Dawn did not bring warmth to Ivanova.
It brought clarity.
And clarity, Ariana realized as she stood once more at her balcony, was far crueler than darkness.
The rain had stopped.
What remained was ruin.
Smoke no longer curled in angry plumes but lingered in thin, ghostlike strands rising from charred rooftops. Entire districts stretched into the distance—blackened, hollow, broken open like wounds that had not yet begun to heal.
The capital no longer looked like a city.
It looked like something abandoned by life itself.
Ariana gripped the cold stone railing.
Behind her, her chamber doors creaked open quietly.
"You have not slept."
She did not turn.
"I could say the same, Mother."
Queen Augusta stepped closer, her silk robes whispering softly against the floor. There was no royal elegance left in her posture—only exhaustion.
"I feared you would be summoned again."
Ariana's jaw tightened slightly.
"He dismissed me."
Augusta hesitated.
