Chapter 106: Chapter 106

Lydia sat alone on her chair by the reading table, fresh from a hot bath. But no matter how hot the water had been, it hadn’t warmed her. Her body was clean, her skin dry, but inside she felt like ice. A cold that no fire could touch. There was no comfort, no warmth. Just emptiness.

The room was quiet, too quiet. The kind of quiet that presses on your ears and makes your own heartbeat sound loud. Her fingers lay limp on her lap. Her breathing was shallow, slow. She wasn’t tired. She wasn’t even restless. Just hollow.

Her maids were with her, moving around quietly like shadows. They didn’t speak unless they had to. They knew something was wrong.

They had dressed her with care. Brushed her hair. Laid out her nightdress as gently as if she were made of glass. But no one dared look her in the eyes for too long. No one asked what she needed. Because they already knew she wouldn’t answer. What could she say? That her chest felt like it was caving in? That the silence around her was nothing compared to the silence inside her?

One of them placed a tray of food on the table in front of her.

"Your dinner, Your Highness," the maid said softly, her voice gentle and careful, like she didn’t want to startle a wounded animal.

"Goodnight, Your Highness," said the other, hesitating for a second longer than usual before stepping back.

Then they left, closing the door gently behind them. The soft click of the door echoed louder than it should have in the stillness.

Lydia looked at the food. She knew it was a good meal. Warm soup, fresh bread, roasted meat. A plate prepared with care. But her stomach turned. She had no appetite. Her heart was too heavy. Her soul too tired. But Tatiana’s words echoed in her head: You must stay strong for him.

So, slowly, with no joy at all, she picked up the spoon and forced herself to take a bite. It tasted like nothing. It felt thick in her mouth. She chewed, swallowed. Then another bite. Just enough to survive. That was all she could manage now. Survival.

Her hand shook slightly as she set the spoon down. Her eyes burned from holding back tears, but she didn’t let them fall. Not yet.

Once she was done, she stood up, walked to her bed and lay down. She didn’t close her eyes. She didn’t even try to sleep. Her eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling.

She kept thinking about Ivan.

Where was he? Had he eaten? Was he safe? Was he cold?

Was he thinking of her the way she was thinking of him?

The memory of his last glance before he left haunted her. That quiet sadness in his eyes. That brokenness he tried to hide but couldn’t.

And then her heart twisted again as her thoughts shifted. What would happen when the month ended? The thought of losing him brought a fresh wave of pain.

She turned slightly on her side, clutching a pillow to her chest like a shield. But it didn’t protect her.

Tears slid down her cheeks quietly.

No sobs. No noise. Just quiet, steady tears that soaked into the pillow.

Her hands rested on her chest, feeling her own heartbeat. But the beat didn’t comfort her. It only reminded her that she was still alive, still feeling this ache. That somehow, even with everything, her heart hadn’t broken completely. But it was close.

Each beat felt like a question without an answer.

Meanwhile, in Tatiana’s room, she sat on her chair, facing the mirror, as her maid Yelena brushed her hair gently.

But Tatiana wasn’t there. Not really.

Her mind had drifted far away, to a cold, unforgettable night. The night of her wedding. The night her husband died.

They had danced earlier that day. Smiled. Greeted nobles. A celebration for the new union.

He had leaned close to her and whispered that he was heading to his study to get something.

She nodded, thinking nothing of it.

But time passed. He didn’t return.

A feeling, soft at first, started to grow in her chest. A flutter of unease. Then it grew heavier. Something wasn’t right. So she followed that worry.

She walked quietly to the study, wondering what was keeping him.

When she opened the door, her breath stopped.

There he was, lying on the floor. Unmoving. Still. Too still.

She ran to him, knelt down, calling his name.

She touched his face, patted his cheeks. Her voice rising with panic.

Then she saw the blood on her hands.

The knife was still in his chest.

The blood had soaked into the carpet.

The scream had felt like it had come from somewhere deeper than her lungs. Somewhere ancient inside her.

"My lady, I’m done," Yelena’s voice broke through her memory.

Tatiana blinked. Her hand trembled.

"Is there anything else you need, my lady?"

Tatiana didn’t answer. Her eyes stared blankly. Her breathing was shaky.

"My lady?" Yelena’s voice became more worried.

Tatiana finally turned her head slowly.

Yelena looked into her eyes and saw the tears that hadn’t fallen.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently.

Tatiana forced a smile. "Yes. I’m okay."

"You can go now. I’d like to rest."

