Lydia stood at the palace entrance, eyes fixed on the path ahead as Ivan's carriage disappeared into the early morning fog. She didn't move. She didn't blink. Her heart felt like it was being pulled away with the wheels of that carriage.
She didn't even know why it hurt so much.
Inside the carriage, Ivan found himself turning around. His eyes searched the back window—there she was, still standing in the same place. Why? Why couldn't he stop looking? Why did guilt claw at his chest like he was doing something wrong?
Why did it feel like he was leaving something important behind?
He looked away quickly, jaw clenched tight.
Back at the palace, Lydia finally turned around and walked back inside. Her steps were slow, her chest heavy. She quietly followed her routine like a ghost in her own body. She bathed, dressed, ate—but it was lifeless. Nothing felt the same.
The days passed slowly.
At the Zolotaria Border
