Morning light spilled through the towering palace windows in pale streaks of silver and gold, touching the marble floors of Ivanova's eastern corridor with soft brilliance.
Yet despite the beauty of dawn, Queen Augusta felt no peace within it.
The palace was awake.
Servants moved through the halls with lowered voices.
Guards rotated positions along the inner walls. Nobles whispered in corners, carrying rumors from chamber to chamber like frightened birds.
War had not yet arrived.
But everyone could feel its breath.
Augusta stood near the balcony outside Ariana's chambers, her hands clasped before her as cold wind swept through the corridor and tugged gently at the dark fabric of her gown.
Her gaze lingered on the closed doors ahead.
Ariana had not emerged yet.
That alone unsettled her.
Because her daughter was never one to sleep past sunrise.
Not unless something weighed heavily upon her mind.
And Augusta already feared what that something might be.
