Morning did not bring peace to Ivanova.
It brought silence.
Not the calm, orderly quiet of a kingdom waking to routine—but something heavier. Something strained.
Even the sunlight that slipped through the tall palace windows felt dull, as though it too hesitated to touch the stone.
Servants moved quickly through the corridors, their heads bowed, their voices lowered to whispers.
Trays clinked faintly. Footsteps echoed too loudly. Every sound felt like it did not belong.
Something was wrong.
And everyone knew it.
**********************************
In the strategy chamber, the tension was no longer hidden.
Maps were spread across the long oak table, their edges weighed down with daggers, ink pots, and trembling hands.
Markings had been added overnight—lines, circles, symbols that spoke of movement, of encroachment, of danger drawing nearer with every passing hour.
King Ivan stood at the head of the table.
Still.
Focused.
But the tightness in his jaw betrayed him.
