The Bride Of The Devil
Chapter 100: The Ghost Of Guilt

Chapter 100: The Ghost Of Guilt

"Ivan."

Lydia’s voice was soft, almost like a whisper.

She called him again, a little louder this time. "Ivan... Ivan."

Still nothing.

He was right there—sitting across from her, barely a few feet away—but it felt like he wasn’t. Like he wasn’t even in the room.

He had stopped moving. His wine glass stayed frozen mid-air. His eyes were wide but unfocused, staring into nothing.

"Ivan?" Lydia tried again. Her voice trembled now. Her heart had started to race. She was starting to get scared.

But Ivan didn’t hear her.

Because in his mind, he wasn’t here anymore.

He was sixteen again.

Standing in the palace hallway, sword in his hand. Blood on the floors, on the walls, on his clothes. The screams had been endless. They had filled every inch of the air until there was no room left for anything else. He had felt nothing at the time—just rage. Just a burning fury that tore through his chest like wildfire. Servants had screamed for help. Guards had begged for mercy. Some had run. Some had fought. None had survived.

He remembered their faces.

He remembered the way their eyes looked at him right before he ended them.

He remembered the silence that came after—the kind that didn’t feel peaceful. It felt empty. Like death. Like everything inside him had gone quiet and hollow.

"Ivan."

A soft hand touched his.

He flinched, breath catching.

Lydia had reached across the table and taken his hand. Her skin was warm, gentle, grounding. Slowly, she moved her hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly along his skin.

That touch snapped him back.

His eyes blinked. The present rushed in.

He looked around—the room was quiet, the candles flickering softly. The scent of warm food still lingered in the air, untouched. The plates between them were full, but neither of them had eaten.

Lydia was watching him, concern all over her face.

Her eyes were full of questions she didn’t know how to ask.

He looked into her eyes.

She didn’t speak.

But she didn’t have to.

Still, Ivan couldn’t stay. He didn’t even know how to explain what was happening inside him. He couldn’t find the words. There were none.

Slowly, he removed her hand from his face, his touch gentle, but his silence louder than any rejection.

He stood.

He didn’t say a word.

He just turned and left.

"Ivan?" Lydia called out again, barely a whisper.

But he didn’t turn back.

He disappeared down the hall, and she was left sitting alone.

Her fingers were still stretched out toward him, reaching for someone who had already gone.

Her chest ached, heavy and confused. She didn’t know what had just happened. But she knew it wasn’t just stress. It wasn’t just silence.

It was pain.

Real pain.

Moments later, the sound of heels echoed softly in the corridor.

Tatiana entered the room.

She stopped when she saw Lydia sitting there, alone, her hand still resting on the table, eyes dazed.

"Your Highness? Are you alright?" she asked gently, walking closer.

Lydia nodded slowly. "I’m fine," she said softly, though her voice didn’t carry any strength.

Tatiana sat beside her. Her eyes glanced over Lydia’s dress, noticing the faint red marks along her collarbone. Marks of something tender... or wild.

She smirked. "I was looking for you earlier... but I guess you were busy."

Lydia said nothing. She wasn’t in the mood for teasing.

Tatiana looked around. "Where’s His Highness?"

"He was here," Lydia said after a pause. "But he left. Something happened. I think he wanted to be alone."

Tatiana’s brows drew together. "Why?"

Lydia sighed. "I’m not sure... but I think it’s because of what Katherine said."

Tatiana looked curious. "What did she say?"

"She said the Ember Lights Ball will be held here this year. In Svetlana."

The moment Lydia said it, Tatiana’s expression shifted.

She went still. Her color drained. It was subtle—but Lydia saw it. Saw the fear behind her stillness.

"Tatiana?" Lydia leaned closer. "What is it? Are you alright?"

"It’s nothing," Tatiana said quickly, turning her head.

Lydia reached for her hand. "Please. Tell me."

There was a long pause. The silence felt heavy.

Then finally, Tatiana whispered:

"Eight years ago... on the night of the Ember Lights Ball... that’s when it happened. That’s when he... killed everyone in the palace."

Lydia froze.

Her lips parted, but no words came. The shock hit her like a cold wind.

