Embroidered red cloths hang on the walls of the palace. The early light of the sun filters through the huge windows. It’s disgustingly cold inside the “dead” palace, a draft makes noise in the corridors.

It’s very quiet around, so Nikolai can hear his own steps and his breathing, intermittent from a particularly icy gust. Few servants are in a hurry to get out of bed or leave the room once again on this cold early winter morning.

Approaching the huge door, Nikolai rubbed his shoulders because of the cold. Today, His Highness Fyodor, for reasons unknown to Nikolai, called Nikolai to his chambers, so Nikolai straightened his back and, putting a smile on his face, knocked on the door of Fyodor’s chambers.

"Come in." the only thing Nikolai heard in response. Fyodor has a cold and somewhat rude voice.