Chapter 171: Chapter 171

The rain continued falling heavily. The sound of it against the roof was deafening. In fact it was no longer just rain. It was like a storm, wild and endless. The night had come and the whole world outside looked drowned in water. The wind howled through the cracks of the windows and the trees bent as if they would break.

Inside the small cottage, Lydia held her baby tightly in her arms. His small face was red from crying. His little fists kept clenching and unclenching as he wailed. Lydia’s eyes were full of tears and fear. She rocked him over and over, whispering desperately.

"Godmother... I don’t know what is wrong," she said with a trembling voice. "I thought it was just a slight fever, but now... now I don’t think it is. I’ve tried to nurse him, but he refuses to eat. What did I do wrong? What do I do?"

Irina was pacing across the room. She stopped for a moment and touched the baby’s forehead, then pulled her hand back quickly. "It might be an infection," she said firmly, though her voice betrayed her fear. "I think he will need a doctor."

Anastasia, who was standing near the door with worry on her face, spoke in a low voice. "My lady, how do we get a doctor in this weather? The streets are flooded, and it has been pouring for hours. No one will come out in this storm."

Irina pressed her lips together. Her eyes flickered with helplessness. "Then we will have to wait a while. Maybe if the rain lessens, we can send for one."

But Lydia couldn’t stay still. She looked down at her baby’s tiny face. His cries seemed weaker than before, but they would not stop. His skin felt strange against her arms—burning inside, yet turning cold on the surface. Her heart thudded with panic.

She kissed his forehead, tears falling on his cheeks. "I’m sorry, my darling," she whispered. "Just hold on. Please, just hold on for me."

But the storm did not stop. Instead, it grew worse. The thunder roared like the sky was breaking apart. The wind screamed around the house. The baby’s restlessness grew. His little cries became strained. His small chest rose and fell too fast, too hard. His skin was getting colder and colder.

Lydia’s fear exploded inside her. She stood up suddenly. "We can’t wait anymore. If we don’t get a physician now, something might happen to him."

She kissed the baby’s tiny face and then, with shaking hands, placed him into Anastasia’s arms. "Don’t worry, my darling. Everything will be okay. Mama will bring someone back."

"My lady, where are you going?" Anastasia cried, clutching the baby.

Irina stepped forward quickly. "Lydia, where are you going? You cannot go out in this weather!"

But Lydia’s face was set. Her tears mixed with a look of fierce determination. "I’m going to get a physician," she said.

Irina’s voice rose with alarm. "Under this storm? Do you want to kill yourself too?"

"Anastasia," Lydia said quickly, ignoring Irina. "Where does the nearest physician live?"

Anastasia hesitated, her eyes wide with fear. "Just by the market. Two streets away. But—"

Lydia didn’t wait for her to finish. She rushed to the door and pulled it open. The wind slapped her face immediately. The rain hit her like stones. In just seconds, she was drenched from head to toe.

The street outside was a flood. The water reached her ankles, then her knees as she pushed forward. The storm blinded her, but Lydia didn’t stop. Her heart beat wildly. She could only think of her baby’s cries, his little body burning and then turning cold.

She stumbled, her robe dragging in the water, but she forced herself up. Her lips whispered over and over, "Please, God, don’t take him. Please, just let me find help."

At last she reached the physician’s cottage. She banged on the door like a madwoman. Her knuckles hurt, but she didn’t care. Finally, the door opened.

The physician, a tired-looking man, frowned at her. "What is it? Who’s there in this storm?"

Lydia fell to her knees in the water. Her hair was plastered to her face, her eyes swollen with tears. "Help me, please!" she cried. "My baby is sick. He needs help. He needs a physician. Please come."

The man looked at her coldly and shook his head. "You’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning when the storm calms."

"No," Lydia cried, her voice breaking. "I can’t wait until morning. He needs help now. Please, I’m begging you!"

The physician’s tone turned harsh. "So you expect me to walk through this storm for you? Who do you think you are?"

