Chapter 174: Chapter 174

Lydia sat quietly in the water of the bath chamber pool. The steam rose gently, wrapping around her body, but the warmth did nothing for the pain inside her heart. She felt heavy, as though even her soul was sinking beneath the water. Her arms rested on the edge of the pool, her eyes fixed on the ripples, but she wasn’t really looking at them. She was lost in her thoughts, in the cruel echo of words that would not leave her mind.

The door opened softly. The sound was gentle, almost like a whisper, but it reached Lydia. She turned her head slightly and saw Katherine walking in. Katherine had changed into dry clothes now. Her hair was tied back neatly, though some strands still looked damp. In her hands, she carried a tray. On it sat a pot of hot tea, steam curling up into the air, along with small plates of fruits and cookies.

Katherine set the tray down near the pool, close enough for Lydia to reach if she wanted. She looked at Lydia with quiet concern. She could see how fragile she looked in that moment, how broken.

Katherine spoke softly, her voice careful, like she was afraid to disturb the fragile silence. "Are you okay, Your Highness?" Thɪs chapter is updated by novel-fire.net

For a moment, Lydia didn’t answer. Her lips parted, then closed again, as if she was holding something inside. Finally, she turned her head fully to look at Katherine. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, but there was still strength in them.

"You were with me when I first came here, Katherine," Lydia said, her voice unsteady but firm. "So tell me... did I ever associate with any man?"

Katherine blinked. Her heart tightened at the question. "No, Your Highness," she said quickly, her voice almost urgent, as if she wanted to erase the hurt as soon as possible.

Lydia gave a bitter little laugh, though it was mixed with tears. "Even when I left the palace... you always followed me."

Katherine lowered her eyes. She had no words to add. She simply pressed her lips together tightly. She knew the truth, and the truth was that Lydia had always been faithful, always.

Lydia tried to hold her tears, but they came anyway, slipping silently down her face, mixing with the steam from the bath. Her voice shook as she spoke again. "So why? Why would he think such a thing? And why would he write such a thing to me?" Her shoulders trembled. "No man has ever touched me... except him. Only him. So why would he say such a thing?"

Katherine’s heart broke at the sight of her mistress, her friend, in so much pain. She whispered, "I’m really sorry, Your Highness. I truly am. I don’t understand how His Highness could say such a thing to you."

Lydia shook her head slowly. Her voice was soft, broken, but clear enough for Katherine to hear. "You are wrong."

Katherine’s eyes lifted, startled. "What do you mean?"

Lydia’s tears fell harder now, each word dripping with sadness. "He does not love me. He never did. I was the only one who ever loved him. He never loved me." Her lips trembled as she spoke, her heart pouring out in those few words.

Katherine stepped closer, her own eyes glistening. She wanted to tell Lydia she was wrong, to comfort her, but the look on Lydia’s face silenced her. It was the face of someone who had been crushed, who no longer believed in hope.

Katherine knelt by the edge of the pool and spoke gently, almost like a mother to a child. "Please, Your Highness, have some tea. Just a little. It will warm you."

Lydia didn’t answer. She simply lowered her gaze, staring at the water as her tears fell into it, creating ripples that spread out endlessly, like the ache in her chest.

In another part of the palace, in Tatiana’s chamber, there was no peace either. Tatiana paced around the room like a trapped animal. Her hands trembled, her eyes darting everywhere. She bit her nails until her fingertips hurt. She kept whispering to herself, almost like a chant.

"What do I do? What do I do?" she muttered, her voice trembling with fear. "He must never find out. Never."

Her heart was beating so fast she thought it might burst from her chest. She pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling the slight weight of the life growing inside her, and panic swallowed her whole.

Suddenly, the door opened.

Tatiana froze. Her back straightened instantly, her hands dropping to her side. She forced her face into calmness, though her heart was still racing wildly.

It was Yelena. The maid entered, carrying a small bundle of folded linens. She stopped when she saw Tatiana, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Are you okay, my lady?" Yelena asked. She had caught the tension in Tatiana’s body, the nervous twitch in her eyes.

Tatiana quickly put a hand to her forehead and sighed, pretending to be weak. "I... I’m not feeling well," she said softly, her voice strained but steady enough to sound convincing. "I think it’s because of the baby. I feel... uncomfortable."

Yelena’s worry deepened immediately. She hurried to Tatiana’s side, setting down the linens and slipping an arm around her. "You must rest, my lady. Come, sit on the bed."

Tatiana let herself be led, her body trembling just enough to make the act look real. She sank onto the bed with a heavy sigh.

Yelena tucked a pillow behind her and smoothed the blanket. "You shouldn’t push yourself. I’ll get you some snacks, maybe some warm milk, and I’ll ask for medicine to ease your discomfort."

"Thank you," Tatiana whispered, lowering her eyes to hide the storm inside them.

As soon as Yelena left the room, Tatiana’s expression changed completely. Her face twisted with panic, her hands clenching tightly. She pressed her nails into her own wrist until it hurt.

"If he finds out..." she whispered through gritted teeth. "If he finds out, he’ll kill me."

She trembled violently, rocking back and forth slightly, her mind spinning with fear. She knew the danger was real. One wrong move, one wrong word, and everything would collapse.

In his study, Ivan sat at his desk. The large wooden table was covered with parchments, piled high like a mountain. They stared back at him, demanding his attention. They were the duties of a ruler, the tasks he was supposed to handle with strength and clarity. But he could not.

He picked up a quill. His hand trembled as he dipped it into the ink. He tried to sign his name on the first parchment, but his hand shook so badly the letters looked unsteady. His chest tightened as though there was no air in the room.

He pushed the parchment aside, then pulled another closer. He tried again. This time he managed to sign his name, but as soon as he finished, he saw the blur of his own tears falling onto the page, staining the ink.

He pressed the quill down hard, gripping it until his knuckles turned white. But still, more tears came. They fell silently, sliding down his face, dripping onto the papers.

He couldn’t breathe properly. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath. He felt suffocated, as though the walls of the study were closing in on him.

All around him were the signs of his duty, his power, his authority. But inside him there was nothing but pain. The image of Lydia’s broken face burned in his mind. Her voice, her tears, her anger—all of it pierced him again and again, leaving him bleeding inside.

And still, he forced himself to keep signing. Each parchment was a battle. Each stroke of the quill was heavy. He signed not because he cared for the papers, but because he needed to move, to do something, anything, to stop himself from breaking apart completely.

But the truth was there in his tears: he was already broken.