Rain fell softly over Ivanova Castle long after midnight.
The storm from the previous nights had weakened into a cold silver drizzle that painted the palace windows with trembling lines of water. The corridors had gone quiet hours ago, though silence no longer brought peace to the conquered kingdom.
Not anymore.
Now silence meant fear.
It meant Draco soldiers patrolling marble hallways with swords at their hips.
It meant servants whispering behind closed doors.
It meant nobles lowering their eyes whenever King Alexander's name was spoken aloud.
And inside the eastern tower chambers, Princess Ariana sat awake beside the fireplace, unable to breathe beneath the weight crushing her chest.
The flames danced weakly across the room, casting gold shadows over silk curtains and scattered books left untouched for days. Her engagement gown still rested folded across the bed where the seamstresses had left it earlier that evening.
Black and silver.
Draco colors.
