Chapter 170: Chapter 170

The room smelled of sweat, herbs, and candle wax. Lydia lay on the bed, her body soaked in pain. The midwife was by her side, wiping her face with a cloth and urging her to push. Beside her sat Irina, holding her hand so tightly it almost hurt, whispering into her ear.

"It’s going to be alright, my child. It’s going to be alright. Just a little more."

But Lydia could not feel hope. She could only feel the sharp tearing pain inside her body and the sharper pain inside her heart. Ivan was not there. His absence was louder than the thunder outside. Every time the pain came in waves, she thought she would die.

She wished she could close her eyes and wake up somewhere else. Maybe this was just a nightmare, and maybe she would open her eyes to find Ivan by her side, holding her hand, kissing her forehead, telling her not to be afraid. But no matter how hard she prayed, the pain was too real.

"Lydia!" Irina’s voice broke through her haze. "Stay with me. Please, child, wake up. Do not close your eyes."

The midwife’s voice was firm, almost desperate. "Push, my lady! Just a little more. Do not give up. You cannot give up."

Another voice joined, the doctor’s. He had been called in because the labor was hard. He bent close and begged her. "Do not close your eyes, Your Grace. Please, fight for your child."

Their words pressed around her, but all Lydia could hear was the silence of the one voice she wanted most. Ivan. Her Ivan. The one who had once sworn never to leave her. The one who had promised love. The one she believed would always be by her side.

But the letter had told her otherwise. The cruel words were carved into her memory, cutting deeper than any blade. He had abandoned her. He had left her to carry their child alone.

A sob rose in her throat, but it turned into a scream as another wave of pain ripped through her body. Her hand crushed Irina’s in a desperate grip.

"I cannot," Lydia cried. Her voice was broken. "I cannot do this."

"You can!" Irina shouted, her own eyes wet. "You must. For your baby. I am here. Do not be afraid, my child. I am here."

The midwife leaned closer. "One more, my lady. Push. Just one more."

Lydia closed her eyes. In her mind she heard Ivan’s voice, not cruel as in the letter, but gentle as she remembered. She clung to that sound. She forced her body to obey, forced herself to push through the pain, through the heartbreak, through the despair.

Then she heard it. A cry. A tiny, beautiful cry. The midwife’s voice broke through with joy.

And then, as if the world had shifted, a small warm body was placed in her arms. Lydia’s tears fell at once. She looked down at the baby, at his tiny face, his little hands. The pain in her body and heart vanished for a moment.

"It doesn’t hurt anymore," she whispered. "It doesn’t hurt."

She pressed him to her chest. Her tears fell on his skin. He was hope. He was love. He was all she had left. And for the first time in months, she smiled.

The sun was gentle as Anastasia finished hanging the laundry to dry. She carried a basket inside the cottage, humming softly. But before she could set it down, Lydia appeared, her face pale from exhaustion but calm.

"My lady, why are you here?" Anastasia asked, startled. "You should be resting. What about the baby?"

"He is sleeping," Lydia whispered with a soft smile. She reached out and took the basket from her. "Let me help."

Anastasia frowned. "No, no. You mustn’t. Please rest."

But Lydia only shook her head. She slipped a folded letter into Anastasia’s hands. "Can you deliver this for me?"

The servant’s eyes fell on the letter. Her heart sank. "My lady... you still want me to deliver letters to him? After what he wrote to you last time?"

Lydia lowered her gaze, her voice soft. "I know. But still. Please deliver it for me."

Anastasia sighed deeply. She looked at Lydia with sadness and shook her head. "You are just too kind. Too sweet. How could anyone want to hurt someone like you?" She took the letter anyway, tucking it carefully into her apron.

Lydia smiled faintly. "Thank you." She let the basket drop onto the floor gently.

But Irina had been watching. Her voice came sharp from across the room. "You are unbelievable, Lydia. Still writing to him after how cruel he was. When will you use your head?"

Lydia froze, her shoulders trembling.

"Is this why you have refused to give your son a name?" Irina pressed. Her voice was firm, but her eyes glistened. "Because you are foolishly waiting for the father who already abandoned you? Do you want the boy to live nameless? Do you want him to be called a bastard in the eyes of the world?"

"Godmother..." Lydia whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek.

"I get that you love him. I know it, child. But you cannot be this reckless. I have told you already, we should leave for the capital. We will tell everything to his majesty, and he will order his son to take responsibility. Why are you refusing me? Why are you still waiting here like a fool?"

Lydia’s lips trembled. She wiped her cheek, her voice so small it was almost a whisper. "I just wanted him to know that I have given birth. Nothing more. And besides... I cannot force him to take me back. He already said he wants nothing to do with me or our baby. All I can do is hope. Hope he will change his mind."

"Hope," Irina snapped bitterly. "So you will stay in this cottage forever? You will leave your son nameless, waiting for a man who told you he wants nothing to do with you? Lydia, is this what you call hope?"

Lydia shook her head weakly. "It’s not that."

"Then what is it?" Irina cried. She stood tall, her voice loud with anger and grief. "You and your baby and I—we leave at dawn tomorrow. We will tell his majesty everything. He cannot treat you . You are his son’s wife, not some street-side whore. He will be forced to act."

Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, a cry pierced the room. The sound of her baby.

Her heart leapt. Without another word she rushed upstairs, her steps quick and light. She found her baby in the cradle, his face scrunched as he cried.

"My love," she whispered, scooping him into her arms. She rocked him gently. "Hush now, hush. Mama is here."

Almost at once he stopped, his little hands clutching at her gown. His tiny voice turned from cries to soft coos. Lydia’s tears welled again as she pressed her cheek to his soft hair.

One of the servants entered quietly and smiled at the sight. She whispered, "He looks nothing like you, my lady."

Lydia’s lips curved into a sad smile. "Hmm... he looks like his father." Her eyes lowered, her voice faint. "He has to come see for himself."

Later that day. Early evening.

The air was heavy, clouds dark. Lydia lay in her bed, finally resting, her child sleeping peacefully beside her. But then a crack of thunder shook the walls. The sound jolted her awake. At the same moment, her baby began to cry loudly.

She sat up quickly, fear rushing into her chest. She rushed to close the window, the wind pushing the curtains wild. Then she ran back to the cradle and lifted her son into her arms.

"Shh, my darling," she whispered, her voice soft and trembling. "Don’t be afraid. It’s just the thunder." She rocked him gently.

But the baby did not stop crying. His cries grew sharper, desperate. Something was wrong.

Fear stabbed her heart. She touched his little body. Her hands froze. His skin was burning.

Her chest tightened. "No... no, no, no..."

She screamed, panic filling her voice. "Godmother! Anastasia! Please come quickly!"

Her voice cracked through the house as she held her burning child close to her chest, her own tears falling in terror.