sky blushed pink in the east.

Dawn was upon him, and there, in front of Suryadev, Ashwathama spoke his decision out loud.

"I will not execute her," he whispered to the winds.

His mind was set now. And for the first time since he'd been crowned, he felt he'd finally done something right.

It wasn't long before Ashwathama was bidding goodbye to his father, who was leaving for his ashram again. By the time Dronacharya left, the day had fully risen.

Ashwathama walked into his courtroom. The ministers and courtiers were already in their positions, having been summoned by him earlier. They didn't seem to notice their king's lack of sleep.

Good.

He walked with his head held high, and took his place on the throne with all the pride and poise expected of him. Today, he had to stand tall. Unleashing this battle with his ministers meant he couldn't waver. At all.

"Why have you summoned us, Maharaj?" Ranadev's voice was low.

"I have an announcement to make," Ashwathama said.

The ministers looked at him expectantly, but there was a tightness in their expressions, like they were trying not to discourage a young child playing an adult's game. Ashwathama hated that look.

"It's about Na—Pundarika," he said, studying his court as intensely as they were studying him.

"Have you decided her execution date?" Senani Veersatru asked, something like triumph gleaming in his eyes.

Ashwathama's jaw clenched. The senani had always seemed so eager to get rid of Navya. His hate wasn't like Ranadev's, wrapped in fear. No, this was something personal.

While Veersatru focused on his premature celebration, Ranadev watched Ashwathama with a quiet intrigue. Like he was waiting for a fire to be lit.

And light it, he did.

"Nahi, Senani," Ashwathama replied, eyes roaming over the court. "I've decided that she will not be executed."

Silence.

And then gasps.

Ranadev froze. His eyes went wide. A vein popped near his temple.

But it was Veersatru who spoke first.

"What?" he yelled. "How— what? How can you spare her after all she's done? What has she—" He stopped, then gasped in disbelief. "She's done something to you! She's played you like she plays everyone. Maharaj, she's manipulating you!"

"What in the name of the devas, Veersatru?" Ashwathama stared at his Senani, who seemed to be on the verge of hysteria. "Are you really accusing an imprisoned woman of having power over a king?"

"Maharaj, you say that because you don't know her," Veersatru said, collecting himself. "She's capable of things we can't even fathom. She needs to be beheaded for her crimes."

"Her crimes?" Ashwathama snapped. "What exactly are her crimes, senani Veersatru?"

Veersatru's lower jaw detached itself. He blinked in shock, mouth hanging open, as though Ashwathama had just ordered his execution.

"Maharaj," Ranadev finally called in a heavy voice, "Pundarika is a murderer. She murdered five men."

Ashwathama raised an eyebrow. "Did she, now? Or did she just murder five criminals?"

Ranadev flinched, and Ashwathama caught it immediately. So the Mahamantri knew. Ashwathama wondered how many other men were misusing their power in Ahichhatra under Ranadev's protection.

Ashwathama turned to the rest of the court, who were all in various stages of disbelief.

"If you have doubts, look into the men she killed," he said, voice steady. "One was a murderer himself, and they were all committing treason, one way or the other."

Ranadev moved closer to the throne, his gold glinting in the light. "Are you implying she did us a favor?"

Veersatru sat up straighter, huffing like a bull ready to charge.

"You're going to release her?" he snapped. "Because you think she's on our side?"

"I didn't say I'm releasing her," Ashwathama shot back, annoyed at Veersatru's dramatics. "I said I don't think her crimes deserve execution. She'll stay imprisoned, but she'll live."

Ranadev sighed like Ashwathama was a particularly backward student.

"Ignorance does not suit you, Maharaj Ashwathama," he said, eyes sharp. "Leaving her alive is inviting Yamaraj into your house. Surely, Ahichhatra's king is smarter than that?"

The ministers exchanged secretive glances, lips quirked up. Ashwathama ground his teeth. There it was, Ranadev trying to get the upper hand again. This time, Ashwathama wasn't going to stand around for it.

"Why should I worry, Mahamantri?" he sneered, "It isn't like you're not here to get rid of her while I'm not looking. So why does it matter whether I execute her or not?"

Confusion adorned every face in court. But Ranadev... Ranadev's eyes went wide.

And that's all Ashwathama needed. His mahamantri knew that he knew. Ashwathama had unearthed all his schemes. And he'd chosen not to punish him for it. Now, Ranadev had no choice but to listen, because his own life was on the line.

