The morning arrived quietly over Ivanova.
For the first time in many days, the palace was not filled with shouting soldiers, clashing steel, or the desperate cries of a kingdom at war.
Yet peace had not returned.
The silence felt wrong.
Heavy.
Artificial.
Like a wound that had stopped bleeding but had not begun to heal.
Ariana stood near the window of her chamber, gazing toward the city beyond the palace walls.
The banners of Draco still hung from towers that had once belonged entirely to Ivanova.
Every time she looked at them, anger stirred inside her chest.
Not the sharp anger that burned brightly before fading.
This was different.
This anger had roots.
It lived inside her now.
Growing deeper with every passing day.
Serena stood nearby, carefully arranging dresses that had recently been delivered by Draco attendants.
The sight alone irritated Ariana.
Everything about Draco irritated her.
Their soldiers.
Their banners.
Their customs.
Their king.