Tatiana looked down at her lap, her voice quiet and strained. "The ball... brings back everything for him. It’s not just a memory. It’s a wound."

---

Katherine sat alone in her chamber.

The room was quiet, but her mind was loud. Loud with memories. Loud with the past.

She slowly lifted the hem of her nightgown and stared at the scar that ran across her upper thigh. It was faint now. But the ache had never left.

She could still see Ivan’s face that night.

Not the Ivan she trusted. Not the one who used to laugh and joke with her like a brother.

This face had been cold. Wild. Dripping with blood.

She hadn’t even recognized him.

And when his sword pierced her, it wasn’t anger that filled her. It was disbelief. Shock. Pain.

She had screamed his name, but he hadn’t heard her.

Now, she sat hunched over on the edge of the bed. Her hands covered her face.

Her body trembled with quiet sobs.

She had never told anyone how much it hurt.

Not the wound. But the betrayal.

---

Ivan hadn’t spoken either.

He sat in the darkness of his room. No light. No sound. No fire.

Just shadows.

He hadn’t moved since he came in. His limbs were stiff. His heart was heavy. The past had wrapped its hands around his throat and refused to let go.

Outside his door, Lydia was there.

She had followed him after dinner. She had tried the doorknob. It was locked.

She pressed her palm gently to the wood.

"Ivan... please," she whispered. "Please open the door."

No answer.

"I’m here," she said again, her voice barely holding together. "You’re not alone..."

Still nothing.

He couldn’t hear her.

All he heard were screams.

Lydia slid down slowly, her back resting against the cold door. She wrapped her arms around her knees and held herself.

She didn’t leave.

She stayed. For him.

Her cheeks were damp with tears. Her shoulders shook every few minutes, but she never made a sound.

She just sat there, hurting with him.

Even if he didn’t know it.

---

Morning came.

The sky was soft with gold and pink. A hush had settled over the palace.

Inside, Ivan hadn’t moved.

Outside, Lydia stirred. Her limbs ached from sitting in one position all night. Her body was cold. Her dress was wrinkled. Her eyes were red.

But she didn’t care.

She would have waited again.

Then someone sat beside her.

Arms wrapped around her gently from behind.

Tatiana.

"You should rest," she said softly. "He won’t come out. Not yet."

Lydia looked at the door, just for a moment, before nodding.

They stood together.

Katherine was approaching from the other end of the hallway.

The moment Tatiana saw her, her jaw tensed.

Katherine didn’t look at her. She looked only at Lydia.

"Your Highness," she said. "Preparations for the ball must begin today. Normally, we’d need His Highness’ signature. But since he’s... unavailable, we’ll need yours."

Lydia gave a quiet nod. "I’ll handle it."

---

The rest of the day passed slowly.

Lydia walked through the palace corridors, speaking only when necessary. Her thoughts were still with Ivan.

She met Nikolai near the west wing.

He gave her a soft bow. "Is His Highness still inside?"

She nodded. "He hasn’t left the room."

Nikolai sighed. "He’s strong. He’ll come out. He just needs time."

She looked at him. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the capital. I’ve got matters to take care of. Boris already left earlier."

"Be safe."

"And you, Your Highness."

He nodded once, then walked away.

---

Later that afternoon, Lydia stepped outside.

She was wrapped in a thick dark cloak. The cold air hit her face, but she welcomed it.

She walked through the village slowly. Her boots crunched in the snow. Her scarf was tucked tightly under her chin. The people were calm. The village felt like another world.

But something was off.

She stopped.

The hairs on her neck stood.

She turned.

Nothing.

She kept walking.

Then it happened again.

That feeling.

She turned sharply toward the tavern.

And there—standing in the snow—was a man.

Dark hair. Pale skin. Eyes locked on hers.

Ruslan.

Her chest squeezed.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

He was far but close enough for her to feel the danger in the air.

She bli

nked once.

Gone.

"Your Highness?"

Katherine stood beside her.

Lydia’s eyes stayed fixed on the empty spot. "What are you looking at?"

Lydia looked again.

There was nothing.

Only snow.

Only wind.

---