It was sundown. The fading light stretched across the horizon, painting the sky in soft orange and purple. The carriages, worn from the long road, finally slowed to a stop in front of a modest inn.
Inside, Lydia leaned against the cushioned side of the carriage. Her face looked pale and tired, her body heavy from the endless hours of travel. Her eyes burned with exhaustion, but she said nothing. Across from her, Ivan sat still. His face carried the same fatigue. His jaw was tense, his expression calm, but his eyes were shadowed, heavy with thoughts.
The silence between them was thick, the kind of silence that pressed down on both of them, heavy and painful, full of words that neither dared to speak.
A knock sounded on the carriage door. Ivan leaned forward to open it. It was Katherine, her voice polite but carrying quiet concern.
"Your Highness," she said softly, bowing slightly, "your rooms are ready."
