24.
And so—
the preparations to leave for Hastinapur began almost immediately afterward, because once a decision settled inside the royal household of Vanga, the palace did not simply respond to it—it transformed around it with frightening efficiency, as though every corridor, every servant, every torchlit courtyard and carved sandstone hallway had suddenly been given a singular purpose.
Especially when the matter involved a pregnant princess carrying the first grandchild of two royal bloodlines.
Within hours the calm rhythm of the inner palace dissolved entirely into organized chaos, and from Devasena's perspective the palace no longer resembled the composed royal residence she had grown up within all her life but something living and breathing too quickly, every corner overflowing with movement, voices, silk, footsteps, instructions, and the endless sound of women taking control of absolutely everything.
The long sandstone corridors that usually carried only measured footsteps and low courtly conversations now echoed ceaselessly beneath warm torchlight as servants hurried past one another carrying folded garments stacked so dangerously high in their arms they could barely see ahead of themselves, while royal attendants rushed between treasury halls and carriage courtyards clutching long parchment inventories with increasingly panicked expressions.
The air itself felt crowded.
Heavy with sandalwood smoke drifting from temple shrines, rain-damp wool, jasmine oil, warm brass lamps, medicinal herbs being crushed somewhere nearby, and the faint sharp scent of polished metal from the royal caravan being prepared below in the palace courtyards.
Outside the open carved windows winter rain misted softly across Vanga's sprawling terraces and lotus gardens, silver droplets gathering along marble railings while distant thunder rolled lazily somewhere beyond the dark river bordering the kingdom, low enough to feel more like a vibration than sound.
Inside—
the palace women had declared war upon peace itself.
Older nursemaids argued loudly over medicinal herbs near the central halls while younger attendants darted nervously between them carrying steaming bowls of oils meant for Dushala's comfort during the journey.
Royal cooks prepared travel-safe meals specifically approved for pregnancy health while priests moved from chamber to chamber blessing protective charms and reciting safe-passage mantras over trays of turmeric, sacred rice, and flower garlands.
Everywhere Devasena turned—
someone was discussing Dushala.
"Make certain the cushions are layered properly."
"She cannot travel too long without rest."
"No sour foods during the mornings."
"Where is the physician from Gandhara?"
"Who packed these shawls? These are too thin."
And at the center of all of it—
Dushala sat looking overwhelmed beyond comprehension.
"Why," she asked weakly at one point while staring at the enormous mountain of folded wool shawls accumulating near her chambers, "are there this many blankets?"
Devasena did not even look up from the inventory scroll in her hands.
"Because winter exists."
Dushala blinked slowly. "I am not traveling into the Himalayas."
"You are carrying a child."
"That does not mean I shall freeze to death."
"We are not risking it."
Dushala stared at her in complete disbelief before turning toward Dyumsena as though seeking mercy there instead.
"You hear her?"
From the opposite side of the chamber Dyumsena—who had spent the last half hour interrogating royal physicians with the intensity of a commander preparing for war—looked entirely pleased instead.
"She sounds sensible."
"You both sound insane."
"You are pregnant," both siblings answered at the exact same time.
That alone made Shona nearly collapse laughing behind a stack of folded silks while Ruti physically turned away pretending to reorganize fabrics solely to hide her expression.
Truthfully—
Dyumsena had become unbearable ever since Dushala's pregnancy progressed.
Not controlling.
Worse.
Attentive.
Painfully attentive.
If Dushala sighed too heavily, three physicians appeared.
If she frowned slightly during meals, herbal remedies materialized within moments.
If she merely shifted uncomfortably while sitting, an entire arrangement of cushions was brought immediately as though the palace itself feared her discomfort.
And now that she wished to travel to Hastinapur—
he was entirely prepared to place his kingdom aside without hesitation.
"The western trade meetings can wait," Dyumsena stated firmly while examining caravan routes spread across a low council table beneath bronze oil lamps.
"Maharaj," one older minister attempted carefully, "those discussions involve three coastal kingdoms."
"And my wife is carrying our child."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Even the ministers looked too frightened to continue afterward.
Because everyone present remembered very clearly how King Veerendra himself had behaved during Queen Vaidhei's pregnancies years ago.
In fact—
he was somehow becoming worse now.
"Add another guard rotation beside the eastern route," the king instructed calmly while reviewing travel maps.
"Maharaj," another minister ventured cautiously, "there are already three."
"Then add a fourth."
"It is one royal caravan, not a war procession."
King Veerendra looked entirely unimpressed.
"A pregnant daughter is more terrifying than war."
Several ministers immediately lowered their heads to hide smiles while Devasena heard Dushala laugh helplessly somewhere behind her.
Queen Vaidhei meanwhile had fully entered what the palace privately referred to as her mother-warrior state—a terrifying condition where absolutely nobody escaped her supervision.
"No sharp turns during the journey."
"No overly salted foods."
"No unnecessary walking."
"Where is the physician from Gandhara? I specifically requested him."
At one point she personally inspected the cushioning inside Dushala's travel carriage herself, pressing firmly against layered silk mattresses with visible dissatisfaction before ordering twice the amount of padding added immediately.
"Mata," Dushala protested helplessly while watching attendants practically rebuild the interior of her carriage, "I am pregnant, not shattered."
"You will still sit carefully."
King Veerendra wisely did not interfere.
Mostly because everyone inside the palace still remembered the stories from Queen Vaidhei's own pregnancies.
"You fainted during Devasena's birth," the queen reminded calmly when he attempted offering Dyumsena fatherly advice later that evening.
The entire chamber erupted instantly.
