The steady rhythm of hooves against packed earth filled the morning air as Devavrata, Aruni, and Vikrama rode through Hastinapura's outer districts. The city had welcomed its prince with open arms, but now that the celebrations had died down, he had turned his focus to the kingdom itself.
It had been four days since his return, and something weighed on his mind—his father.
Shantanu had embraced him, spoken of Hastinapura's strength and future, but there had been something else in his gaze. A shadow that had not lifted. Devavrata had expected warmth, joy, perhaps even questions about his years away. Instead, he had found a man carrying an unseen burden, retreating into his own thoughts when he thought no one was watching.
Even now, the unease lingered.
The morning sun bathed the land in golden light as they rode past grain fields, the scent of fresh-cut hay in the air. Farmers paused their work to bow, children waving excitedly as they passed.
"You'd think you were the king already," Vikrama murmured, flicking a loose strand of hair from his eyes. "They watch you like you hold the whole kingdom in your hands."
Aruni chuckled. "Not surprising. They've been waiting for him to return for years."
Devavrata offered only a small smile in response, his mind elsewhere.
At the city's northern gate, a group of guards stood talking in hushed tones. One of them, a grizzled man with a deep scar across his brow, shook his head as they passed.
"He's chasing something out there," the man muttered, unaware that Devavrata had caught his words. "Or someone."
Devavrata's hands tightened around the reins, but he didn't turn. He kept riding, his mind suddenly sharp.
They spent the day inspecting the kingdom, ensuring the roads were well-kept and hearing grievances from the local villages. By the time they returned, the sun had begun to sink, casting long shadows across the palace grounds.
As they handed their horses to the stablehands, Devavrata lingered. He turned to a young groom, a boy no older than thirteen, who had been tending to Shantanu's horse the last few days.
"You've been looking after my father's rides?" he asked, keeping his tone light.
The boy straightened. "Yes, my prince."
"Has he been riding often?"
The stablehand hesitated, glancing around as if unsure whether he should speak. "Yes… almost every evening, my prince."
"Where does he go?"
"The river." The boy shifted on his feet. "Always to the Yamuna. He leaves without a word and returns the same way. I—I think something troubles him, but he never says."
Devavrata's brows furrowed. His father had never been one to disappear without reason.
Something was pulling him to the Yamuna's banks.
And it wasn't just duty.
That night, the palace halls were quiet, the torches casting flickering shadows against the stone walls.
Devavrata found his father in his chambers, seated on the balcony overlooking the city. Shantanu was clad in a simple robe, the weight of his crown left behind for the night. He did not turn as Devavrata entered, though his voice was steady.
"You should be resting, my son."
Devavrata stepped forward. "I could say the same for you."
Shantanu finally looked at him then, his gaze calm but guarded. "A king's duties do not end with the setting sun."
"Nor do a son's concerns," Devavrata replied. He hesitated, then said, "I hear you've been riding to the Yamuna."
A flicker of something unreadable passed over Shantanu's face before he looked away. "Who told you this?"
Devavrata didn't answer the question. "Why do you go there?"
Shantanu exhaled slowly, the silence between them stretching. Then, finally, he spoke. "Some burdens a king carries alone."
It was not an answer.
Devavrata held his father's gaze, waiting for more, but Shantanu merely turned back toward the city lights.
The conversation was over.
But the mystery had only deepened.
And Devavrata was not one to ignore what lay hidden in the dark.