16.
Dwarka settled strangely beneath her skin over the following days.
Not gently.
Not slowly.
Like sunlight did over seawater—restless, warm, impossible to hold still.
Everything here moved.
The palace breathed with noise from dawn until long after midnight.
Courtyards overflowed with music. Priests crossed marble corridors carrying lamps and flower offerings toward the sea temples below.
Noblewomen gathered beneath shaded pavilions exchanging gossip over jeweled dice games while musicians practiced endlessly somewhere beyond the western gardens.
And always—the ocean.
Devasena could hear it everywhere.
Even at night.
Especially at night.
Sometimes she woke before sunrise and simply listened to the waves striking the cliffs below Dwarka's palace while the sacred diya burned beside her in the darkness, steady and golden within its crystal enclosure.
The flame never changed.
Dwarka did.
Every day.
And somehow—
without realizing exactly when it happened—Arjuna became part of that rhythm too.
At first it seemed accidental. The first morning, he merely "happened" to appear near the sea gardens while Devasena and Subhadra fed flower petals into the temple pools.
The second day, he appeared during breakfast claiming Balram had sent him.
Balram later denied this immediately.
The third day, he interrupted an afternoon embroidery gathering carrying an entire tray of sweets from Dwarka's market because apparently:
"They fry these differently near the western ports."
Dushala nearly inhaled her own laughter.
Subhadra looked one sentence away from collapse.
Meanwhile Arjuna remained painfully sincere.
"You traveled all this distance," he explained while placing the tray near Devasena, "it would be unfortunate if you returned without trying them."
Devasena looked down at the sweets.
Then slowly up at him.
"You crossed half the city for fried sugar?"
Arjuna opened his mouth.
Paused.
Then realized how that sounded.
Subhadra physically turned away to hide her face against Dushala's shoulder.
"It sounds less alarming with context," Arjuna muttered weakly.
Devasena's lips curved despite herself.
Unfortunately—
that expression alone rewarded him enough to continue this behavior for the next several days.
Which everyone noticed.
Everyone.
It began with small things.
Arjuna looking toward Devasena first whenever something amusing happened.
Waiting for her reaction during stories.
Retelling childhood disasters from the Pandavas' early years only if she remained listening nearby.
And Devasena—
without meaning to—started listening.
Because Arjuna spoke beautifully when relaxed.
Not poetically.
Humanly.
His stories wandered.
His expressions changed constantly while speaking.
His hands moved too much.
He laughed midway through his own sentences.
Nothing about him felt rehearsed.
One evening near the western palace terraces, he spent nearly twenty minutes passionately explaining how Bhima once threatened an entire royal cook over burnt sweet rice.
"He carried the pot into court," Arjuna said, visibly offended even years later.
"Into court."
Subhadra laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink.
"No he did not."
"He absolutely did."
Dushala wiped tears from the corner of her eyes.
"What happened afterward?"
"Yudhishthira apologized to everyone individually while Bhima continued eating the rice."
"That sounds accurate," Devasena murmured softly.
Arjuna looked toward her immediately.
Not casually.
Instinctively.
Like he always wanted her response before continuing.
And when she laughed—
even quietly—
his entire expression softened without permission.
That part everyone noticed too.
Especially Balram.
The elder Yadava prince had begun watching Arjuna the way one watched a man walking directly toward disaster while fully convinced he was behaving normally.
One afternoon Balram entered the inner courtyard to find Arjuna holding three separate bolts of silk while questioning an exhausted merchant with alarming seriousness.
"No," Arjuna insisted. "The blue one."
"The princess from Vanga preferred the yellow-threaded fabric, It is quite the exquisite material even Dwarkadesh uses this material," the merchant replied nervously.
Arjuna frowned immediately.
"She did not say preferred."
"She touched that one twice.
"
Balram stopped walking entirely.
Then slowly looked upward toward the heavens as though asking the gods personally for strength.
"Oh," he sighed dramatically. "He is gone.
"
Arjuna looked offended.
"I am purchasing gifts respectfully.
"
"You are studying fabric ."
"I merely noticed her taste. "
Balram stared at him for a long moment.
"Parth."
"What?"
"You know military strategy."
"Yes."
"You have survived exile."
"Yes."
"You fought celestial beings."
"Yes."
Balram gestured toward the silk in horror.
"And this defeated you?"
From nearby, Satyabhama burst into laughter so suddenly one attendant jumped.
"I told you," she informed Balram triumphantly, "he is completely ruined."
Arjuna looked deeply betrayed by everyone.
Meanwhile several corridors away, entirely unaware her preference in silk had apparently become a political discussion, Devasena sat beside Revati within the shaded lotus pavilion overlooking the sea gardens.
Revati's fingers moved gracefully through strands of jasmine flowers while attendants arranged silver bowls of sandalwood water nearby.
"You are smiling more," Revati observed quietly.
Devasena looked up from the flower garland resting across her lap.
"Am I?"
"A little."
The sea breeze moved softly through the pavilion then, carrying traces of salt and incense through the shaded curtains around them.
Devasena lowered her gaze briefly toward the sacred diya glowing beside her.
"I think Dwarka encourages softness," she admitted after a moment.
Revati smiled faintly.
"No," she corrected gently. "Dwarka encourages honesty .
"
The words lingered strangely afterward.
That evening, Arjuna arrived carrying sea-shell bangles from the lower harbor markets because:
"They reminded me of Vanga.
"
Devasena stared at him.
"The ocean reminded you of the coastal kingdom? "
Arjuna blinked once.
Then laughed helplessly beneath his breath.
"That sounded more intelligent in my head.
"
Dushala physically walked away laughing.
Subhadra collapsed dramatically against a nearby pillar.
Even Dyumsena finally looked at Arjuna with open suspicion now.
Meanwhile Devasena simply accepted the bangles carefully before turning them once beneath the lantern light.
They were beautiful.
Simple.
White shells threaded delicately with silver.
"You notice strange things," she murmured quietly.
Arjuna looked at her for a second too long.
"So do you."
Something softened oddly between them then.
"I declare you my sakha Arjuna, from this day onwards."
Warm.
Easy.
Dangerously easy.
And Devasena—
who had spent years navigating courts where every kindness carried motive—
mistook it for friendship.
Because surely she would recognize love if it stood before her. Wouldn't she? She did have , her destiny curled up in flames.
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