"Maharaj, I—"

"Quiet!" Ashwathama cut him off. He stood, his gaze piercing through the court before him. His heart pounded within his chest, but he didn't let the nervousness onto his face. This was his moment. He had to show them that he wasn't a puppet for them to play with.

He was Ahichhatra's Maharaj. And he wasn't going to be controlled.

"Listen to my decision, all of you," Ashwathama commanded, voice ringing through the chamber. "I sentence Navya to a life in prison. But she will not be executed. Court dismissed!"

The courtiers sat in silence, shook to the core as Ashwathama walked past them, head held high. It was only when he passed the doors that Veersatru grumpily whispered, "Who on earth is Navya?"

Veersatru was fuming at Navya's cell again. The daughter of Varuna sighed, rolling onto her side so she wouldn't have to look at him.

"So you've done it," Veersatru declared. Navya didn't bother asking what "it" was. She was genuinely annoyed at having to deal with the senani after her sleepless night of dyut and almost-vulnerability.

"You've seduced the king," he went on. "And he doesn't even realise."

"If I seduced the king," Navya said to the stone wall, "I'd be in his bed right now. Not here."

"If you hadn't seduced the king, you'd be dead right now."

That caught Navya's attention.

She sat up, finally turning to take in Veersatru's seething form. This wasn't his usual hate for her existence. No, his eyes were a wild red, and his jaw was clenched so tight it probably hurt. Something had happened.

Something that involved her not dying.

A slow smile crept up Navya's face.

"Oh, you're cruel, Veersatru." She put a hand on her chest. "Are you saying I need to seduce kings to stay alive?"

"Then why did he cancel your execution?" Veersatru snapped, voice cracking from strain.

Navya shrugged innocently. "Maybe he realised I did only what was necessary."

"Stealing people's fortunes was necessary?" Veersatru seethed, moving closer to the bars.

Navya met his burning gaze with freezing cold eyes. "Gambling isn't a crime," she said, voice low. "And hurting your ego isn't punishable by death."

"This isn't about me," Veersatru snapped, but Navya hadn't missed his flinch. "You're a murderer, Shyama."

"Yes, I am," Navya agreed. "The murders just so happened to be national service."

Veersatru blinked. Then sneered.

"Is this the story you fed Maharaj Ashwathama? About your victims being murderers?"

Navya kicked aside a rotting lock of hair, half buried in the dust.

"They weren't all murderers." Navya's tone was casual, but she was watching the Senani's every movement. "One was. And he overtaxed peasants too. Him and two others. One was illegally selling children across the border. And one kept stealing money meant for rearing cows."

"That's not true," Veersatru deadpanned.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Navya asked. "Check the records. Compare income from before those men died and after. Talk to the villagers who lost their kids."

Veersatru stared at her for a moment. Then shook his head. "This is just one of your tricks. I won't fall for it."

But Navya only smiled. Because he'd let her finish speaking. And Veersatru never listened to her for that long. Navya didn't blame him. Last time she'd talked more than two sentences, he'd gambled away his house.

"You can investigate for yourself," Navya said. "Prove me wrong, if you can."

Veersatru's fists clenched. He didn't believe her. Not one bit. But his Kshatriya pride wasn't letting him back down from her challenge.

"If you aren't lying," he said slowly, "why did king Drupad never know? Why didn't anyone?"

This time, Navya grinned; teeth and all.

"You might want to ask your Mahamantri about that," she whispered.

Veersatru's reaction was immediate. His eyes went wide, and he kicked the iron bar.

"Are you accusing Mahamantri Ranadev of treason?" he growled. "You, who spill only venom from that tongue, dare to point at Ahichhatra's prime minister?"

"I'm not accusing him of anything." Navya raised her arms in surrender, lips still curled up. "I'm just saying he might've been quite... lenient."

"You— you dare—" Veersatru was sputtering in rage again.

Before he could choke out five different versions of how dare you?, the prison guard—Navya's news source, Prathiketu—walked in.

"Senani Veersatru," he addressed with a bow, "Maharaj Ashwathama is coming here."

Veersatru's spine went rigid. He swallowed whatever he was about to say, and turned to the entrance.

