Blake Manor
When Astana awoke, the manor was quiet, an unfamiliar silence hanging over the halls. It wasn't like the palace, where every moment was filled with the measured footsteps of attendants, the murmurs of officials, and the constant weight of duty pressing down on him.
Here, at home, the air felt lighter. As he made his way downstairs, the polished wood floors creaked softly beneath his feet, and the aroma of fresh bread and black tea welcomed him into the dining room.
Only Irina remained at the table, stirring honey into her tea with delicate precision. Her light pink dress rustled slightly with each movement. The rest of the household had already begun their day, leaving the siblings alone for breakfast. When he entered, she looked up and smiled brightly.