In the late afternoon, Crown Prince Sahadeva was seen striding through the royal stables, boots ringing on the stone path.
The special enclosure for the seven white horses stood apart from the rest—guarded, quiet, shaded by tall neem trees.
The golden chariot rested under a wide awning, polished until it gleamed even in the dappled light. Inside the fenced yard, the horses slept with their heads low, tails flicking lazily at flies. Their coats shone like fresh milk.
Sahadeva approached the gate. However, two soldiers of Dakshina Kalinga straightened at once, spears crossed lightly in front of him.
"Prince," one said politely, head bowed. "The divine steeds are resting. Our orders are clear... no one may enter."
Sahadeva's eyes narrowed. His lip curled at their blockage.
"How dare you block my path?" His voice came out low, almost a growl. "This is Magadha. My kingdom. And I am the crown prince."
The soldiers didn't flinch at his threat. The one who had spoken first kept his tone even, respectful.
"We apologize, Highness. Truly. But our Maharaj's command is final. No one disturbs the horses. Not even the Royalty. They were too precious to our Majaraj. If anything happens, our king will be furious. Please understand."
Sahadeva's fists clenched at his sides while his face darkened. For a long second, it looked as though he might shove past them. But he remembered—Karna was a royal guest now, honored and respected by his father after that fight in the arena. To cause trouble here might offend his father.
In the end, he huffed once, sharp and angry, then turned on his heel and stalked away. The soldiers watched him go without moving.
That evening, in his private chambers, Sahadeva sat alone.
A clay lamp burned low on the table.
Empty cups of wine stood scattered around him. His head buzzed, thoughts spinning dark and hot.
The humiliations played over and over—the way his father had laughed and embraced Karna again and again even after being defeated, the way those soldiers insulted him by blocking his path in his own kingdom.
He couldn't stand it anymore.
Crown Prince Sahadeva pulled a fresh sheet of palm leaf toward him. His hand shook only a little as he dipped the stylus in ink and began to write.
When he finished, he rolled the leaf tight, sealed it with black wax, and pressed his ring into the soft surface. Then he rose, swaying just once, and slipped out into the corridor.
His most trusted man waited in the shadows… a lean, silent figure who asked no questions.
"You need to travel to Mathura right now," Sahadeva whispered, pressing the scroll into the man's hand. "Hand it personally to my brother-in-law. Go as fast as possible. Don't stop."
The man bowed once and vanished into the darkness.
The Crown Prince stood there a moment longer, staring at the empty corridor. The wine still burned in his throat, but the anger burned hotter.
*
The next morning;
Karna stood beside his golden chariot, the seven white horses harnessed and calm, their coats gleaming in the early light.
The older king stood at the foot of the broad steps, arms folded, face set in the kind of quiet pride that doesn't need words. Behind him, the royal family waited—Padmavati with her calm gaze, the princes stiff and formal, but Dhavani wasn't seen anywhere.
Karna stepped forward and clasped Jarasandha's forearm in a firm grip.
"Thank you, my friend," he said simply.
Jarasandha's hand tightened in return. "Ride safe, my friend. And don't forget… two months from now, I'll be at your gates for the celebration. I want to see those children of yours with my own eyes."
Karna smiled, small but genuine. "You'll be welcome. Always."
Karna then climbed into the chariot. The horses lifted their heads as one, sensing the command. With a soft word from Karna, the chariot rose—smooth, silent, wheels turning in the air. The golden frame caught the sunlight and flashed bright as it lifted higher, turning to the southeast toward Dakshina Kalinga.
Meanwhile, from a high balcony overlooking the courtyard, Princess Dhavani watched until the chariot became a distant golden speck against the sky. Her fingers gripped the stone railing so hard her knuckles paled. When the last shimmer vanished, she turned away without a word.
She walked the long corridors to her private chambers alone.
The door closed behind her with a soft click. Inside, sunlight fell across the low table where her paintings of Karna lay spread out
She stared at them for a long moment.
