The air in the royal council chamber was thick with expectation. Nobles and ministers sat in a semicircle, their robes crisp, their gazes sharp as they waited for the queen to speak. The scent of sandalwood and ink drifted through the room, mingling with the faint murmur of whispered discussions.
At the head of the chamber, Satyavati stood tall, her dark eyes unwavering as they swept across the gathered lords.
Beside her, Chitrangada sat stiffly, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair.
Bhishma stood a little apart, his hands folded before him, his expression unreadable.
Satyavati exhaled, then raised her voice.
"The time has come."
The murmurs ceased. All eyes turned to her.
She let the silence stretch, then continued.
"Chitrangada is no longer a boy. He has trained under Bhishma's hand, learned the ways of steel and strategy. It is time for him to ride with the king's guard."
Chitrangada's heart thudded against his ribs. Finally.
His mother's words felt like an arrow loosed into the sky—swift, certain, unstoppable.
Around the chamber, the nobles exchanged glances. Some nodded approvingly; others hesitated, their expressions carefully neutral.
Bhishma, however, remained still.
Finally, he spoke. "He is bold. But he is green."
The room tensed.
Satyavati turned to him, her expression impassive. "You doubt his strength?"
Bhishma's voice was calm, measured. "Strength is not readiness. A blade may be sharp, but it must also be tempered."
Chitrangada stiffened. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay seated, though every fiber of his being wanted to rise, to argue.
Satyavati's gaze remained locked on Bhishma. "Then what do you propose?"
Bhishma met her eyes. "More time. More training. The battlefield is not a courtyard."
Chitrangada felt heat rise to his face.
His mother turned to him. "And you, my son? What do you say to this?"
Chitrangada pushed himself to his feet. "I say I am no child to be coddled."
His voice rang through the chamber, strong, unyielding.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then, one of the nobles, an older man with silver-threaded hair, nodded approvingly. "A king must know war."
Another lord murmured agreement. "The prince must prove himself."
Bhishma's gaze flicked over them. Fools. They saw only a young warrior eager for battle. They did not see the risk.
Chitrangada turned to him, his eyes gleaming with defiance. "You've taught me all you can, Bhishma. I must face the world beyond these walls."
Bhishma studied him, his own gaze steady. There it was—the fire, the hunger, the same restless impatience he had seen before.
The council chamber pulsed with silent tension.
Finally, Satyavati spoke. "Then it is settled."
Bhishma exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. No. It was not settled.
Not yet.
That night, Satyavati summoned Bhishma to her chambers.
The air was thick with the scent of burning oil lamps, the soft flicker of flame casting golden light against silk-draped walls.
She sat by the window, staring out over the city. Below, torches lined the streets, the murmurs of the night watch carrying on the wind.
She did not turn when Bhishma entered.
For a long moment, there was only silence.
Then, softly, she spoke.
"You disagree."
Bhishma clasped his hands behind his back. "I do."
Satyavati's fingers traced the edge of a silver goblet. "Why?"
Bhishma did not answer immediately. He stepped forward, his voice quiet but firm.
"He is not ready."
Satyavati turned then, her dark eyes searching his face. "And when will he be?"
Bhishma exhaled. "When he learns patience."
A small, bitter smile curved Satyavati's lips. "Patience?" She shook her head. "Tell me, Bhishma, was my husband patient when he pursued me? When he defied the will of gods and men for love?"
Bhishma's jaw tightened. "That was different."
She studied him. "Was it?"
Silence.
Satyavati set the goblet down and stood, stepping closer.
"You see his recklessness. I see his hunger." Her voice softened, but it did not lose its steel. "I see my son. My dream."
Bhishma remained still.
Satyavati's voice dropped to a whisper. "Let him rise."
The wind outside stirred, rustling the silk curtains.
For the first time in years, Bhishma felt something close to doubt.
Satyavati stepped back.
"You have always stood for duty," she murmured. "Stand for him now."
Bhishma turned his gaze to the open window. The city stretched beyond, vast and waiting. The world was not kind to those who rushed toward it unprepared.
And yet…
Perhaps some men were not meant to wait.
Finally, he exhaled. "I will ride with him."
Satyavati's lips parted slightly, surprised.
Bhishma met her gaze. "He will go. But I will be there."
The queen studied him for a long moment, then nodded.
Outside, the wind shifted.
A storm was coming.