Jarasandha—Abhijith, really, but he was starting to answer to the name—sat widely on his lion-carved throne, one leg slung over the armrest, swirling a goblet of spiced milk. The morning sunlight poured through the colored windows, painting gold patterns on the marble floor. The court was alive with whispers. He could feel their eyes on him: some curious, some wary, some plotting.
He was supposed to be grieving for his daughters, newly widowed by Krishna's hand. He was supposed to be furious, vengeful, a storm about to break. Instead, he felt… amused. The old Jarasandha would have thundered and threatened. Abhijith preferred a lighter touch.
"Veerabhadra!" he called, making the general jump. "Is it too much to ask for a little entertainment in this palace? Or must I challenge the cooks to a wrestling match?"
Veerabhadra, grizzled and battle-scarred, tried not to smile. "Perhaps, Maharaja, you could try diplomacy instead of duelling. The Chedi envoys are waiting."
Jarasandha grinned. "Diplomacy? That's just wrestling with words. Send them in. And bring more of this milk. With extra ginger—keeps the mind sharp."
A servant hurried off. Veerabhadra gave him a sidelong glance. "You seem… lighter today, my king."
"Must be the milk," Jarasandha replied, eyes twinkling.
The Chedi envoys entered, all gold bangles and cautious bows. They brought gifts—fine textiles, jars of honey, a carved ivory box. Jarasandha accepted each with exaggerated politeness, all smiles and sly glances.
"Welcome, honoured guests! I trust your journey was as smooth as your king's tongue?"
The envoys bristled, but Jarasandha only grinned wider. He played them like a veena, extracting promises and secrets with every jest. When they left, Veerabhadra shook his head. "You enjoy this too much."
"Of course," Jarasandha replied, swirling his drink. "If I can't outfight my enemies, I'll outwit them. Or at least outdrink them."
As the court dispersed, Arya lingered by a window, watching the city below. She wore a sari the colour of dusk and a faint, knowing smile. Jarasandha drifted over, casual as a cat.
"Your stars are in chaos, Maharaja," she teased, not turning. "Perhaps you should try listening for once."
He leaned against the window ledge, close enough to catch the scent of jasmine in her hair. "Why listen to the stars when I can listen to you?"
She glanced at him, eyebrow arched. "Flattery from a king? The world must be ending."
"Or just beginning," he said, and was rewarded with a reluctant smile.
They walked together through the palace gardens, Arya pointing out constellations and rare herbs. Jarasandha countered with stories—some true, some invented on the spot, all designed to make her laugh. The moon rose high, and the palace seemed to fade away, leaving only two clever souls fencing with words.
As they reached the lotus pond, Arya paused. "You're different, you know. The court senses it. Some are hopeful. Some are afraid."
Jarasandha shrugged. "Let them wonder. Keeps them on their toes."
She studied him, eyes sharp. "You're not as ruthless as they think."
He grinned. "Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain."
She laughed, the sound like silver bells. "There is a traitor in your court, Maharaja. Someone who would see you fall."
Jarasandha's smile faded, replaced by a calculating look. "Then let's catch them. Together."
Veda Sutra Update:
New Quest: Root out the traitor in your court
Reward: +5 Intelligence, Sutra Fragment – Mantra-Darśī (Seer of Counsel)
They parted at the palace steps, Arya's silhouette framed by moonlight. Jarasandha watched her go, heart pounding with anticipation. The game was afoot, and he had found a partner worthy of the chase.
Back in his chamber, he sprawled on the bed, staring at the golden thread of the Veda Sutra hovering in his mind's eye. The system pulsed with possibilities—quests, choices, consequences. He grinned into the darkness, already plotting his next move.
Kingship, he decided, was far more fun when you refused to play by anyone else's rules.
As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered what tomorrow would bring: another day of schemes, secrets, and perhaps—if he was lucky—a little more laughter.