Ivan's body lingered in the doorway. He stood there frozen, staring into the empty corridor where Lydia had just vanished. The silence she left behind was heavier than thunder. His chest ached, his thoughts clouded. For a moment he forgot why he had even come here. The world felt blank. All he could see was her cold face turning away, her dress brushing past him as if he were nothing.
He closed his eyes, dragging in a breath that trembled. He had to remind himself where he was, why he was standing there. Slowly, with the weight of iron in his chest, he lifted his feet and walked into the study. The door closed behind him with a soft sound, and for a moment the silence stretched.
Vladimir was seated at his desk, his hands resting flat on the wood. He didn't rise, but his eyes followed Ivan as he entered. His expression was tired, almost wounded, though his posture still carried the dignity of a king.