Lydia knelt lower in the water, her hands clutching at his robe desperately. "If you don’t come now, I don’t know what will happen to him. Please, please save him." ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ novel⟡fire.net

But the man yanked his robe free. "I’m not the only physician in this town. Find another one." Then he slammed the door shut.

Lydia stared at the door, her whole body trembling. Her sobs were swallowed by the storm, but still she got up. She would not give up. She kept searching, house by house, knocking on doors, begging strangers, but no one answered. No one wanted to leave their homes in such weather.

Still she pressed on, her feet heavy, her body cold, her voice raw from crying. Finally, in her desperation, she stumbled into a nearby village and reached a small, old cottage. She knocked weakly, her tears mixing with the rain.

An old man in his sixties opened the door. His face softened at once when he saw her, a young woman soaked, shivering, and broken under the storm.

"Please..." Lydia stuttered through her sobs. "Help me. My baby... my baby is sick. At first it was a fever, but now his skin is cold. Please, I know it’s raining, but please save him."

Her knees gave out, and she knelt before him.

The old man’s heart ached. He bent and lifted her up gently. "If his skin is getting cold, then we must hurry," he said at once. He grabbed his bag, threw a cloak over his shoulders, and looked at her firmly. "Let us go."

Hope flickered in Lydia’s chest as they hurried back through the storm. She prayed silently. "Please let him live. Please let me reach him in time."

But the moment they returned to the cottage, her heart froze.

Anastasia was already crying. She stood near the cradle, her shoulders shaking. Irina was seated, her face pale, her eyes swollen with grief.

"My dear child," Irina whispered, her voice trembling. "I’m so sorry..."

Lydia stumbled forward, panic rising. "What is it? Why are you crying? He’s going to be fine. I found a physician. He’s going to treat him. He will be fine!"

She turned to Anastasia desperately. "Where is he? Give him to me!"

Anastasia’s lips trembled. "My lady... he stopped crying after you left. But then... but then..." She broke into sobs.

Lydia rushed to the cradle. She picked her baby up with trembling arms. Only then did she feel it—his body was cold. His chest was still. His little lips had lost their color.

"No..." she whispered. "No, no, no." She shook him gently. "Why isn’t he breathing? He’s not breathing!"

She turned to the physician, her eyes wide with horror. "Please. Please, I think there’s something wrong. He’s not breathing. Please examine him!"

The old man placed his hand gently on the baby, then pressed his ear close. His face grew grave. Finally, he shook his head slowly. "I’m sorry, my lady. He is gone. The infection was too fast. I cannot help him now."

Lydia’s scream broke the air. She pulled her baby back into her arms. "You’re lying!" she cried. "He’s not dead. He’s fine. Look at him—he’s fine!" She kissed his cold cheeks, rocked him back and forth. "Wake up, my darling. Please wake up. Don’t leave me."

But nothing happened. Only silence.

Now, in the present, Lydia sat in a church bench, drenched from the storm. Her body was trembling, but not from the cold. Katherine sat beside her, holding her arm, trying to comfort her.

"Are you okay, Your Highness? Please, tell me," Katherine pleaded softly.

Lydia stared ahead blankly. Her lips moved, her voice broken. "He wouldn’t have died. The physician said it was neonatal sepsis. It was just an infection. If he had received treatment on time, he would have been fine. He would have lived." Her voice cracked, her whole body shaking. "But no one came. No one helped us."

Katherine looked at her with pity. "Your Highness..."

Lydia’s eyes filled with a burning fire. Her sadness turned into rage. She nodded slowly. "It’s his fault. If we had been in the palace, my baby would have been treated. He would still be alive." Her hands clenched tightly. "He did this. How could he do this to me? How could he?"

Her teeth clenched, her voice sharp with fury. "I’ll make sure he begs. I’ll make sure he suffers for what he has done."

"Your Highness, please calm down," Katherine begged, her voice shaking.

But Lydia stood up, her face pale, her eyes full of cold fire. Without another word, she walked out of the church into the storm once again.