"Mata," Devasena groaned in horror while Shona nearly collapsed into a travel trunk laughing.
King Veerendra looked personally betrayed. "Why are old humiliations being revived publicly?"
"Because you are pretending to possess wisdom."
"I do possess wisdom."
"You threatened royal physicians because I sneezed twice."
"It was a concerning sneeze."
At that even Dushala laughed hard enough to clutch her stomach afterward while Dyumsena immediately abandoned his conversation in alarm.
"Careful."
"I am laughing, not dying."
"You could still strain yourself."
"Dyum."
"I am merely observing precautions."
Devasena exchanged one exhausted look with Queen Vaidhei.
Whipped.
Father and son both.
Entirely whipped.
And somehow—
despite the endless movement and noise—
warmth lingered deeply through the palace halls now.
Not royal warmth.
Family warmth.
The kind that settled itself quietly into ordinary moments.
Attendants smiling while folding tiny baby garments near open windows.
Older women discussing childbirth remedies beside glowing braziers.
Servants gossiping excitedly about Hastinapur.
Dushala laughing more often despite exhaustion.
And Devasena—
despite herself—
felt lighter too.
Because this journey felt different somehow.
Not ceremonial.
Not political.
Something beneath it all felt quietly fateful, as though the road ahead carried more than one destination waiting for her.
Meanwhile her own chambers had descended into complete disorder.
Because unlike their earlier journey to Dwarka months ago—when only Devasena, Dyumsena, and Dushala had traveled with a limited royal entourage due to diplomatic urgency—this time both Ruti and Shona were accompanying her.
And neither of them possessed even the smallest fragment of calm.
"Rajkumari, how many veils does one person require for a single journey?" Ruti demanded while standing waist-deep between open travel trunks overflowing with folded silks.
"Apparently thirty," Shona answered dramatically before Devasena could speak. "Because our princess prepares for travel like kingdoms shall collapse if one sleeve goes missing."
Devasena remained seated near the carved window alcove entirely unbothered while carefully polishing the crystal enclosure surrounding her eternal flame.
"It is called preparedness."
"It is called obsession," Shona corrected immediately.
Ruti held up another folded shawl in disbelief. "And why are there embroidered wraps categorized separately for morning weather?"
"Because mornings are cold."
"You have shawls arranged according to temperature."
"That sounds intelligent to me."
The two girls stared at her with identical disbelief before collapsing into laughter again.
And somehow—
their presence changed everything.
During Dwarka, Devasena had often felt the sharp unfamiliarity of silence whenever Dushala or Subhadra were pulled away by palace duties, leaving her alone within corridors too grand and too foreign for comfort.
The attendants there had been respectful but distant, careful around the visiting princess of Vanga.
But here—
with Shona loudly complaining while sitting atop half-packed trunks and Ruti endlessly reorganizing fabrics because "royal people own too many unnecessary things"—
the chambers felt alive again.
Familiar.
Like home itself had decided to travel beside her.
Near the center of the room, resting atop layered crimson silk cloth within its crystal enclosure—
the sacred flame burned steadily.
Always steadily.
Its golden light flickered softly against the chamber walls, illuminating carved ceilings, pools of scattered jewelry across the carpets below, and the rain-darkened room surrounding them with warmth that felt strangely alive.
And despite the endless activity surrounding her—
Devasena's eyes returned toward it instinctively every few moments.
Checking.
Reassuring herself.
As though somewhere deep inside her she feared losing it even for a second.
Shona noticed first.
"It burns brighter these days," she murmured quietly while arranging jewelry cases nearby.
Devasena's fingers stilled faintly over the crystal edge.
Ruti glanced over too, softer now. "It does."
Silence followed afterward.
Not uncomfortable.
Only thoughtful.
Because everyone around Devasena understood the flame mattered.
Not merely religiously.
Personally.
It had existed beside her longer than most people had.
A promise.
A burden.
A companion.
And lately—
something about it truly had changed.
The light felt warmer somehow.
Deeper.
More alive during nights.
Sometimes Devasena caught herself staring into it far too long because it reminded her painfully of another golden light reflected once against sea-dark eyes beneath moonlit pavilion lamps in Dwarka.
Dangerous thoughts.
Again.
She looked away immediately.
"Rajkumari," Shona suddenly asked while sitting cross-legged atop the carpet surrounded by opened trunks, "do you think Hastinapur will truly be as grand as people say?"
Ruti scoffed softly. "Of course it will."
"But Dwarka was beautiful too."
At that—
something subtle shifted inside Devasena again.
Because Dwarka no longer appeared in her thoughts as architecture.
Not marble palaces.
Not sea cliffs.
Not golden corridors.
It arrived as presence.
As laughter drifting through moonlit courtyards.
As sea winds carrying music through carved archways.
As warm hands steadying trembling wrists.
As a calm voice saying her name softly enough to remain long afterward.
Her chest tightened instantly.
"Rajkumari?"
Shona's voice pulled her back sharply.
Devasena blinked once before realizing both girls were staring at her suspiciously now.
"You stopped listening," Ruti accused immediately.
"I was listening."
"You were absolutely not."
Shona narrowed her eyes dramatically. "You do that often these days."
"Do what."
"Look emotionally devastated by absolutely nothing."
Devasena threw a silk cushion directly at her.
Shona shrieked triumphantly while Ruti collapsed laughing beside the travel trunks, and for the first time in days—
an actual laugh escaped Devasena too.
Soft.
Brief.
But real enough that the eternal flame beside her flickered warmly against the darkness like it had been waiting for it.