Chapter 109: Chapter 109

Lydia sat in the steaming water, trying to calm the tremors that were threatening to shake her entire body. The heat of the bath should have relaxed her, but her skin felt cold, a chill deep in her bones that she couldn’t shake.

She pulled her knees closer to her chest, the water rippling gently around her, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in her chest. Her breathing was shallow, and her eyes were red-rimmed from the tears she hadn’t even realized she’d been crying. It felt like she was drowning in her own thoughts, the silence pressing in on her like thick fog.

Ruslan was alive. The thought kept circling in her mind, hammering at her. His message had been clear: he was coming for her. The promise he’d made to her on the ship that night... It felt like a lifetime ago, but it was real. Too real. She could feel the weight of his words pressing down on her chest. The letter had been written in blood, and even now, the sight of those words haunted her.

She had tried to tell herself it couldn’t be real. That maybe it was someone pretending to be him. But no. Deep down, she knew. She recognized the way he wrote. She remembered the way his letters always carried a strange mix of affection and madness, a cold sweetness that sent chills down her spine. And this one... this one was even worse. It was him.

Her maids, sensing the shift in her demeanor, were quiet as they entered the room after she had finished her bath. They helped her out of the water, their soft hands moving quickly and efficiently, but there was something in the air, something that hung heavily, and they knew it.

None of them dared to speak much. Even the clinking of the small glass bottles and combs felt too loud in the heavy silence. They wrapped her in warm towels, but Lydia still felt frozen inside, like no amount of heat could reach the fear buried in her chest.

Lydia didn’t speak as they dressed her, didn’t even look at herself in the mirror. The soft fabrics of her gown slipped over her skin, but she felt none of the usual comfort she would have. Instead, she just stared blankly at the reflection of her pale face in the mirror.

She looked like a ghost. Hollow eyes. Lifeless expression. It was strange, seeing herself like that. As if the person in the mirror wasn’t even her.

Her fingers trembled as her maids brushed her hair. She could feel them whispering behind her, glancing at each other with concern. It was unlike her to remain so quiet, so distant.

"She’s not herself today," one of the maids whispered. "She’s been all morning."

"I don’t know... She just started acting out of sorts. She seems... terrified."

Lydia didn’t hear the rest. Her thoughts were too loud. Ruslan is alive. He’s coming for me.

She remembered his eyes. The way he had looked at her that night. That twisted affection. That possessive need. It had felt suffocating even then. And now... now he was back.

As the maids finished brushing her hair, they quietly left, the silence of the room settling in. The door closed softly behind them. Lydia let out a slow breath. She tried to shake off the dread, but it stuck to her like a second skin.

She sat there, completely still, afraid that if she moved, the world would come crashing down.

She was startled when she heard footsteps approaching. Ivan’s voice called from the hallway, and the door opened a moment later.

"Lydia?" His voice was gentle, but there was a note of concern in it that she couldn’t ignore.

She quickly wiped away the faint traces of tears that had started to gather in her eyes. She looked up at him and forced a smile. "I’m fine," she said, trying to sound normal, but her voice came out brittle, fragile.

Ivan, ever perceptive, wasn’t fooled. He stepped into the room, his eyes searching hers. He could see the strain in her shoulders, the tension in her face.

"Lydia..." He came closer, gently cupping her face with both of his hands, his thumbs brushing over her skin. "Tell me what’s wrong."

She felt a pang in her chest. She wanted to tell him everything. She wanted to cry out and tell him about Ruslan, about the danger that was coming. But she couldn’t. Not now. He was so peaceful, so content, and the idea of ripping that away from him felt unbearable. The truth would tear him apart.

"It’s nothing," she lied. "I’m just nervous about the ball. It’s tomorrow, and everything is coming so fast. I’m afraid I’ll mess up."

Ivan looked at her with concern, but he didn’t press. Instead, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, as if he could shield her from the world’s pain. His warmth seeped into her, grounding her.

"You won’t mess anything up, Lydia," he whispered. "You don’t have to worry. I’m here."

She clung to him, burying her face in the fabric of his shirt, her hands gripping him as if her life depended on it. She closed her eyes, trying to push the fear away.

His gentle strokes on her hair and his reassuring words wrapped around her, soothing the storm inside her. "We’ll handle everything tomorrow. Together," he promised.

Her heart ached, but she nodded, telling herself that she had to stay calm for him. For them.

Ivan pulled away slowly, his gaze soft but determined. "I have an idea," he said. "Come with me."

She looked up at him in curiosity, but he just smiled and took her hand, leading her through the halls of the palace. The cold air of the morning bit at her skin, but she hardly noticed. She was with him, and in that moment, it felt like everything would be alright.

They reached the tower, a quiet and secluded place with a breathtaking view of Svetlana below. The city stretched out beneath them, bathed in the soft light of the morning sun. For a moment, everything felt still, peaceful.

Ivan chuckled softly. "They say we’ll have to dance at the ball tomorrow."

Lydia smiled weakly, glancing at him. "Everyone will be looking at us."

"You’ll be fine," he said, squeezing her hand. "And if we trip, the worst they can do is laugh. So what?"

She chuckled, the sound soft and nervous. "You’re right," she said, feeling a bit lighter.

He pulled her into a hug, holding her tightly. "Everything is going to be okay," he whispered. "I promise."

They sat down by the window for a while, Lydia’s head resting against his shoulder. The warmth of his presence, the sound of his breathing, was all that mattered to her in that moment. She felt safe there, and for the first time in what felt like days, she allowed herself to just breathe.

But soon, they had to leave. As they made their way back down the tower stairs, they encountered Vladimir in the hall. Lydia bowed her head respectfully, but Ivan didn’t acknowledge him. His grip on Lydia’s hand tightened just slightly. She noticed the shift but said nothing.

Vladimir stood there, watching them leave. He remembered their conversation from the day before. He had confessed to Lydia that he wanted to make things right with Ivan. She had told him, softly, that the only way to do that was with honesty, to acknowledge the pain he had caused and give Ivan the space to heal.

But now, as he watched Ivan walk away with Lydia, Vladimir’s chest tightened. He had hoped for reconciliation, but the road ahead was complicated. And perhaps, he thought, it was too late.

Lydia and Ivan continued walking in silence. But as they neared her chambers, Ivan stopped abruptly, his face contorting with a mix of anger and hurt.

"Lydia," he began, his voice low. "Vladimir apologized to me. Can you believe that? How dare he think a simple apology would undo everything he’s done? How could he—" He stopped himself, his fists clenching at his sides.

Lydia’s heart broke for him. She wanted to tell him that she understood his pain, but she didn’t have the words. Instead, she held him, her arms wrapping around him as he sobbed quietly.

"I’ll never forgive him, Lydia," he whispered. "Never."

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. She just held him, feeling the weight of his hurt.

And yet, deep down, Lydia was torn. There was so much more she wanted to share with him, so much that he didn’t know. But telling him about Ruslan now, with everything happening, would only add to the pain. He had already been through so much.

She knew, in the depths of her heart, that she had to face Ruslan on her own. If she told Ivan, it would only make everything worse. He had enough burdens to bear. She would face Ruslan, no matter what.

And so, she kept the secret, even though it tore her apart inside.