38.
The laughter did not leave the room quickly after that.
It lingered warmly beneath the golden lamplight, dissolving softly into the comforting rhythm of rain striking the palace balconies while Dushala struggled unsuccessfully to regain composure beside the cradle.
Even little Dhairya stirred faintly once from the sheer force of her muffled laughter before settling again beneath the soft embroidered blankets, tiny lashes resting peacefully against round cheeks entirely unaware that his mother and aunt were currently unraveling over a piece of blue silk.
Devasena, meanwhile, had reached the stage of humiliation where dignity no longer seemed recoverable.
"You are all deeply cruel," she informed the room with complete sincerity while trying very hard not to look at the angavastram still spread across Dushala's lap like evidence of emotional treason.
"No," Dushala corrected instantly, still breathless from laughter, "you answered tailoring questions about a man you barely know."
"I did not realize what I was saying."
"That is significantly worse."
Ruti lowered her gaze politely to hide another smile while folding ceremonial fabrics near the low ivory table, though even she was visibly failing at maintaining seriousness now. "In Rajkumari's defense," she said softly, "the merchant asked very suddenly."
"Yes," Devasena replied immediately, seizing the support at once. "Exactly."
Shona looked scandalized. "You answered without even pausing to think."
"I was distracted."
"By what?"
Silence.
Devasena glared at her.
Unfortunately—
that itself became answer enough.
Dushala physically hid her face against Dhairya's blanket for a moment.
"Oh gods," she whispered through renewed laughter. "You truly are suffering."
The rain outside deepened gradually as evening settled fully over Vanga, the palace beyond the chambers glowing softer beneath hundreds of suspended oil lamps reflecting across rain-dark marble pathways and lotus ponds.
Somewhere deeper inside the palace complex, musicians had begun practicing again for the naamkaran ceremonies beginning tomorrow—gentle notes of flute and veena drifting faintly through the sandstone corridors beneath the sound of distant thunder.
Servants crossed endlessly through the outer halls carrying trays of flowers, ceremonial vessels, sacred oils, and bundles of silk while guards changed shifts beneath torchlight near the palace gates where arriving caravans had already begun settling for the night ahead of the celebrations.
Tomorrow the first royal guests would begin arriving.
And suddenly the palace itself seemed to breathe differently because of it.
Even inside Dushala's chambers the atmosphere shifted gradually from comfortable teasing into the quieter anticipation that always arrived before large royal gatherings.
Open gift chests lined the walls now—Hastinapur's silver offerings beside Gandhara's embroidered shawls, sacred ornaments from Panchala stacked beside ceremonial weapons gifted by allied kingdoms for little Dhairya's future protection.
The scent of fresh marigold garlands filled the room because attendants had spent the last hour hanging them along the carved arches and balcony entrances in preparation for tomorrow's welcoming rituals.
Dushala adjusted Dhairya more comfortably against her shoulder before looking toward Devasena again, amusement still lingering faintly in her eyes now.
"You realize," she began carefully, "that once Subhadra sees this—"
"No."
"—you will never know peace again."
Devasena immediately pointed accusingly toward the angavastram. "Then perhaps I should burn it."
Dushala gasped dramatically. "You would burn silk this beautiful?"
"I would burn myself at this point."
"That can still be arranged if Krishna arrives wearing it."
"DUSHALA."
Ruti nearly dropped the folded cloth in her hands trying not to laugh again while Shona outright gave up pretending composure altogether.
The conversation dissolved afterward into softer, more ordinary things the way evenings between women often did once teasing exhausted itself temporarily.
They discussed tomorrow's preparations while attendants drifted in and out quietly around them.
Which guest chambers had been prepared near the eastern wing.
Which kitchens would handle Dwarka's arriving entourage.
Whether Panchala's delegation preferred stronger incense during ceremonies.
Which gifts still required sorting before morning.
And through all of it—
Krishna's name hovered unspoken now between Devasena's thoughts with increasing betrayal.
Because tomorrow.
Tomorrow Dwarka's people would begin arriving too.
