The Invasion of The Bed Chambers

The velvet curtains of Victoria's chambers, a symphony of deep crimson and gold, were drawn tight against the encroaching night. Moonlight, fractured by the intricate latticework of the windowpanes, painted the room in shifting patterns of silver and shadow. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through the heavy, embroidered cushions scattered across the plush Persian rug, mirroring the turmoil within Victoria.

Sleep, that elusive balm, remained stubbornly out of reach. Tomorrow was the day of the Grand Tournament, and the weight of expectation, heavy as a mountain of obsidian, pressed down on her chest. The whispers of her rivals, the glint of their sharpened blades, the potential for failure – all these images danced in her mind, each one a venomous serpent slithering through the stillness of her thoughts.