The palace of Ivanova no longer resembled what it once was.
It still wore its shape—its towers, its marble corridors, its gilded arches—but everything within it had shifted into something unfamiliar.
Something occupied.
Something controlled.
The silence that now filled its halls was not peaceful; it was enforced. Even the air seemed to carry restraint, as though speaking too loudly would invite consequences that no one was willing to test.
Draco soldiers stood at every corridor junction, unmoving, disciplined, watching without expression. They did not need to shout or threaten. Their presence alone was enough to rewrite behavior. Servants walked more carefully now, voices reduced to whispers, movements shortened, eyes lowered.
The palace had not just been conquered.
It had been subdued into obedience.
And beneath that obedience, something heavier lingered.
Fear that had nowhere to go.
Deep within the throne hall, Alexander stood alone.