Subhadra certainly.
Balram and Revati most likely beside her.
And perhaps—
No.
Devasena shut the thought down immediately.
He ruled an entire kingdom. Important matters constantly surrounded him. Why would he attend personally for a child's naming ceremony in distant Vanga?
Yet the possibility refused to leave her entirely.
That itself felt dangerous.
Outside the rain softened again into silver mist drifting across the palace gardens below while servants lit additional lamps along the inner courtyards one by one, their reflections glowing like scattered constellations against wet marble pathways.
Somewhere beyond the chambers, Veerendra's advisors still moved through the royal halls discussing security arrangements late into the evening because the presence of so many kingdoms together required caution now—especially after Vidyut's unsettling behavior within Hastinapur.
The thought dimmed the warmth inside the room slightly.
Dushala noticed immediately.
Her expression softened as she reached across the cushions to squeeze Devasena's hand gently.
"He will not come near you here."
Devasena lowered her gaze quietly.
Perhaps.
Yet something about Vidyut still lingered unpleasantly inside her instincts. Not merely obsession.
Recognition.
That was what frightened her most.
The way he looked at her sometimes felt less like desire and more like remembering something neither of them fully understood.
The sacred flame resting near the bedside flickered sharply once then steadied again.
No one commented on it aloud.
But Dushala noticed.
So did Ruti.
Silence settled briefly afterward beneath the sound of distant thunder rolling across the monsoon-dark sky.
Then—
mercifully—
Shona ruined the seriousness entirely.
"Anyway," she announced while reorganizing folded garments near the divan, "if Vasudev Maharaj does arrive and wears blue tomorrow, Rajkumari will faint directly into the naamkaran fire."
Devasena threw a cushion at her immediately.
Shona dodged it triumphantly.
Dushala dissolved into helpless laughter again.
And somewhere beneath all the warmth, rain, teasing, and lamplight filling the royal chambers that evening—
the strange restless yearning inside Devasena's heart quietly continued growing anyway.
The rain outside deepened steadily as the evening stretched further into night, silver sheets of monsoon water blurring the palace gardens beyond Dushala's balconies until the lotus ponds below looked like shattered mirrors beneath flickering torchlight.
Vanga Palace itself no longer resembled its usual composed grandeur tonight.
Everywhere beyond the inner chambers servants hurried endlessly through illuminated sandstone corridors carrying trays of flowers, sacred oils, embroidered ceremonial fabrics, silver vessels, gift chests, and bundles of fresh garlands while musicians somewhere deeper inside the palace practiced softer evening ragas for tomorrow's welcoming rituals.
The naamkaran preparations had transformed the entire kingdom into something alive with anticipation.
Every courtyard glowed beneath suspended oil lamps.
Every carved archway dripped with jasmine chains and marigold threads.
Even the air smelled fuller now—rainwater, sandalwood smoke, saffron milk simmering in royal kitchens, wet earth from the gardens below, and the faint sweetness of lotus blossoms opening beneath the storm-heavy night.
Inside Dushala's chambers the atmosphere remained warm and chaotic in the gentlest possible way.
Dhairya slept peacefully within the carved cradle near the balcony pillars while his mother leaned comfortably against embroidered cushions surrounded by open gift chests from Hastinapur, Gandhara, Panchala, and Matsya.
Devasena sat cross-legged nearby amidst folded silks and half-unwrapped festival purchases while Ruti and Shona reorganized everything for the third time because apparently neither trusted the other's arrangement methods.
And unfortunately—
the blue angavastram still remained visible.
Which meant peace was impossible.
Shona was currently holding up folded garments while speaking with the seriousness of a royal advisor. "These should be placed separately for the arriving guests tomorrow."
"Subhadra Devi's bangles near the eastern welcome trays," Ruti added calmly while arranging ceremonial baskets. "Revati Devi's ornament with the Dwarka gifts."
Devasena nodded absently at first before freezing.
"...Wait."
Dushala noticed immediately.
"Oh no."
