The previous morning
The capital
The sun had not fully risen, and the light in Olga's chamber was soft and pale, falling across her paints and brushes. She sat in silence, her brush moving slowly across the canvas, though her mind was clearly elsewhere. The air smelled faintly of oils and flowers. Across from her, Pavel, the grand chamberlain, stood waiting with a long list of minor issues he was reciting.
Olga nodded from time to time, though her eyes were fixed on her painting. She looked calm, almost distant, until the sudden sound of wings made her pause. A bird flew through the open window, its feathers beating against the air before it landed neatly on the rail.
Olga raised a brow, putting her brush aside. A tiny roll of parchment was tied to the bird's leg. She untied it, curious.
Her eyes scanned the words.
