Pandawa / Chapter 4(3) - The Prince -

It seemed I had spoken too soon.
The man’s face stiffened at my question.
Damn it. Wrong question.

I glanced to my left—and felt an ominous aura.
Damn again. That aura was even darker than the shamans I once fought near northern Java.

“No.”

“Hm? . . .”
“I don’t have a wife. Not yet.”

“Ah… I see.”

I glanced left once more—and was met by a wide, satisfied grin.
Lucky me.

“Could it be… that you have feelings for me?”

A sharp, unexpected question. One that pierced through the air.

I turned again to the left.
That same dreadful aura returned.
Damn it, Cakradhara, why would you even ask that?

“N-no, it’s not like that… I just…”

“Just wanted to confirm the personal data for tomorrow’s prize-giving ceremony.”

Cakradhara nodded, covering his face slightly.
He seemed a little embarrassed by what he’d just said.

“Ah, I see. My apologies for asking something so forward.”

I stole a glance at Gitarja and gave her a small hand signal—it was time.
Everything was in place.

Gitarja walked in, carrying a lunch box.
Meanwhile, I kept chatting idly with Cakradhara, making sure everything appeared perfectly normal.

“Dru?”

“Excuse me, is this Prince Cakradhara’s chamber?”

Gitarja lowered her back slightly, holding the box with both hands.
She played her act well—pretending not to know what was happening, walking calmly, her nervousness nearly invisible.

“Ah, yes, it is. May I help you?”

“This is… a small meal I brought for you. A gift from… from me, on behalf of the Kingdom.”

She handed the lunch box directly to Prince Cakradhara.
He received it gently, examining it closely. His gaze flicked between Gitarja and me.

“Ah, thank you. May I know your name?”

Gitarja smiled, folding her hands neatly behind her back.

“Gitarja. Sri Gitarja. But you can just call me Gitarja.”

“Gitarja… I like it. A pleasant name.”

Without realizing, I smiled too—watching my dearest friend act just like she used to, like on those nights from long ago.

“You can try it first if you’d like,” she said softly.

“Really? Oh… all right then, let me open it first.”

Cakradhara loosened the knot easily.
Gitarja’s way of tying it was as elegant as ever.

“This?”
“A local delicacy from this region.”

Cakradhara looked between the food, Gitarja, and me.
Then he simply froze, staring at the meal in silence.

“. . .”

“Not hungry? Ah, I understand. You must still be full from lunch, aren’t you, Prince Cakradhara?”

No, that’s not it.

“Ah, haha… yes, something like that,”
He lied.

“Then how about you, Drupadi? Why don’t you try it first? You must be tired from standing guard all day, aren’t you?”

This prince… he’s not just any noble.
He’s cautious—sharp, ever watchful.

“I’m not particularly hungry. But sure, why not.”

I took one of the pastries and ate it, savoring it slowly, wearing the expression of someone deeply appreciating the taste—just to be certain.
The food was safe. No poison, no tricks.

“It’s good. Sweet and bitter. You might like it.”

Cakradhara’s expression remained unreadable.
He looked at me, then back at the pastry.
He took a piece, lifted it to his nose, and inhaled the aroma.

“Sweet and bitter, huh?
I like that flavor.”

.
.
.

Gitarja and I walked along the narrow dirt path, the golden fields stretching endlessly to our right and left.
The scent of wet soil and ripening rice lingered in the air.

“Dru…”

“Hmm?…”

We walked side by side, the fading sun painting the world in shades of red and amber.

Before saying another word, Gitarja nudged my shoulder lightly with hers—a small, playful gesture that spoke more than words ever could.

“Thank you . . . for helping me meet him.” Her voice trembled softly, carried away by the evening breeze. “You really are . . . my best friend.”