Yelena hesitated. She could tell something was wrong, but she knew not to push.

Tatiana sat back down and hugged herself tightly, whispering to no one, "You’re okay now. Everything is going to be okay."

But the trembling in her voice betrayed her.

Back at the cottage, Ivan stood up.

"I should go," he said, his voice soft.

The woman who had taken him in, warm and kind, smiled playfully.

"Go ahead then. Your wife must be worried sick."

He gave a small smile. The kind of smile he hadn’t felt on his face in a long time. It wasn’t wide or joyful. But it was real.

He walked to the door, but before he could step out, the woman called out.

She walked up to him and handed him a scarf.

"I knitted this myself. Take it."

He looked at her, surprised.

"I want to," she interrupted softly. "When life gets too hard... when you feel like the whole world is against you... you can always come back here, Your Highness. My door will always be open."

Ivan stared at her, eyes soft.

He was about to step out again but turned one more time.

"I didn’t ask for your name. What’s your name?"

"Klara. Klara Mikhailovna."

"Thank you, Klara. For everything."

She placed her hand over her heart and gave a small bow. "Goodbye, Your Highness."

He stepped out into the snow.

As he left, she looked after him, smiling to herself.

"I’ve paid my debt, my lady," she whispered.

Ivan walked toward the nearby barn where he had left his horse. The night had grown colder, but he didn’t feel it the same way anymore. Not after the warmth Klara had shown him.

He found the barn and saw his horse resting there. He chuckled softly.

The horse had refused to go any further when they had first arrived in the outskirts of Svetlana. He had been frustrated at the time. Wanted to leave everything behind. Escape. But the horse refused to move forward.

So he had tied it in the barn and sat down on a bench nearby. Angry. Hurt. Lost.

Now, that same horse looked up at him, as if saying, "Are we ready now?"

Ivan patted the horse’s neck gently.

"You stubborn old thing," he said with a small laugh.

Then his heart grew heavy again.

She must be hurting. Alone. Wondering where he was.

She didn’t deserve this.

He had run away to escape the ones who hated him... but in doing so, he had also left behind the one person who truly loved him.

He mounted the horse.

And with that, he rode back toward the palace, the snow parting beneath the hooves, the scarf wrapped around his neck.

In Olga’s chambers, sleep never came either.

She sat on her bed, the candlelight flickering beside her.

Her mind drifted, not to the present, but to twenty-five years ago.

It had been a quiet night. A few days after Vladimir had gone to the capital.

She sat quietly, staring at the door.

She didn’t have to look. She knew who it was.

"Are you alright, Your Highness?" Marina asked. "You haven’t eaten all day."

Olga turned her head. Her eyes already full of tears.

Marina walked closer.

"Olga? What’s wrong?"

"I think he’s going to divorce me," Olga said, voice barely above a whisper.

Marina froze. Her hands trembled.

"I don’t know," Olga said, voice breaking. "I’ve done everything. I’ve tried to be the perfect wife. I’ve studied the rules, the court duties. I’ve tried."

She wiped her tears but they kept coming.

"Why would he want to abandon me this early? It’s barely been two months."

Her voice grew colder.

"Unless he wants me gone because of someone."

"Don’t play dumb with me, Marina. You know exactly what I mean."

Marina stepped back. "No, I don’t—"

"You do!" Olga shouted. "Do you think I don’t see it? The way you two look at each other when you think no one is watching? The way your fingers brush and don’t pull away?"

Marina’s lips trembled. "That’s not true..."

Then she suddenly clutched her stomach.

She leaned over, one hand on the wall.

"Are you..." Olga’s voice trembled.

"No... please... I can explain."

"Don’t tell me you’re pregnant, Marina."

Marina looked up, tears falling fast.

Olga stepped back, face pale.

"You are. You’re pregnant with my husband’s child."

"I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear, I didn’t—"

"How could you, Marina? How could you do this to me? I told you everything. I told you how much I loved him. How much I wanted this marriage to work."

She sobbed, voice shaking.

"I trusted you more than I trusted myself."

Marina tried to speak.

"I’m sorry... please just let me explain..."

"Get out of my room!" Olga screamed.

She grabbed Marina’s arm and shoved her outside. Then she slammed the door shut.

In the present, Olga sat alone on the same bed. Her hands clenched.

Her voice was soft, but full of venom.

"Don’t worry... I’ll take everything from your precious son. Just like you took everything from me."

Her tears returned, but this time, they were mixed with something darker.

Bitterness. And revenge.