Ivan and Lydia lay together in the soft quiet of Ivan's chambers. Morning light filtered through the snowy windows, casting a cold silver glow across the room. Outside, the snow was still falling gently, layering rooftops and tree branches like a slow, silent lullaby. But inside, the warmth of the fire hummed low and steady. The flames crackled now and then, casting soft shadows across the walls and ceiling. The scent of woodsmoke, pine, and something delicate—rosewater perhaps—hung gently in the air.
Ivan stirred first. He blinked slowly into the pale morning light, his body heavy with sleep, but his mind already reaching for the warmth beside him.
The first thing he saw was Lydia.
