Chapter 110: Chapter 110

The sun rose quietly over the palace. Its light came through the curtains like soft gold, touching the edges of the large bed where Lydia and Ivan lay. Ivan was fast asleep, breathing gently. He looked so peaceful. So still. His face was calm, almost like a child’s.

But Lydia couldn’t sleep. Not really. Her eyes had barely closed all night.

She laid beside him with her eyes open, staring at his face. Her chest felt heavy. Her heart ached for him. He had already been through so much. She didn’t want to add more pain to the one he already carried. But she had to. She had no choice. Tonight, she was going to tell him everything about her deal with Olga.

The thought made her stomach twist with fear. She was scared. Not just of his reaction. But of what might happen next. Ruslan was alive. Somewhere out there. Watching. Waiting. She didn’t know what he would do or when he would strike. The uncertainty was eating her up from the inside.

She shifted slightly, her hand brushing against Ivan’s. He didn’t wake. His fingers were warm, soft. She traced the edge of his palm with her thumb, silently begging time to stop.

"I’m sorry," she whispered, so quietly it almost got lost in the morning stillness. "I didn’t mean for any of this to happen."

A single tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly as a soft knock came at the door.

"Come in," she said quietly, not wanting to wake Ivan.

It was Katherine. She stepped in carefully and, seeing Ivan still asleep, lowered her voice.

"Your Highness, everything for the ball is set."

Lydia nodded, her voice calm. "Thanks for the update. You may leave."

But Katherine hesitated. "We still need one of you to inspect it yourselves."

Lydia looked at Ivan again. He didn’t move. He was still deep in sleep. She didn’t want to wake him.

"Okay," she said. "I’ll go inspect it."

She got out of bed slowly and slipped on a soft robe over her nightwear. Her steps were quiet as she followed Katherine through the quiet halls. The palace felt different today. Like it was holding its breath.

Every footstep echoed more than usual. The walls seemed to lean in, as if they were listening. Watching. Lydia wrapped the robe tighter around herself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the early sun.

She tried not to think about the day ahead. Tried not to think about Olga’s smirk. Or Ruslan’s shadow. Or Ivan’s face if he found out the truth before she told him herself.

Her thoughts kept spinning like a wheel that wouldn’t stop. What if he looked at her with disgust? What if he turned away? She remembered how gentle he had been to her last night. How his arm had pulled her close while he cried in her arms. How he held her like she was the only thing that had ever mattered in his life. She wanted to stay in that warmth forever. But now everything felt like it was slipping through her fingers.

Her fingers curled around the fabric of her robe, clutching it tight against her chest. She hadn’t felt this afraid in a long time. Not even when Ruslan was near. Not even when her uncle had tried to force her into marrying Count Viktor. But this? This was different. This was a kind of fear that came from loving someone too much. From the terror of losing something you never believed you deserved in the first place.

When they reached the ballroom and the large doors opened, Lydia gasped.

The room looked like a dream. Like winter and candlelight had been mixed together by magic. Snowflakes seemed to fall from the ceiling, made of silver and white silk, hung so delicately they moved when the air shifted. The chandeliers above looked like giant crystals, shaped like frozen stars. They glittered like ice but glowed warm with candlelight. Candles floated across the walls and tables, creating golden reflections on everything they touched. The floor was polished so well it looked like frozen glass.

It was beautiful. It felt like stepping into a fairytale.

She felt something in her throat tighten. Not from sadness this time—but from how loved she felt in that moment. Someone had done all this. For her.

And that someone was Ivan.

Katherine smiled beside her. "It was His Highness’ idea. He made some changes yesterday."

Lydia blinked slowly, her chest warming despite everything. She whispered, "It’s beautiful."

But her voice cracked slightly, and Katherine looked at her.

"Are you alright, Your Highness?"

Lydia nodded slowly, but her voice was a little hoarse. "I just... didn’t expect this. I thought he was too tired to even think about the ball."

Katherine gave her a soft, knowing smile. "He wanted it to feel like hope."

Lydia looked back at the room. A small lump rose in her throat again, this time not from fear—but from tenderness. Hope. That word stayed in her chest like a flame.

He had done this knowing she was afraid. Knowing tonight would be hard for both of them. And still, he chose to fill it with beauty.

Her hand brushed over one of the silk snowflakes. It trembled beneath her fingertips, almost like it was alive. She thought of Ivan working late into the night, probably exhausted, probably in pain. And yet, still thinking of her. Still choosing kindness when he had every reason not to. Her knees felt weak. She wished he was standing beside her now, just so she could bury her face in his chest and breathe.

In another part of the palace, Olga sat in her private chambers. She had just finished a hot bath, and steam still floated gently in the air. Her long black hair was being brushed by her maid while she sat calmly, reading a book.

Her gown for the night hung carefully near the bed. It was sky blue, embroidered with shining crystals. The stones caught the light, and the dress looked like it had been stitched from ice and sky.

Her maid glanced at the gown and smiled. "Your Majesty, your dress is truly beautiful. There’s no doubt it will be the best one at the ball tonight. You’ll outshine everyone. Just as always."

Olga gave a small, proud laugh. That reassurance felt nice.

The Emberlight Ball had always been her night. Her moment. The one night where she reminded everyone who she was. Not just a woman in the palace. But the Queen. The most powerful woman in the kingdom.

That dress wasn’t just a gown. It was her weapon. Her statement.

A knock came at her door.

It was her lady-in-waiting. She curtsied quickly. "Your Majesty, everything is set for the ball."

Olga nodded slowly. Her voice was calm but sharp. "And what about the decorations? Did the servants follow my instructions?"

The lady-in-waiting froze for a moment. She twisted her fingers nervously.

Olga’s gaze narrowed. "I asked you a question."

"They did," she replied quickly. "We followed your orders."

Olga turned back to her book but the lady-in-waiting kept speaking.

"But His Highness... he changed everything."

Olga turned again. "What?"

"He noticed the problems. He fixed everything. And to be honest... it’s not just perfect, Your Majesty. It’s beyond perfect. It looks more beautiful than any ball you’ve ever hosted."

Olga’s face twisted with rage.

She grabbed the nearest vase and threw it. It crashed into the wall, barely missing the terrified lady-in-waiting.

"Get out! All of you! Get out!"

Everyone in the room fled. Olga stood alone, breathing heavily, her hands shaking.

Tears gathered in her eyes. Her lips trembled.

Even if he wins today, she thought, he’ll lose tomorrow.

Her shoulders stiffened. She had given strict instructions to certain servants—to ruin the decorations, to make the ball look disorganized and chaotic. To make Ivan look like a failure in front of the entire kingdom.

But he had seen through it. He had fixed everything. And now... the ball looked better than anything she had ever done.

Her fingers dug into the chair she sat on. But she said nothing else.

She would smile at the ball. She would wear her crown. But her heart was boiling. Ivan might’ve won this round... but this war wasn’t over.

Far outside the palace, in a small inn at the edge of Svetlana, Ruslan packed a small bag.

His eyes were dark and calm.

He moved slowly, carefully. He placed a thick rope into the bag. Then some small bottles of sedative. A cloth. A knife. And a folded note.

He closed the bag tightly, tied it, and threw it over his shoulder.

He left the room without saying a word.

Outside, the morning air was cold but fresh. His black horse stood waiting, already saddled.

He mounted the horse, smiled slightly to himself, and looked in the direction of the palace.

The ball was tonight. The palace would be full of people. Music. Lights. Distractions.

It was the perfect night.

He kicked the horse gently and began to ride.

He was going to the palace.

He was going to the ball.

He was going for revenge.