Shona turned slowly.
"What?"
Devasena stared toward the blue angavastram still folded near the corner cushions.
Then very deliberately—
very suspiciously—
she reached forward and pulled another cloth over it.
The room fell silent.
Ruti blinked once.
Dushala's eyes narrowed instantly with dangerous amusement.
"...Rajkumari."
Devasena refused eye contact. "What?"
Shona gasped dramatically loud enough to disturb the curtains themselves. "YOU PLAN TO HIDE IT?"
"I am not hiding anything."
"You covered it like palace treasure."
"It simply should not remain lying openly."
"Because?"
"Because guests are arriving tomorrow."
"And?"
"And what if someone sees it?"
Dushala physically leaned forward now, absolutely delighted. "Someone like who?"
Devasena opened her mouth.
Paused.
Then muttered weakly—
"...Dwarka."
The silence afterward became unbearable.
Ruti lowered her head instantly to hide a smile.
Shona looked seconds away from collapsing.
"Oh this keeps worsening," she whispered joyfully.
Dushala was outright grinning now. "What exactly do you think will happen? Krishna will arrive, look across the room, sense the presence of one hidden garment spiritually, and immediately know?"
"You are all impossible."
"No," Dushala corrected gently, "you are behaving like someone hiding love letters beneath temple scriptures."
"It is not love!"
"Then why are you panicking?"
Devasena stood abruptly at once, clearly deciding movement was preferable to continuing this conversation. She crossed toward the balcony where rain-cooled wind drifted through the carved arches, her anklets chiming softly against marble while distant thunder rolled beyond the palace gardens below.
"Because," she began finally, arms folding tightly beneath the open stormlight, "tomorrow guests from Indraprastha arrive. And Dwarka. There will already be endless teasing without this becoming part of it too."
Dushala's expression softened slightly then because beneath the embarrassment she could hear genuine anxiety now.
The arrival of people mattered differently to Devasena.
Bhima would notice everything immediately because he knew her too well emotionally.
Arjuna noticed details without realizing their meaning.
Nakul and Sahadev would immediately charm every elderly minister accidentally.
And Dwarka—
Dwarka itself carried danger now because Krishna belonged to it so naturally that simply hearing his name too often lately already unsettled her.
Shona unfortunately remained unhelpful.
"But Rajkumari," she said innocently while folding ceremonial silks nearby, "surely Vasudev Maharaj will never know."
"That is not helping."
"I am merely saying the garment can remain safely hidden while you admire it privately for the rest of your life."
Devasena turned around instantly, scandalized beyond measure. "I AM NOT ADMIRING CLOTH PRIVATELY."
"Then why did you cover it like forbidden scripture?"
No answer arrived.
Because unfortunately—
there was none.
The rain softened briefly outside, turning gentler against the balcony railings while somewhere below servants crossed the illuminated courtyards carrying lanterns through silver mist. The entire palace felt suspended between celebration and storm tonight, alive with the quiet expectancy that arrived before reunions.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow Subhadra would arrive laughing loudly through palace corridors before even properly entering.
Bhima would probably carry half the gifts himself despite attendants existing.
Arjuna would smile like he had returned somewhere familiar the moment he stepped into Vanga again.
Nakul and Sahadev would immediately become adored by every palace attendant within an hour.
And Dwarka—
Dwarka would arrive with ocean-colored silks, sea-wind laughter, and one dangerously unreadable king whose mere existence had somehow managed to disturb Devasena's carefully ordered heart without permission.
The thought alone made her pulse shift unevenly.
Dushala saw it happen.
And smiled very slowly.
"Oh," she said softly.
Devasena immediately narrowed her eyes. "Do not start."
"But I said nothing."
"You thought something."
"That is because you looked terrified just now."
"I am not terrified."
"Then why," Dushala asked with unbearable sweetness, "do you look more nervous about Dwarka arriving than you did rejecting a king?"
Absolute silence.
Then Shona—
traitorous creature that she was—
whispered dramatically to Ruti,
"The war is already over."