Navya watched the end of the stone corridor, bathed in orange torchlight. In a blink, Ashwathama was there, walking over with the air of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't in last night's casual antaraya and angavastra anymore. He was in full regalia, mukhud and all, like he'd just walked out of the courtroom. Which, judging from context, he probably did.

His rudraksha mala looked out of place among the gold jewellery, but he hadn't removed it. And, despite the powerful stride, his eyes were soft.

But they narrowed when he spotted Veersatru.

"What are you doing here?" he asked the bowing senani.

"I came to tell her of your decision, Maharaj," Veersatru said. He sounded dutiful, though Navya noticed a hint of contempt. "Thought I'll deliver the news."

Navya raised an eyebrow. "Very rudely, might I add."

Was it just her or did Ashwathama almost smile?

"Whatever it be," the king said. "Leave now."

Veersatru stared at Ashwathama in shock. He kept turning from his king to Navya and back again, like he was trying to break his own neck.

"Maharaj—"

"I said leave, Veersatru," Ashwathama cut him off.

The senani blinked in disbelief, but he wasn't about to disobey his king. With an angry huff, he walked out of the dungeons. When Prathiketu too had moved back to guard the entrance, Ashwathama turned to her.

"I told you you'd be back again," Navya said before he could speak.

Ashwathama looked shocked. Then, he sighed. "Yes, you did."

"And you pardoned me." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Ashwathama said. "I did."

Navya folded her arms. "Why?"

She knew why, of course. She'd played him into an emotionally charged moral dilemma. And she'd almost let herself get caught in the game too, but that didn't matter. She'd saved herself.

Ashwathama watched her intently. The silk and the gold glinted in the torchlight, making him look almost god-like. The mani on his forehead shone silver.

"You really think I could've sentenced you to death after last night?" he said, tilting his head.

Of course not, Navya thought. Because I'd made sure you wouldn't be able to.

But, out loud, she said with a shrug, "I would've done it, if I were you."

Ashwathama's eye twitched. "Then thank the gods I'm not you."

Navya almost grinned. Almost.

But she kept her face blank; maybe just a little softness in her eyes.

"Thank you," she mumbled like someone being shown kindness for the first time. "I owe you my life, Maharaj."

"No, it's not like that." Ashwathama shook his head. "I'm only doing what is right. You don't owe me anything."

"You spared my life, though," Navya pointed out.

"I simply gave you a punishment befitting your crimes," Ashwathama replied, voice firm. "Life sentence. But no execution."

Navya watched him. She had gotten rid of the immediate problem—the execution. Now, she had to get out of this cell. Soon.

"Thank you again, Maharaj," Navya said, just to watch him scramble. "But, tell me, what are you doing in the dungeons so soon? New food?"

"No," Ashwathama said. "I came to warn you."

"Warn me?" Navya's eyes narrowed. She hadn't expected that. "About what?"

Ashwathama glanced at Prathiketu before moving closer. Navya followed his lead.

"There might be attempts on your life," he whispered, causing Navya to raise an eyebrow. "Ranadev might not try again so soon, but I doubt he'd give up."

Navya didn't doubt that either. The Mahamantri must've known, from her pattern, that he was a target too. And that man loved staying alive.

"You think he'll send an assassin?" Navya mused, already planning on sealing the keyhole with rice.

Ashwathama shook his head. "There'll be guards to stop assassins. But there might be poison."

"Poison? Against me?" Navya snorted. "Maharaj, you know he'll never get me with those."

This time, the king did smile.

"I do," he said, eyes glinting like emeralds. "But he doesn't."

"Ahh, of course," Navya hummed. "How unfortunate... for him."

Ashwathama didn't speak. His eyes stayed on her, the smile still clinging to his lips like it forgot to leave. Navya watched him with narrowed eyes.

A torch flared, flame crackling. Navya looked away. Ashwathama cleared his throat.

"Still, be careful," he said, like she was going off into a forest. "Eat only what Rakhi brings you."

"Who's Rakhi?" Navya asked.

"The maid who used to bring you water," Ashwathama said. "She'll bring you your meals too."

"Ahh Rakhi. The one with the copper bangles." Navya stared at Ashwathama. "What if she falls sick?"

Ashwathama's eyes were set, his gaze heavy. In a low voice that somehow echoed through the cell, he said, "Then I'll bring it myself."

Navya's stomach did an unfamiliar flip.

