Ivanova did not sleep.
The night hung low over the kingdom like a heavy curtain soaked in smoke and silence.
Even the wind felt reluctant to move. Somewhere beyond the northern walls, the siege remained—silent, waiting, like a predator deciding when to strike again.
Inside the city, torches burned weakly along the streets. Soldiers walked slower now. Not because they were ordered to—but because exhaustion had begun to settle into their bones.
Fear did not scream anymore.
It whispered.
And that was worse.
Inside the palace, servants moved with careful silence through marble corridors. Doors were closed earlier than usual.
Laughter had vanished completely. Even footsteps sounded cautious, as though the palace itself might collapse if disturbed too loudly.
A guard at the inner hall spoke softly to another.
"They are not attacking again tonight."
The second guard didn't look convinced.
"That is what makes it worse."
Above them, the royal wing remained sealed.
Hidden.
