58.
Devasena stood alone upon the secluded balcony adjoining her chambers, her hands resting against the cool marble railing.
The night stretched endlessly before her, draped in a blanket of silver moonlight and whispering winds.
Far below, the palace grounds lay unusually silent, as though even nature itself held its breath in anticipation of the uncertain dawn that awaited them.
Sleep had long abandoned her.
How could she possibly sleep when Subhadra was out there—wearing her identity, walking in her stead, and unknowingly courting danger with every passing moment?
Earlier that day, Devasena had insisted on helping with the evacuation of their subjects to the fortified sanctuary hidden within the mountains. She had wished to do something—anything—to ease the burden weighing upon her kingdom. Yet her efforts had been swiftly dismissed.
Her parents had refused without hesitation.
You cannot risk being seen, they had said. If even one of the enemy's spies recognises you, the entire plan shall crumble.
And so, she had been confined within the safety of palace walls while others risked their lives for her sake.
A bitter scoff escaped her lips.
"How arrogant and nefarious..." she muttered under her breath, absentmindedly adjusting the delicate glass bangles adorning her wrists. The soft chiming of glass against glass echoed through the stillness.
"Isn't he?"
The sudden voice shattered the silence. Devasena's breath hitched.
She stiffened instantly, her heart stumbling within her chest.
There was only one person whose voice could unsettle her so effortlessly.
Memories of their encounter in her chambers came rushing back unbidden—the closeness, the lingering glances, the unfamiliar warmth that had refused to leave her since.
Heat crept into her cheeks despite herself.
Slowly, brushing aside her embarrassment, she turned.
Vaasudev stood a few paces away, bathed in moonlight, waiting with remarkable patience for her acknowledgement.
There was not a trace of impatience upon his features, only quiet amusement dancing within his eyes.
"He is," she replied, lifting her chin stubbornly. "Like all other men."
A slight pout tugged at her lips.
"Deva..." he said softly.
Her name.
Why did it sound so different when he spoke it?
Why did it linger?
Is this normal? she wondered silently, biting the inside of her cheek to steady herself.
Raising an inquisitive brow, she looked at him.
"Yes, Vaasudev?" she asked, genuine curiosity colouring her voice.
A gentle smile graced his lips.
"Do you not think it unfair," he asked quietly, stepping closer, "to judge all men for the mistakes of one?"
The night breeze stirred between them, carrying with it words unspoken and emotions neither yet understood.
"Hmmm..." Devasena tilted her head thoughtfully, the glass bangles on her wrist chiming softly as she folded her arms.
"Then perhaps only the ones who do not know their place?" she replied, though her words lacked their usual certainty. They floated between them more as a question than a statement, tentative and uncertain, as though she herself was no longer entirely convinced of what she believed.
She looked at him expectantly, curious to hear what wisdom—or infuriatingly clever retort—Vaasudev would offer next.
A knowing smile curved Vaasudev's lips.
"And who decides that place, Deva?" he asked, leaning casually against one of the carved pillars. "The men themselves? Their families? Society?"
He paused, his eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.
"Or you?"
Devasena opened her mouth, only to close it a moment later. "Well, someone must," she argued, lifting her chin.
"Indeed," he agreed readily. "But I have observed that people are remarkably poor judges when it comes to others."
"And what makes you so certain?" she challenged.
"Experience."
The answer came far too quickly.
Devasena narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "That sounds suspiciously like the sort of answer people give when they do not wish to explain themselves."
Vaasudev chuckled softly. "You wound me, Deva. I was under the impression that you considered me incapable of deceit."
"I consider you capable of many things," she said, a hint of mischief entering her voice. "Humility, however, is not among them."
A laugh escaped him then—genuine and unrestrained.
"Ah," he said, placing a hand dramatically over his heart, "and here I thought we were making progress."
"We are," Devasena replied with a small smile she failed to suppress. "I no longer believe all men are arrogant."
His brows rose.
"Only the ones who insist on appearing uninvited on princesses' balconies in the middle of the night."
"An unfortunate habit," Vaasudev admitted solemnly. "Though in my defence, the princess in question looked terribly lonely."
The teasing smile slowly faded from Devasena's face.
"I was worried," she confessed quietly, her gaze dropping to the gardens below. "About Subhadra. About everyone."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Vaasudev stepped beside her, leaving a respectful distance between them.
"Worry is the price we pay for loving others, Deva," he said gently. "Do not mistake it for weakness."
She turned to look at him.
"And if something happens to her?"
His expression softened.
"Then she shall face it with the courage that made you trust her in the first place."
