At a quarter past two in the morning, Regina Royal Estate had fallen into the peculiar silence that belonged only to palaces after midnight, when the corridors remained beautifully lit yet somehow seemed abandoned, and the polished marble carried every distant footstep with an unsettling clarity. Elara Romano stood beside the tall windows of the western gallery, one hand resting lightly against the cold stone while she watched the gardens disappear beneath a veil of winter mist, and for the first time since Alessandro had left, she allowed herself to acknowledge the empty space beside her. She had grown accustomed to sensing his presence without looking for it—the quiet shift of his attention whenever she entered a room, the protective glance he thought she did not notice, the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw whenever danger approached—and now that familiar presence was absent, leaving behind a silence that felt far more intimate than loneliness ought to have been.
