The Bride Of The Devil
Chapter 94: You Shouldn’t Be Here

Chapter 94: You Shouldn’t Be Here

It was still early in the morning when Ivan and Nikolai left the inn. The sky was just beginning to turn from black to grey, and the air was so cold that their breath turned into mist with every word they spoke. A bitter wind howled through the empty streets like a warning, rattling loose shutters and whistling through cracks in the stone walls. Snowflakes danced in the air, soft but relentless, clinging to their coats and eyebrows.

The silence between them was thick, but it wasn’t peaceful. It was heavy, almost suffocating, like the air before a storm. The kind of silence that meant something was breaking inside someone, even if they didn’t say a word.

Ivan barely said a word, though. He mounted his horse without looking back, his jaw tight, his eyes empty. His gloves creaked as he gripped the reins too hard, his knuckles pale beneath the leather. All that mattered was getting to Svetlana.

The horse shifted beneath him, sensing his tension. Ivan didn’t soothe it. He didn’t even notice. His mind was far away—trapped somewhere between dread and desperation. In his heart, he could hear Lydia’s voice, soft and panicked. He could see her eyes, wide with fear. And he hadn’t even been there to hold her hand.

Nikolai followed quietly. He knew better than to speak when Ivan was like this. He’d seen that look before—a storm brewing behind a calm face. A silence that wasn’t peace but pain. The same expression Ivan wore the night his father died. The night he had to put aside his boyhood and become something else.

They rode fast, even though the snow was heavy. The horses galloped hard, their hooves kicking up ice and frost, but Ivan didn’t stop. Not even once. It was as if he was racing against time—or maybe death itself.

Each step forward was a strike against the clock. Ivan didn’t know what he was riding toward—a disaster or a miracle—but he knew one thing: if he arrived too late, he wouldn’t survive it. Not this time.

His mind was too loud for words. Every beat of the horse beneath him only echoed the pounding in his chest. Every flake of snow that hit his skin felt like a memory trying to break through. And he didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to feel anything. He just needed to get to her.

---

Hours later

Back in Svetlana, it was already afternoon.

Lydia sat by her window, the same window she hadn’t moved from since morning. Her legs were stiff and aching, but she didn’t move. The room had grown dimmer as the snow clouds thickened, but she hadn’t lit a lamp. The natural grey light suited her mood. Cold. Heavy. Lifeless.

The glass had fogged around the edges from the warmth inside, but the cold still seeped in through the stone. Her fingers clutched the small box from her cousins. Her hands were cold, but she didn’t notice. Her eyes were red and puffy. She had cried so much her tears had dried up. Now, there was nothing left but silence and fear.

She had stopped counting the hours. Her eyes had stared at the same spot in the trees for so long, the image was burned into her vision. She kept hoping to see him come through. Just a shadow. A coat. Anything.

Outside, the palace grounds were blanketed in snow. Not a single footprint broke the perfect white. Guards paced the gates, their movements stiff and slow, as if even time had frozen. Somewhere in the halls below, the staff murmured to each other in hushed tones. But Lydia heard none of it.

A soft knock came at the door.

Katherine entered with a tray, her steps slow and careful. She placed the lunch on Lydia’s reading table where the breakfast from earlier still sat—cold and untouched. She picked up the old tray and glanced at Lydia, who hadn’t moved.

"Your Highness," she said softly. "Please eat something. You haven’t had anything since yesterday."

Lydia said nothing. She didn’t even look at her.

Katherine looked down. Her heart ached for her. But she knew Lydia wouldn’t listen now. She quietly took the tray and left.

As she walked down the stairs, she met Tatiana.

Tatiana saw the tray. "She still hasn’t eaten?"

Katherine shook her head. "Not a bite."

Tatiana sighed. "Let me talk to her. Maybe she’ll listen to me."

She knocked softly on Lydia’s door and entered.

Lydia was still by the window.

"Your Highness, please," Tatiana said gently. "You have to eat."

"I’m not hungry," Lydia replied without turning.

Tatiana walked closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don’t worry. Nothing will happen to him. I’m sure he’s on his way right now."