She had been trying very hard not to think about last night. About how vulnerable they'd both been. About what she'd said. But, no matter how many times she convinced herself it was just a game to her, she found it hard to just fall back into her usual headspace.

Navya had revealed things she hadn't talked about in ages. And part of her didn't even regret it.

Now here was the king of Ahichhatra, offering to hand deliver her meals.

"A king bringing food to a prisoner," Navya drawled, though her voice felt strangely husky. "Quite revolutionary."

Ashwathama shrugged. "A king needs to keep his subjects alive," he said. "And prisoners are subjects too."

"This prisoner also happens to be an expert on poisons, Maharaj," Navya reminded. "I can detect them as easily as I breathe."

"I don't doubt you," Ashwathama admitted. "But it doesn't hurt to be cautious."

"Of course, of course," Navya said, raising her arms in surrender. "I won't touch anything that doesn't come from Rakhi."

"Good," Ashwathama muttered before letting a small smile across his face. "Take care, Navya."

He turned and walked away. Not like before—not in anger, not in panic. This was deliberate. In control. He was no longer retreating.

Navya watched him go, a slow smile blooming on her lips.

He'd made a decision against the court, and he'd won. It wouldn't be long before he made even more revolutionary choices.

The next one might just set a murderer free.

Chapter Text

Navya hadn't paid much heed to Ashwathama's warning about Ranadev. But the more she heard of his miserable stunts, the thinner her patience wore.

It seemed the mahamantri had taken it upon himself to shove Ashwathama off the throne while Dronacharya was away. He was constantly absent in court, and had even blatantly refused a direct order once.

"Maharaj yelled at him yesterday." Rakhi's hands trembled lightly as she placed Navya's food before her. "But the Mahamantri just walked away. It drove the Maharaj mad."

Unlike Prathiketu—whose news came secondhand from fellow soldiers—Rakhi bore witness to most of the court's drama firsthand. And Navya could get her talking with much less effort, if only because the girl was too afraid not to answer.

"Do you think he'll kick Ranadev off the cabinet?" Navya asked, half-joking, though she already knew the answer.

Rakhi inhaled sharply. "He wouldn't do that!"

Navya offered a crooked little smile. Of course he wouldn't. Not when his throne sat on crumbling stone, with half the court itching for a reason to tear him down. Not when he'd already lit a match by sparing her.

Ashwathama needed the mahamantri to stay. And Ranadev knew it.

"What do you think will happen, Rakhi?" Navya tore off a piece of roti. "A civil war?"

"Don't say things like that!" Rakhi gasped, making a sign to ward off evil. "I'm sure the Maharaj and Mahamantri will get over their differences."

Navya smirked at the maid's nervousness. Rakhi did not enjoy being here, but she was too loyal to disobey Ashwathama's orders.

"How's your Maharaj holding up, anyways?" Navya mused. She hoped he wasn't spiraling. That would be... inconvenient for her plans.

"Maharaj is so angry all the time," Rakhi answered softly. She hesitated, then glanced up at Navya as if weighing whether to continue.

Navya raised an expectant brow.

Rakhi wrung her hands. "He asks about you, sometimes,"

Navya faltered. "About me?"

Rakhi nodded.

Ashwathama hadn't visited again after his brief warning a week ago. She'd assumed he was too busy holding his court together to spare her a thought. Apparently, she'd underestimated her own game.

"I think he's very proud of saving your life," Rakhi said, voice gaining an edge. Then, suddenly bolder, she added, "Don't make him regret it."

Navya glared at the maid in silence until she squirmed, gaze dropping to the ground again. Then, just to keep things uncomfortable, Navya smirked.

"Tell your Maharaj I said thanks," she quipped.

Rakhi blinked at her like Navya's entire existence was a philosophical problem. It was becoming her regular expression around Navya.

Chuckling, she took a bite of her food. The gravy was unusually rich, spicier than usual, soaked with clove, garlic, and-

She paused.

"Is that darchini?" she asked, fishing out a piece of cinnamon bark. "Prathiketu said Kampilya stopped supplying that."

"They did," Rakhi said.

"Then where did this come from?" Navya narrowed her eyes. "There's no way we still have stock left."

"Oh, this isn't stock or anything." Rakhi shook her head. "One of the palace cooks brought back a bag from Kampilya, I think."