Then, slowly, she picked up the nearest one and tore it in half. The sound was sharp in the quiet room.
She tore another. And another. Pieces fluttered to the floor like fallen leaves. When nothing remained whole, she sank to her knees amid the scattered fragments, pressed her palms to her face, and let the tears come—silent at first, then shaking her shoulders as the sobs finally broke free in a heartbreak.
*
A while later;
Far to the south, in the cool inner chambers of the palace at Kanipura, Roshini slept deeply.
A faint breeze moved the sheer hangings around the bed, carrying the scent of jasmine from the garden outside. She lay on her side, one hand resting protectively over the gentle swell of her belly, breathing slowly and even.
Something stirred in the quiet. A soft shift of weight on the mattress. Roshini frowned in her sleep, then slowly opened her eyes.
Karna was spotted beside her, cross-legged, watching her with the softest smile she had ever seen on his face.
She blinked hard. Once. Twice. Then rubbed her eyes with the back of one hand.
"Husband…?"
He reached out, fingers gentle as he brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.
"I'm back, dear."
Roshini's breath caught at once. She stared at him, searching his face as though afraid he might vanish if she looked away.
"Not a dream?" she whispered.
Karna leaned forward. His lips pressed warm and sure against her forehead. "No. It isn't, my dear."
The words broke something inside her. Tears welled up fast. She pushed herself up and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face against his shoulder. "I missed you so much," she said, voice muffled and thick.
Karna wrapped both arms around her, pulling her close. He rested his cheek against the top of her head, breathing her in.
"I missed you, too," he murmured. "More than I can say."
They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other in the quiet room.
*
A few days later, far to the northwest, the city of Mathura sprawled along the banks of the Yamuna like a jeweled crown set on dusty earth.
Tall stone walls ringed the inner quarters, topped with watchtowers where archers stood day and night.
Inside, wide streets lined with grand houses and temples gleamed under the sun, but the shine felt brittle.
Merchants kept their heads down, voices low. Children played in the alleys with quick, careful steps.
Kamsa ruled here with an iron hand even sturdier than Jarasandha. At the very least, Jarasandha cared about the well-being and prosperity of his people. But Kamsa lacked that quality. He had come to power through his asura's strength, even throwing away his own father into prison before ascending to the throne.
At present, in a private chamber deep within the palace walls hung with heavy tapestries, oil lamps burning low, Kamsa sat alone on a cushioned seat. The room smelled of sandal paste and old wine.
A single scout then entered, head bowed, and placed a rolled palm leaf sealed with black wax on the low table before him.
"From our Crown Prince Sahadeva of Magadha, my lord."
Kamsa's thick brows lifted. "My brother-in-law?"
He quickly broke the seal with a flick of his thumb and unrolled the leaf. His eyes moved quickly over the sharp, angry script. When he finished, a deep frown carved lines across his broad forehead.
"So," he murmured, tapping one finger against the edge of the table. "My father-in-law wanted to draw this Suryaputra close into a military alliance. Marriage, even. But Karna refused—saw me as the obstacle. Called me an enemy without ever meeting me."
He leaned back, staring at the flickering lamp flame.
"Why the hatred? We've never crossed paths. No battles. No insults. Is his mother tied to the Yadavas somehow? Some old blood feud, I don't know?"
Kamsa rubbed his jaw slowly.
"If he could defeat Jarasandha in the pit—fair and square—then he's no ordinary man. Knowing my father-in-law's personality, he would want him as kin. And on the other side… Sahadeva burns with hate for some reason and wants me to strike at Dakshina Kalinga. Crush this Karna before he grows any bigger."
He gave a short, humorless laugh.
"But if I march south now, just to please a jealous prince, I might risk breaking the strongest tie I have, Magadha itself. Jarasandha won't forgive a fool who attacks his new friend without cause. No. War would be clumsy and wasteful."
Kamsa's eyes narrowed. A slow, cold smile curved his mouth. "But a demon… that's different."
He rolled the leaf again, thoughtful now, and set it aside.