The Bride Of The Devil
Chapter 99: The Guilty Ones

Chapter 99: The Guilty Ones

Ivan and Lydia lay in the bed inside the hidden room behind the library shelf, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms. The dim light from a single candle flickered across their skin, casting warm shadows against the old wooden walls. Their bodies were tangled beneath the soft blanket, their breaths slow, skin warm, and hearts calm.

Ivan gently traced his fingers over Lydia’s back, while the other hand stayed in her hair, stroking it slowly. Her head rested on his chest, and the soft sound of his heartbeat filled her ears. She lifted her hand and gently touched the scars on his chest, her fingers moving tenderly over each line as if trying to heal them with her touch.

"Ivan," she whispered, her voice so soft it almost melted into the silence.

"Hmm?" he answered, his tone equally soft, warm.

"How did you find this room?"

He sighed, not in sadness, but as someone digging into a memory buried deep.

"I found it when I was a child," he said. "It was not long after my grandfather beat me. I had nowhere else to run to. My stepmother had started locking me up often, and one day I ran to the library to hide. I leaned against the shelf, and it shifted slightly. That’s how I discovered the room."

Lydia’s fingers paused on his chest.

"This place became my hiding spot. Whenever she tried to lock me away again, I would escape here. Because of this room... she couldn’t hurt me the same way anymore."

Lydia felt her heart sink. The weight of her secret pushed on her chest again. She didn’t deserve this kind of love. Not when she had a deal with the woman who had made this man suffer since childhood. The guilt pulled at her ribs.

Ivan noticed the change in her. He noticed everything.

He didn’t ask. Instead, he gently tickled her waist.

"Ah!" she gasped and let out a soft laugh.

"There’s that smile," he said, pulling her closer and wrapping both arms around her tightly. He kissed her forehead, holding her like she was the only thing that kept his heart beating.

She buried her face in his chest again, breathing in his scent—snow, warmth, and something that smelled like old paper and cinnamon.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, running his fingers down her spine.

She looked up. "Nothing. I’m just listening to your heartbeat."

He chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath her cheek. "And what does it sound like?"

She smiled a little. "It sounds warm... and fast. Very fast."

He grinned. "That’s because the woman I love is beside me."

She looked at him, eyes soft.

"Why do you love me?" she asked. "When did it start? I’m curious."

He blinked at her like he wasn’t expecting that question.

"Honestly? I don’t know exactly when," he said. "Maybe it was when you stayed to treat me when I was injured. Or maybe it was the day I saw you in the orchard, laughing and plucking apples for that servant boy. You were so full of light, even in the cold."

He paused.

"That’s when I knew I loved you. You felt like the first sunlight after years of darkness."

She looked at him with a soft smile. Then she teased, "You better take care of your handsome face. I might stop loving you."

He gasped dramatically. "So it’s only my face you love?"

She giggled, shaking her head.

"No," she said, smiling, then paused. Her eyes softened. "It started the night I met you. When I saved you."

Ivan blinked.

"I remember you looked so broken," she continued. "And then... you called me mama. You were half-conscious, hurt, confused. But you still reached out for love."

He didn’t say a word. His chest rose and fell a little quicker now.

"You looked so sad, Ivan," she whispered. "And I just... I wanted to know why. I didn’t know what I was feeling that night, but I just knew I wanted to protect you. Comfort you. Maybe even save you."

She laughed under her breath, a little embarrassed. "And yes... I thought you were very handsome."

He turned to face her, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. "Well then, I should be extra careful with my face. Don’t want to lose your heart over a broken nose."

She laughed and playfully tapped his cheek. "Exactly."

He smiled at her, but there was a shimmer of emotion in his eyes. "You really saw me that night. Not the rumors, not the name, not the title. Just me."

"I did," she whispered, kissing his chest. "And I still do."

He kissed her forehead again. Then her cheeks. Then her lips.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," she whispered.

"Me too," he said against her skin. And then he kissed her again, deeper this time.

He lifted her gently, laying her on top of him. Her legs straddled his waist. She moaned softly, and her nails dug into his chest. Their kisses deepened, full of longing and warmth, not just lust.

Ivan’s hands traveled down her back, over the curve of her waist, finding the rhythm of her breath. His fingertips brushed her thighs as he lifted her slowly, guiding her with care and love. She sunk down on him, their bodies connecting, fitting like pieces of a puzzle they were both meant to complete.

Lydia gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders. His hands held her hips gently, steadying her as she began to move slowly, her hair falling over her face. Ivan reached up and tucked it behind her ear, then kissed the spot just beneath it.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered.

She moved above him, riding him slow, tender, their bodies finding a rhythm that spoke more than words could ever say. Their breaths mingled. The room was filled with soft moans, whispers, and the sound of skin meeting skin. Ivan trailed kisses down her neck, her collarbone, her chest. His hands slid up to her waist, pulling her close as she leaned forward, pressing their chests together.

They stayed like that for a while, slow, sweet, and deep. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t just pleasure. It was love. A deep aching need to hold and be held, to give and be given.

Their movements grew faster as passion built between them. Lydia’s moans grew louder. Ivan’s grip tightened slightly. He whispered her name like a prayer. She kissed him, her body shaking as she climaxed. He followed after, groaning her name as he held her close.

Afterwards, they stayed still, breathing in each other’s arms, hearts pounding, skin warm and slick with sweat. Lydia kissed his chest softly, then rested her head on it again.

At that moment, the only thing she could think about was him—not the guilt, not the past, not the lies. Just him.

---

Hours later, the sun was beginning to set. A soft golden light filled the room through the cracks in the bookshelf.

They lay side by side, their legs tangled, reading an old book together. Ivan turned a page lazily.

"Aren’t you hungry?" he asked.

Lydia nodded. "A little."

"Come on, then," he said, smiling.

They both got up, dressing slowly. Ivan helped her tie her dress, then noticed the faint marks he’d left on her neck. Without a word, he bent forward, kissed them gently, and brushed her hair over to hide them.

They left the secret room hand in hand. The hallway was quiet. They walked slowly, smiling at each other, like the whole world had paused for them.

At the dining room, a quiet table was set just for them. Candles flickered, and the warmth of the room wrapped around them.

Lydia tried to eat, but her hands were shaking. Her heart beat so fast. The guilt had returned.

Ivan watched her closely.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She looked up at him. His face was calm. So warm. So kind.

She decided. It was time.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"Ivan," Lydia asked.

"Yes, Lydia?" Ivan replied.

"I need to tell you something," she said, voice shaking. "I made—"

The door burst open.

Katherine stepped in, holding a scroll.

"Your Highnesses," she said quickly. "A message from the capital. The Emberlight Ball has been moved. It will be held here in Svetlana. You both are to host it."

Ivan froze. His fork fell from his hand.

Lydia looked at him.

His face had gone pale. His eyes were wide but distant. It was like he wasn’t here anymore. Like he was back somewhere else. Somewhere terrible.

His breathing changed. Shallow. Fast.

Lydia reached across the table. "Ivan?"

He didn’t answer.

He was sixteen again. He could see the blood on the palace floors. Hear the screams. Feel the weight of the sword in his hands.

Lydia’s confession died on her tongue. She watched him, heart breaking.

He was drowning in guilt again.

And now... so was she.