"Interesting." Navya hummed, tapping her fingers on the metal plate. "What's stopping us from sending more people over the border to bring back darchini?"

Rakhi stared, mouth slightly open, like she couldn't decide whether Navya was being serious or not.

"Breathe, Rakhi." Navya chuckled, returning to her food. "I'm only joking."

That evening, Prathiketu found Navya sprawled on her straw mat, throwing her dice in the air.

"Ah, there you are," she purred, reveling in the feeling of the fresh clothes Rakhi had brought earlier. "You know, Prathiketu, you're my favorite visitor. Don't tell Rakhi I said that though."

The prison guard wasn't amused. "I'm here for the dice."

Navya sat up straight.

"But they're the only things keeping me sane in here," she complained, pouting like a child. "You can't just take them."

Prathiketu looked offended. "They're my dice, Pundarika."

"Oh, come on," Navya whined again. She wasn't sure why she was playing around. But it was fun watching the stoic guard squirm.

"Ok, let's call a truce," she said, shifting closer to the bars. "We can share custody. You can play with me."

Prathiketu was so taken aback that he physically stumbled back.

"Play with you? You're asking a soldier to gamble with a murderer?"

"Murderer?" Navya threw a hand to her chest in mock offense. "I thought we were over that!"

Prathiketu's lips pressed into a thin line. He seemed impatient today, like he had somewhere to be.

"Why do you need the dice right now?" Navya asked.

"None of your concern."

Navya folded her arms, gripping the dice tighter. "Then I'm not giving it to you."

With a growl, the guard stepped closer. "You think I can't come in there and get those?"

"And lose your job over a murderer?" Navya raised a brow. "Please do. I'd love the irony."

The man gave her a glare that would've made Veersatru proud. Prathiketu didn't hate her—Navya could see that. He had nothing personal against her, afterall. But gods, he hated not hating her. And that was much funnier.

"I'm going to play with my friend," Prathiketu gritted out, holding out his hand. "He just got back from Kampilya."

Navya's ears perked up at that. "Your friend is the darchini smuggler?" She laughed out loud. "Tell him his sabzi gravy was heavenly."

"You're thinking of the cook," Prathiketu said, shaking his head. "My mitr is the sarathi who drove the cook."

Navya's eyebrows rode straight into her hairline. What on earth did she just hear?

"Since when do royal sarathis chauffeur cooks?" she asked, barely believing the words coming out of her mouth.

Prathiketu shrugged. "You don't question the mahamantri's orders."

That made Navya freeze.

Ranadev.

There he was again, doing something seemingly mundane yet insanely suspicious. A cook being ridden into Kampilya by a royal sarathi. Something wasn't adding up.

Navya dropped the dice into Prathiketu's waiting hands, and he began walking away.

"Prathiketu, wait!"

The guard stopped. "What?"

"That cook," Navya started. "Why did he go to Kampilya?"

"To visit his family at the palace?" Prathiketu frowned, annoyed. "Why do you want to know?"

"Nothing, it's just..." Navya didn't bother completing the sentence.

Her mind was already putting the pieces together. A royal sarathi for a cook going to visit family in Kampilya's palace, under the order of a mahamantri who was already hostile to the king.

It was obvious. Ranadev was running a channel with Drupad, with or without the cook and charioteer's knowledge. He wasn't just sneaking around within Ahichhatra. This man was committing treason under Ashwathama's nose.

He was bringing a war into Ahichhatra. Or maybe he was selling information across the border.

But most importantly, he was trying to ruin the king Navya was relying on. He was getting in her way, becoming her problem.

And when Navya had a problem, she got rid of it.

Chapter Text

When Mahamantri Ranadev had requested permission to visit some relatives down in the south, Ashwathama had almost jumped for joy.

He'd left the day before, and the king of Ahichhatra was reveling in the peace it brought.

The sun shone as brightly as Ashwathama felt as he sealed court documents in his chambers. A freezing wind blew past the curtains, announcing the oncoming winter. But he didn't notice the sting. His mood was better than it had been in days, and nothing—not even the brain-eating trade records—could kill it now.

A stronger gust pulled the curtains further open, and Ashwathama found his gaze drifting to the palace grounds as it often did.

The pond outside looked almost lifeless without the white lotus blooms. Even the leaves covering the surface seemed wilted from the chilly winter air.

Ashwathama got up to draw the curtains closed.

