54.
Devasena recovered far sooner than anyone had expected.
Far sooner than she should have.
The royal vaidyas of Vanga had been unanimous in their judgment the night of the attack. The gash carved across her shoulder was deep, vicious, and dangerous. Even under the best treatment, they had warned, the wound would require at least two lunar cycles to heal completely.
Yet by the third morning, the fever had vanished.
By the third night, the torn flesh had already begun knitting itself together.
And before a single week had passed, the injury looked months older than it truly was.
The physicians were baffled.
One elderly healer had inspected the wound three separate times in a single afternoon, convinced his eyes were deceiving him.
Another openly declared it impossible.
The priests called it divine grace.
The palace servants whispered that Narayana Himself had intervened.
Devasena said nothing.
She merely accepted their explanations with a composed smile while guarding her own secret closely.
Because unlike everyone else, she knew exactly why she had healed.
Or at least she believed she did.
Reclining upon her bed, she stared absentmindedly at the silk canopy above her and allowed her thoughts to wander once more toward that night.
Toward him.
Toward Vaasudeva Krishna.
The chamber had been dimly lit.
Sandalwood incense had drifted through the air.
The pain had been unbearable then, sharp enough to steal sleep and reason alike.
Yet he had remained beside her.
Speaking softly.
Patiently.
Offering comfort she had not realized she needed.
Even now, days later, she could remember every word.
Every glance.
Every moment.
And then—
Devasena pressed her lips together.
Heat crept unexpectedly into her cheeks.
That forbidden moment.
The moment she had provoked from him.
The memory returned with startling clarity.
The nearness.
The warmth.
The impossible gentleness.
His lips brushing against her wound.
A touch so brief it should have meant nothing.
And yet it haunted her relentlessly.
Her fingers rose unconsciously to her shoulder.
The place where the injury had nearly vanished.
Where pain no longer lingered.
Where healing had arrived with impossible speed.
A smile tugged at her lips.
The vaidyas could credit herbs.
The priests could credit the gods.
Let them.
Devasena knew better.
Or perhaps she simply wished to believe it.
Either way, she remained absolutely certain.
No medicine in Aryavarta could explain this recovery.
Only one thing could.
The touch of Vaasudeva Krishna.
And if anyone dared challenge that conclusion, Devasena was fully prepared to argue with every healer in the kingdom.
But Devasena had far greater matters weighing upon her mind than the mystery of her miraculous recovery.
The King of Kashi.
Even thinking of Vidyut left an unpleasant heaviness in her chest. The revelation Dushala and Subhadra had brought her earlier had unsettled something deep within her.
Until now, she had only known him as an arrogant ruler whose attention lingered far longer than propriety allowed.
She had dismissed her discomfort as mere instinct, the natural caution a woman exercised around a man she did not trust. Now she understood the truth.
He had wanted to take her.
Not court her.
Not seek her hand.
Take her.
The thought made her skin crawl.
How could a man become so consumed by a person that he would risk kingdoms, bloodshed, and war merely to possess her? What sort of obsession was powerful enough to justify such madness? The more she thought about it, the less she understood.
"Prabhu... why?" she whispered into the quiet chamber.
Her gaze drifted toward the small shrine near the eastern wall, where Mahadev's image sat draped in fresh flowers.
A single sacred lamp burned before the deity, its golden flame dancing softly in the growing darkness of evening.
The rest of the room lay bathed in shadows and amber light, making the shrine seem almost otherworldly.
Slowly, Devasena rose from her bed and crossed the room. Her bare feet brushed against the cool stone floor as she approached the altar. Kneeling before it, she lifted the brass lamp carefully into her hands and stared into its flame.
The tiny fire flickered and swayed as though alive.
For a long moment she simply watched it.
Then a troubling thought surfaced.
A thought she had avoided since the day she first noticed the strange reactions of the sacred flame.
"Perhaps..." she murmured softly.
The words felt strange upon her tongue.
"Perhaps the King of Kashi is my intended."
The flame trembled.
Not violently.
Not dramatically.
Just enough for her to notice.
Devasena frowned.
If that were true, then why did everything feel wrong?
Why did every instinct inside her reject the very idea?
And more importantly...
Why did this flame behave so strangely whenever Kanha was near?
The memory rose immediately.
Too many times to be coincidence.
She remembered lamps brightening unexpectedly when Krishna entered a room. She remembered flames dancing without wind, bending toward him as though recognizing a presence unseen by mortal eyes. Each time she had dismissed it, convincing herself she was imagining things.
Now she wasn't so certain.
The questions chased one another endlessly through her mind.
Was it destiny?
A sign?
A coincidence she had foolishly given meaning to?
Or was her heart simply searching for answers where none existed?
The harder she thought, the more tangled everything became.
Soon a dull ache began forming behind her eyes.
She pressed her fingers against her temple.
The pain intensified.
Sharp.
Insistent.
Her vision blurred at the edges.
The room seemed to sway slightly around her.
Devasena inhaled deeply and attempted to steady herself, but the sudden wave of dizziness struck harder than expected. Her grip loosened. The brass lamp nearly slipped from her hands as she stumbled backward.
A tray resting nearby crashed loudly onto the floor.
Metal struck stone with a deafening clang.
Flowers scattered.
The lamp rocked dangerously.
And Devasena lost her balance.
"Princess!"
The chamber doors flew open.
Ruti rushed inside like a storm, her face drained of color. Crossing the room in seconds, she caught Devasena before she could fall completely and wrapped an arm firmly around her waist.
"Princess, what happened?" she cried, helping her back toward the bed. "You are injured. Let me summon the royal physicians immediately."
Ruti turned to leave, but Devasena caught her wrist before she could take more than a single step.
"Oh, Ruti."
A faint laugh escaped her despite the lingering headache.
"It is only a headache."
The maid stared at her in disbelief.
"Only a headache?" she repeated. "You nearly collapsed!"
"It will pass."
"But—"
"It will pass," Devasena repeated more gently this time. "You worry far too much."
Ruti's lips pressed into a stubborn line, clearly unconvinced, but she reluctantly resumed her seat beside the bed.
For a few moments silence settled between them. Outside, distant thunder rolled across the monsoon-dark sky. The scent of rain drifted through the open balcony doors while the lamps within the chamber flickered softly against the walls.
Then Devasena glanced toward her maid.
"What news comes from the other side?"
The question had barely left her lips before she noticed the change in Ruti's expression.
Concern gave way to hesitation.
And hesitation, Devasena had learned long ago, rarely carried good news.