Chapter 38: Voices of Counsel

The palace gardens were still in the morning light, the scent of flowering neem and jasmine drifting on the breeze. Devavrata sat beneath the shade of a large peepal tree, his hands resting on his knees, the weight of his father's unspoken suffering pressing against his thoughts.

Across from him, Aruni leaned forward, his elbows braced against his thighs. His expression was intent, sharp with conviction. "You cannot be serious."

Vikrama, lounging against a stone bench, his bow slung across his lap, exhaled slowly. "He is."

Devavrata remained silent.

Aruni straightened, his voice firm. "You are Shantanu's heir. Your right to the throne is unquestionable. And yet, because of a fisherman's demand, you're considering—what? Walking into his hands? Bargaining?"

"He loves her, Aruni."

Aruni's jaw tightened. "I do not doubt his love. But is it reason enough to shake a kingdom's foundation?"

Vikrama's voice was quieter, but steady. "Perhaps love is the only reason strong enough to do so."

Aruni turned to him, incredulous. "You agree with this?"

Vikrama did not move, his gaze steady. "I see both sides." He studied Devavrata for a moment before adding, "I do not think he has decided yet."

Aruni exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Then let me make it simple. If you yield the throne, it will not end there. If a fisherman can set terms for kings, others will follow. The court will fracture, rivals will rise. And what of our enemies? Do you think they will not see weakness in such a concession?"

Devavrata glanced down at his hands, fingers tightening briefly before releasing. He had thought of all these things. And yet…

Vikrama shifted, the leather of his bracers creaking. "There is another way to see it. What is a throne if it comes at the cost of the king's happiness? What is a kingdom worth if its ruler carries regret in his heart until his final days?"

Aruni shook his head. "That is sentiment, not strategy."

"And yet," Vikrama countered, "it is the heart that drives men, not just the crown."

Devavrata lifted his gaze, scanning the gardens. Courtiers moved along the distant pathways, their voices quiet but watchful. He had felt their eyes more keenly in recent days, the murmurs growing. Whispers of the king's distraction. Questions of why Devavrata had not taken a more commanding role.

The kingdom was waiting.

He was waiting.

For what?

For his father to let go of his love?

For the pain to settle into silence?

The answer had already begun to take root within him. He knew where his path led.

He stood.

Aruni and Vikrama followed suit, watching him closely.

"I will speak with the fisherman myself," Devavrata said.

Aruni frowned. "And if he does not relent?"

Devavrata's gaze was unwavering. "Then I will find another way."

Vikrama tilted his head slightly, his voice quiet. "Honor's a blade, Devavrata. It cuts both ways."

Devavrata nodded once. He knew.

But the time for hesitation had passed.

The banks of the Ganga stretched before him, the river's surface catching the afternoon sun in glimmering waves. Devavrata stood at the water's edge, the wind stirring faintly around him, carrying the scent of damp earth and lotus blossoms.

He had come here many times before, drawn to its quiet strength. The river had always been his mother's gift, a presence that flowed through his veins as surely as it did through the land.

Now, he sought something else.

Clarity.

His fingers brushed the leather strip still wrapped around his wrist—a relic of another past, another loss. Kshema's fire had burned bright, and though she was gone, her voice still lingered in his mind.

Strength is not only in holding, Devavrata. Sometimes, it is in letting go.

His father had given everything to his people. Devavrata had never doubted that. And now, the one thing he desired most lay beyond his reach, not because of his own hesitation, but because of duty.

The very same duty that Devavrata himself bore.

Was Aruni right? That to bend here would set a precedent, one that could unravel all his father had built?

Or was Vikrama's view the truth—that a kingdom must be ruled by a man, not just a crown?

He thought of Shantanu, standing at the riverbank, watching Satyavati from afar, his love tempered by restraint. A king who could command armies, who could shape the fate of a nation, and yet, before love, he had yielded without battle.

Devavrata closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

He had made his decision.

The wind whispered through the reeds, a quiet song carried along the river's surface.

Tomorrow, he would ride to the fisherman's village.

And there, he would shape his fate.