But then, he saw it. A single flower at the edge of the pond, half covered by leaves. It was barely visible, but it was still there, like it wasn't quite ready to let winter take over.

Ashwathama smiled at the defiant little flower as another breeze sent a chill down his spine. It was getting colder, and he found himself wondering if the dungeons were as cold.

He'd been down there, and they certainly were colder than the rest of the palace. But there weren't any windows there to let in the wind, so maybe it wouldn't get any colder.

Either way, Ashwathama decided to send down some warm clothes, and maybe some sheets, for Navya. It wouldn't do him any good to have his prisoner freeze to death.

Leaving the curtains open, the king returned to his table and resumed absently pressing the royal seal onto scrolls, though his thoughts remained elsewhere.

Ashwathama hadn't seen her in over a week, but from what Rakhi had said, Navya seemed quite content. And her audacity remained intact, which he took as solid proof of her well-being.

Just yesterday, she'd nearly sent Rakhi spiralling with some paradox about loyalty and dharma. Then she'd casually switched topics, giving the poor maid emotional whiplash.

"She said she hasn't had any wine lately," Rakhi had told him afterwards, almost in tears. "And asked if I could get her some." Then, her eyes had gone wide. "I denied her, Maharaj. I told her I would never do such a thing."

Ashwathama set aside the last scroll and leaned back into his chair, reminiscing.

Wine. She missed wine.

Ashwathama had to send her clothes and sheets anyway. Surely, it wouldn't hurt to send her a bottle of wine too, right? Afterall, there weren't any rules against letting prisoners have wine.

Or, better yet, he could take it all down himself. Ranadev was away, and Ashwathama didn't have much else to do. If he handed it over himself, no one would even notice.

With that decided, Ashwathama left his chambers, assigning a guard to deliver the documents to his trade minister.

In half an hour, he was at the dungeon gate, warmer clothes and sheets in one hand, and a wineskin in the other.

The guard greeted him, confused but not surprised. Ashwathama chose not to dwell on that reaction. He followed the guard to Navya's cell.

The girl was sitting on her straw mat, clothes drawn tight around her. When Ashwathama walked inside, she smiled.

"Ah, the king himself," she said. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten me."

Ashwathama smirked despite himself. "You're pretty hard to forget, Navya."

Navya's smile faltered. Just for a second. She hadn't expected that.

But she caught herself immediately.

"Oh, how you flatter me, Maharaj!" She leaned back onto her elbows, bare navel stretching.

Despite her nonchalance, he didn't miss the goosebumps all over her. She was cold.

"I brought you new clothes," Ashwathama said, setting the clothes down beside her. "And new sheets. Winter's coming. You'll freeze."

Navya stared at the clothes like she wasn't sure what to make of them. Ashwathama wondered if she saw them as some kind of trick, something to buy her favor. He hoped not. This wasn't a strategy.

"I— thank you," she muttered, like she didn't know what else to say. "That was... quite kind of you."

She sat up straight and looked away from the clothes. Her eyes fell on the wineskin, and they lit up.

She grinned. "Is that for me?"

She was eyeing it like a hunter spotting an opening. Ashwathama chuckled.

"Rakhi said you asked for wine," he said, taking a seat beside her. "Thought I'd bring you some."

He handed over the wineskin. Navya uncorked it in a single motion, and inhaled deeply.

Her eyes went wide.

"Maharaj..." She took another sniff, as if she couldn't quite believe her senses. "Oh, Narayana, you didn't have to!"

Ashwathama only shrugged as she took a tentative sip. "I was getting it anyway. Thought I might as well get you something good."

"Good?" Navya turned to him, disbelief shining in her eyes. "Maharaj, this isn't just good. This is fine wine. Old. Expensive."

"I know." Ashwathama smiled.

Navya shook her head, though her face betrayed a smile. She took another sip of wine, savoring it with her eyes closed.

When she turned to look at him again, though, Ashwathama noticed a slight slouch in her expression. She was happy about his being there, yes, but there was a lingering tiredness in her. She trembled lightly in the cold.

"Thank you," she said again. "This is— gods, you really didn't have to, Maharaj."

"But I wanted to, Navya," Ashwathama insisted. "And stop calling me Maharaj."

Navya's lips curved upwards. "But I'm a subject, and you're my maharaj, Maharaj."

"You're a prisoner," Ashwathama said. "You're not bound by court rules."

