The river of decisions runs faster than any courier. Words travel with oars and sails; a single phrase — betrayal, ledger gone, your queen's hand — can turn the calmest council into a court of knives. The messenger's cry in the last chapter had thrown our little flotilla into a storm: ledger not in Rathore hands, another scroll with the queen's name in Ghazi hands, Veer Chauhan accused of trade. Now the palace called for proof, and proof is a blade you must hold steady.