It was sunset. The golden rays of the dying sun filtered through the large windows of the palace, painting everything in warm hues of amber and gold. In his study, Ivan sat hunched over his desk, surrounded by stacks of reports about the deployment of soldiers along the border between Zolotaria and Venograd. His eyes moved across the pages, but his mind refused to focus on the words before him.
"Thirty regiments stationed at the northern pass... increased patrols along the river..." Ivan mumbled, trying to concentrate, but it was useless. His thoughts kept drifting back to the library and Lydia.
He couldn't forget the way her eyes had glistened with unshed tears when she apologized. The usual spark in those beautiful eyes had dimmed, replaced by a sadness that tugged at his heart in ways he didn't understand—or perhaps didn't want to acknowledge.
