December 26, 1695.
The first light of dawn crept through the windows of the Royal Palace of Elysea. The grand halls, once filled with music and laughter the night before, were now quiet, save for the occasional sounds of servants tidying up after the grand festivities.
King Bruno stretched as he sat up in bed, rubbing his temples. His body felt sluggish from the amount of food and wine he had indulged in the previous night. He glanced over to his side, where Amélie still lay, her breathing soft and steady. She had been the one to convince him to truly enjoy the holiday, and for once, he had allowed himself to let go of his worries.
But now, Christmas was over.
Bruno exhaled and carefully got out of bed, not wanting to wake his wife. He washed his face with cold water from a nearby basin and dressed in a simple tunic before stepping into the hall.