Lydia sat quietly in her room after her bath. The steam from the hot water still clung faintly to her skin. Her hair was damp, soft strands falling over her shoulders. The glow of her skin made her look almost peaceful, but her heart was not at peace at all. Inside her, everything felt heavy and torn.
Her maid stood behind her, brushing her hair slowly and carefully. It was the same girl she had shouted at the day she left Ivan's chambers. Lydia could still remember the way the girl's hands had shaken back then, how frightened she looked. Now the maid brushed with such gentleness, but her hands still carried that nervous air, as though she feared Lydia might snap again.
When she was finished, the maid put the brush quietly on the vanity table and bowed her head.
"Your Highness," she said softly, "everything with the renovation is completed. Starting tomorrow, your room will be ready."
Lydia gave a small nod. "I see."