The night wind stirred around them, carrying away some small measure of the fear that had weighed upon Devasena's heart.
"How is the wound?" he asked softly.
The question struck Devasena like a bolt of lightning.
Instantly, warmth flooded her cheeks, spreading all the way to the tips of her ears. By the gods, she was certain she now resembled the scarlet hibiscus blossoms blooming in the palace gardens.
Of all the things he could have asked, he had chosen that.
Unconsciously, her fingers drifted towards her shoulder, to the very spot where the wound had once marred her skin. It had healed completely now—not after the countless herbal poultices and remedies Vaasudev had so diligently prepared and applied, but after...
Her breath caught.
After that.
The memory rose unbidden in her mind—his solemn gaze, the gentle press of his lips against her injured shoulder as he had blessed it, and the miraculous disappearance of the wound thereafter.
Mortified, she immediately lowered her hand.
"It... it has healed," she replied, her voice considerably softer than she had intended.
A faint smile tugged at Vaasudev's lips, as though he knew precisely what memory had rendered the usually composed princess speechless.
"That is good," he said simply.
Devasena refused to look at him.
The moon, she decided, was suddenly far more interesting.
Vaasudev's smile widened.
"Deva," he called softly.
"Hmm?"
"You are blushing."
Her head snapped towards him.
"I am not!"
"You are."
"I most certainly am not!"
"The hibiscus flowers in the royal gardens may disagree."
Devasena gasped in indignation, while Vaasudev laughed—a warm, melodious sound that only served to deepen the crimson upon her cheeks.
Here's a continuation that feels natural and introspective, while allowing Krishna's wisdom to shine through:
For a moment, silence settled comfortably between them, broken only by the distant rustling of leaves and the soft melody of night insects.
Devasena traced absent patterns upon the marble railing before speaking again.
"Say, Vaasudev..." she began softly, her voice carrying an uncertainty rare for the spirited princess. "What do you think, after all this?"
He turned towards her, his expression thoughtful.
"About what, Deva?"
She sighed, her gaze drifting towards the moonlit horizon.
"About everything." She paused. "The war. The deception. Subhadra taking my place. My parents hiding me away while others fight in my stead." A bitter smile touched her lips. "About me."
Vaasudev was silent for a long moment.
"I think," he said at last, "that life has placed you at a crossroads."
She frowned. "A crossroads?"
He nodded.
"One path leads to resentment—towards your circumstances, your family, even yourself. The other leads to understanding."
"And which path would you have me choose?" she asked quietly.
Vaasudev's eyes held hers.
"I would have you choose neither for my sake, nor for your parents', but for your own peace."
Devasena looked away.
"You make it sound easy."
A soft chuckle escaped him.
"No, Deva. If it were easy, the world would have no need for wisdom."
She could not help but smile at that.
"You always have an answer, do you not?"
"I have been accused of that once or twice."
"Only once or twice?" she teased.
Vaasudev smiled. "Very well. A great many times."
For the first time that night, Devasena laughed freely, and Vaasudev thought that perhaps the moon had found competition.
"You always have an answer, do you not?" she teased, a hint of mischief returning to her voice.
Vaasudev inclined his head in mock solemnity. "I have been accused of that a great many times."
Devasena studied him for a moment before a sudden thought crossed her mind.
"Very well then, O wise Vaasudev," she said, turning fully towards him, "if you truly possess an answer to every question, then tell me this."
He raised an eyebrow, silently inviting her to continue.
"When shall my intended come and whisk me away to wherever it is he resides?" she asked dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. "I am growing exceedingly weary of tending to my lamp and waiting for his arrival."
She punctuated the statement with an adorable little huff, her lips forming the slightest pout.
Vaasudev stared at her for a heartbeat.
Then another.
And suddenly, he laughed.
Not the restrained chuckle he often graced others with, but a genuine, rich laugh that echoed through the quiet balcony.
Devasena frowned. "What is so amusing?"
"Oh, nothing at all," he replied, though the amusement dancing in his eyes suggested otherwise.
"Vaasudev."
"Deva."
"You are avoiding the question."
"Am I?"
"You are."
He hummed thoughtfully, resting his forearms against the marble railing beside her.
"Perhaps," he said at last, his gaze fixed upon the moonlit gardens below, "your intended is closer than you imagine."
Devasena blinked.
"Closer?" she repeated. "What sort of answer is that?"
"The only one I can offer."
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"That is not an answer. That is a riddle."
Vaasudev merely smiled—a smile far too knowing for her liking.
And Devasena decided, not for the first time, that Vaasudev was a thoroughly infuriating man.