A week later, Hastinapur welcomed Duryodhana.
The prince returned from Bhagirathi Pradesh with all the grandeur expected of the heir of a great kingdom, though officially he was not yet the Crown Prince.
Soldiers marched ahead of his procession, banners of Kuru flew above the roads, and the sound of trumpets announced his arrival long before he reached the palace. The army accompanying him was not merely ceremonial either. Many of the soldiers who had served under him in Bhagirathi Pradesh had insisted on accompanying their governor back to the capital, and their presence made the procession appear almost like the return of a victorious commander from a campaign.
Duryodhana noticed something else.
The people were looking at him differently.
For years, he had been accustomed to seeing fear in their eyes. People lowered their heads when he passed, attendants became nervous in his presence, and even nobles often measured their words carefully around him. He had once believed that such fear was respect.
Now he understood the difference.
Some of the people lining the streets were smiling.
Others bowed with genuine warmth.
There was respect in their eyes.
Duryodhana did not say anything about it, but he noticed.
Perhaps Bhagirathi Pradesh had changed him more than he realized.
Or perhaps it had simply shown him what he could become when he had something to govern instead of something to prove.
He entered the palace wearing his armor, his mace resting against his shoulder. Dust from the journey still clung faintly to his garments, and the expression on his face carried the seriousness of a warrior who had spent months among soldiers and administrators rather than courtly companions.
He did not stop anywhere.
He went directly to the royal court.
Dhritarashtra was already waiting.
The moment the trumpets sounded outside and the palace guard announced his arrival, a broad smile appeared on the king's face.
"Prince Duryodhana has arrived."
The doors opened.
Duryodhana entered.
He walked to the center of the court and lowered himself respectfully before his father.
"Rise, my son."
Duryodhana obeyed.
Dhritarashtra did not remain seated.
He came down from the throne and reached for his son, pulling him into an embrace.
For a moment, the king simply held him.
"I have heard so much about you," Dhritarashtra said, his voice filled with pride. "The ministers of Bhagirathi Pradesh have praised your administration. The people speak well of you. Even the reports reaching Hastinapur have been filled with praise."
He placed his hands upon Duryodhana's shoulders.
"I am proud of you, son."
Duryodhana looked at his father. "I will make sure you continue to have reason for that pride."
Dhritarashtra smiled. "There is more."
Duryodhana waited.
"Bhishma has given his consent. You are to become the Crown Prince of Hastinapur."
The court became quiet.
Duryodhana's expression barely changed, but something passed through his eyes.
He had expected this.
Still, hearing it aloud was different.
"I am ready to shoulder the responsibility, Father."
His answer was calm.
Then he paused.
"But there is one thing I would like to say."
Dhritarashtra nodded.
Duryodhana looked toward the elders of the court.
"I know that the people of Hastinapur once looked toward my brother Yudhishthira as their future king. I will never ask them to forget that."
There was a subtle shift in the court.
Duryodhana continued.
"The Pandavas are gone. Those who are gone cannot simply be brought back. I will not pretend that replacing the sons of Pandu is an easy responsibility, nor will I claim that I can simply become Yudhishthira."
His voice remained steady.
"But Hastinapur still has a hundred sons of Dhritarashtra."
He looked toward his father.
"My ninety-nine brothers and I will work together. We will strengthen this kingdom, protect its people, and protect the sovereignty of Hastinapur across Aryavarta."
Silence followed.
It was not the silence of discomfort.
It was surprise.
Dhritarashtra could hear it in the absence of objection.
The man standing before him was still Duryodhana, but he did not sound like the Duryodhana who had once spoken from anger and insecurity. There was no bitterness toward the dead Pandavas in his voice, no desperate need to prove that he was superior to them.
He had spoken like an administrator.
Like someone thinking about the kingdom rather than himself.
Bhishma watched him carefully.
Vidura did the same.
Neither had expected this.
Perhaps the Pandavas being gone had forced Duryodhana to grow into the responsibilities he had once wanted only for the sake of defeating them.
Perhaps months away from Hastinapur had done it.
Perhaps governing Bhagirathi Pradesh had taught him what the court never could.
Whatever the reason, the change was undeniable.
Even Bhishma found himself looking at the young prince differently.
Dhritarashtra finally spoke.
"Then it is decided."
He turned toward the assembled court.
"Duryodhana will be anointed Crown Prince of Hastinapur three days from today."
A wave of murmurs passed through the court.
The announcement was followed by another.
"After the ceremony, the Crown Prince will depart for Dakshina Panchala to attend Princess Draupadi's Swayamvara."
Duryodhana bowed his head.
"I accept."
He did not ask questions.
He did not protest.
He simply accepted the command with the dignity expected of a prince.
After receiving his father's blessing, Duryodhana left the court.
He walked through the palace corridors alone.
His steps remained measured.
His face remained calm.
Only when he reached his chamber and closed the doors behind him did the expression change.
Duryodhana sat down.
For a few moments, he remained completely still.
Then his lips curled upward.
A low laugh escaped him.
Soon.
Very soon.
He was going to get everything he wanted.
The Crown Prince's position.
The respect of the court.
The future of Hastinapur.
And perhaps far more than that.
His fingers rested against the arm of his seat as his thoughts turned toward the man whose influence had shaped so much of what had happened during his absence.
*Uncle was right.*
The thought pleased him.
*Grandsire and the others see me in a better light when Uncle is not beside me.*
Shakuni had always understood that.
He had understood something Duryodhana himself had once refused to accept. As long as Shakuni remained constantly at Duryodhana's side, every mistake could be blamed on the Gandhara prince's influence. Every harsh decision could be interpreted as Shakuni's counsel. But once Duryodhana stood alone, governed alone, and succeeded alone, people were forced to judge him for himself.
And now they were doing exactly that.
Duryodhana smiled.
Then another thought came.
*Kampilya.*
He wondered whether he would be able to meet his uncle there.
Should he send a letter?
His expression became thoughtful.
"No."
He leaned back.
"Let us wait."
Perhaps Shakuni would send his instructions first.
After all, there was a reason Shakuni had encouraged him to accept the governorship and remain away from Hastinapur for so long.
Duryodhana wanted to know what his uncle had planned next.