Lydia turned slowly. "You think so?"

"Yes," Tatiana said. "He’s strong. You know that. He wouldn’t leave you."

Lydia held the box closer to her chest. Her grip was tight, like she was holding onto him.

"He brought this to me," Lydia whispered. "When I was sick. I didn’t even know. I never thanked him."

Tatiana saw the pain in her eyes. "It’s okay. You’ll get the chance."

"If only I had known sooner," Lydia said. Her voice cracked. "Katherine should have told me. I asked her, and she said he wasn’t there."

Tatiana stiffened. "You can’t trust Katherine. She’s a snake."

Lydia blinked. "What?"

Tatiana pulled away. "I’m sorry, Your Highness. I shouldn’t have said that."

"Wait," Lydia said, grabbing her arm. "Please. What do you mean?"

Tatiana hesitated. "It’s not my place to say. But I’ll say this—don’t trust her. She’s not who you think she is. She tried to hurt him once."

Lydia’s hands trembled. "Explain. Please. I need to know."

Tatiana looked down. "She works for the queen. She always has."

Lydia’s heart sank. "What does that mean?"

"Everything is her fault," Tatiana said. Her voice was shaky now. "Even what happened eight years ago."

Lydia blinked. "Eight years ago? What happened?"

Tatiana bit her lip. "I can’t say more. It’s not my story. All I can say is... it wasn’t his fault."

"Please," Lydia begged. "Tell me anything. What really happened..."

---

Lydia left her chambers with tears in her eyes.

She moved fast, not caring who saw her. Her skirts dragged along the marble floor, gathering snow tracked in from the open corridors. Boris saw her pass but couldn’t stop her. He called out once but she didn’t hear. Or maybe she didn’t want to. She headed straight to the forbidden room.

The door was old and dusty. The lock had rusted over. She pushed it open slowly. The air inside was cold. The room was empty, quiet, dark.

Cobwebs hung from the ceiling like silent witnesses. The floor creaked beneath her steps. Broken furniture leaned in the corners. A forgotten doll lay near the fireplace, its face cracked, its dress torn. A child had once cried here. And no one had come.

She stepped inside.

Tatiana’s words echoed in her mind.

"When he was young, the queen used to lock him in this room. For days. No food. No warmth. He was only four. She hoped he would die in there."

Lydia felt like the walls were closing in. She imagined a little boy, crying alone in the dark, waiting for someone who would never come.

Her knees gave out.

She sat on the floor and sobbed. She couldn’t believe it. All this time, she thought she knew Ivan. But she hadn’t known even a fraction of the pain he carried.

She pressed her hand to her chest. Her heart hurt.

"Why didn’t you tell me..." she whispered.

Then a voice cut through the silence.

"What are you doing here?"

She turned.

Ivan stood at the door.

His coat was soaked with snow. His face was pale. His eyes were wide.

"Who asked you to come here?" he said again, more harshly this time.

Lydia stood slowly. "Ivan..."

Hours later,

Back at the capital, Olga sat quietly in her chambers, her brush moving slowly across the canvas. She was painting a small field of lilies, but her strokes were slower than usual. Her mind was far away, not really focused on the colors or the shapes. She had barely slept the night before. The palace felt too silent. Too still.

Then, without warning, the soft flutter of wings filled the air. A messenger bird flew through her open window and landed gently on the railing. Olga turned quickly, her heart skipping a beat. Her eyes widened as she dropped the paintbrush onto the tray.

She rushed to the window, untied the small note from the bird’s leg, and unfolded it with shaking fingers.

Her lips curved slowly into a smile.

"We are almost there."

It was her handwriting. She knew it by heart.

She held the note close to her chest, closing her eyes for a moment. Relief washed over her like a wave. He was alive. He was coming back. That was all she needed to know.

A soft knock came at the door.

She quickly wiped her eyes and turned.

A servant stepped inside and bowed slightly. "Your Majesty, His Majesty seeks your presence. He said he has something important to speak with you about."

Olga blinked in surprise, her heart still racing. She nodded slowly.

"I’ll come," she whispered, holding the message tightly in her hand like it was her lifeline.