Navya let out a cough. Her smirk widened. "That's not what you said last week, Maharaj. You said prisoners are subjects too."

Ashwathama frowned at her.

"You're just taunting me now," he complained.

"Maybe I am." She coughed again, but her smirk stayed. "What are you going to do about it, Maharaj? Lock me up?"

Clenching his jaw, Ashwathama glared at her. She threw back her head and laughed.

"I'm taking the wine away," Ashwathama grumbled, reaching for the wineskin.

Navya moved it out of his reach. "You can't take away gifts, Maharaj. That's not a good look on a king."

"I don't care," Ashwathama snarled, though he was barely holding his laugh in. "Give it back."

"No!" Navya exclaimed, shifting away.

But the sudden movement seemed to have gotten her. She stopped. Her smile fell.

"Navya?" Ashwathama was immediately at her side. "Are you alright?"

Corking the wineskin, she pushed it over to where the clothes were, and just sat still, blinking at the ground.

"I'm fine, I just—"

Navya shook her head, as if to clear it.

Ashwathama gently placed a hand on her shoulder. She jerked away immediately, like his touch burned her.

That seemed like a mistake. Her hands immediately went to her head, eyes shutting tight. She let out a groan, and her breaths quickened.

Then, through the confusion, she extended one arm towards him.

"Ashwathama, I—"

But she didn't finish the sentence. She inhaled sharply, and, like a puppet cut from its strings, passed out straight onto Ashwathama's chest.

For a second, he couldn't breathe.

Then, his blood ran cold.

"Guards! Get the rajvaidya!"

His scream echoed through the earthen walls. Footsteps immediately hurried from different directions. Someone called for him.

But Ashwathama's attention didn't waver from the unconscious girl in his arms. Her breaths were ragged, and she was shaking slightly.

With one arm, he pulled out one of the sheets from the pile and wrapped it around her trembling form. She felt so small in his arms, so fragile, so easily breakable. It scared him more than he was willing to admit.

He didn't notice the rajvaidya rushing into the cell until the older man gently pulled her out of Ashwathama's arms and onto the straw mat. The king watched, paralysed, as the rajvaidya checked her vitals.

Navya was breathing through her mouth now, taking in large gulps of air. The rajvaidya held her lips closed. She jerked from lack of air. Ashwathama almost snarled at him to let go, but he stopped himself.

Navya jerked once more, then took a deep breath through her nose. Then another. And another.

She stopped trembling. Slowly, her breathing steadied.

"Is she alright?" Ashwathama asked, voice cracking lightly. He didn't even notice the glance exchanged between the two guards beside him.

"She's fine," the rajvaidya assured. "She was starting to catch a cold, I think. And her breathing form wasn't proper. She must've suffocated herself accidentally."

"Suffocated herself?" Ashwathama repeated, eyes on Navya's unconscious form.

The rajvaidya nodded, taking some tulsi out of his medicine bag. "She wasn't breathing through her nose," he said. "And she didn't get enough air through her mouth."

The man didn't seem bothered as he crushed the tulsi between his fingers and placed it beneath her nostrils.

Ashwathama blinked. It seemed so simple. And yet, within a moment, he'd been scared to patal lok and back. Since when has he started feeling so severely for anyone, much less for a prisoner?

He stood up slowly, knees threatening to give out. This level of concern for a prisoner wouldn't end well. Not now, not ever.

Ashwathama had to get his mind reined in. Immediately.

"She'll be fine, then?" he asked, voice cool and detached.

"Yes, Maharaj," assured the rajvaidya, moving away from her. "We can leave her right here. She'll wake in less than an hour."

Ashwathama nodded, feeling lightheaded. He stepped out of the cell, followed by the guards. The rajvaidya, taking up his medicine bag, was the last to step out.

"Stay here." Ashwathama ordered as the usual prison guard locked the cell. "Make sure she's alright when she wakes up."

"Of course, Maharaj," came the reply as Ashwathama walked away, still shivering from the thought of her lying in his arms, trembling and helpless.

He let out a shaky sigh. He wasn't sure he could ever get that image out of his mind again.

Down in the dungeons, Navya rolled onto her side, away from Prathiketu's eyes. A triumphant smirk took over her face.

Despite the presence of four men in her cell, not a single one had noticed her reaching for the rajvaidya's medicine bag.