The Bride Of The Devil-Chapter 33: Strange Emotions

Olga banged the door of her chambers as she entered. Her hands were shaking with rage. She screamed at the top of her lungs, the sound bouncing off the walls of her large, lavish room.

"How dare he?" she shouted to no one. "How dare he treat me this way!"

She grabbed the first thing her fingers touched—a beautiful glass vase filled with fresh flowers. Without a second thought, she hurled it across the room. It hit the wall and shattered into a hundred tiny pieces. Water splashed everywhere, and flowers scattered across the floor.

But breaking one thing wasn’t enough. Olga was like a storm moving through her chambers. She swept her arm across a table, sending expensive ornaments crashing to the ground. Each crash made her feel a little better, but the anger inside her was still burning hot.

"After everything I’ve done," she hissed, pacing back and forth. "After all my years of devotion!"

Tears streamed down her face, but these weren’t tears of sadness. These were tears of pure anger and hurt pride. Her carefully applied makeup was now running down her cheeks in black streaks, but she didn’t care.

A servant knocked timidly on the door. "Your Highness? Is everything all right?"

"Leave me alone!" Olga screamed, throwing a hairbrush at the door. The servant’s footsteps quickly retreated.

Olga stopped in front of her large mirror and stared at her reflection. Her face was red and puffy, her hair a mess from where she had been pulling at it.

"He can’t do this to me," she whispered to her reflection, her voice becoming dangerously calm. "He can’t treat me like this. I won’t allow it."

She wiped the tears from her face, smearing her makeup even more. A cold smile spread across her lips as a plan began to form in her mind.

"Don’t worry," she said to herself, touching the mirror gently. "You’ll see. I’ll make sure you and your precious son cry tears of blood. Very soon."

She turned away from the mirror and walked to her writing desk. With steady hands, she pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. The time for crying was over. Now was the time for action.

At Svetlana

Lydia was still sleeping in her bed. Her chest rose and fell gently with each breath. The fever that had gripped her the night before had finally started to ease.

Ivan sat beside her bed, his large frame looking out of place in the delicate chair. He had been there all night, refusing to leave even when the servants brought him food. His hand held Lydia’s smaller one, his thumb occasionally stroking her skin.

The room was quiet except for the soft crackling of the fire in the fireplace. Outside, the first light of dawn was beginning to break through the darkness.

Lydia stirred in her sleep. Her eyelids fluttered open slowly, her vision blurry from sleep and the remains of her fever. She blinked several times, trying to focus on the figure beside her bed.

"Ivan?" she called, her voice weak and scratchy.

Ivan immediately sat up straighter, fully awake despite his lack of sleep. "Yes, I’m here," he said, his voice unusually gentle.

"Is that really you?" Lydia asked, still not trusting her eyes. Her head felt heavy, and she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming.

He nodded, his face partly hidden in the shadows of the early morning. "Yes, it’s me."

Lydia’s lip trembled slightly. "I’m scared," she whispered. "Please, can you... can you hold me?"

Ivan hesitated for just a moment. Then, without a word, he moved from the chair to the edge of the bed. He carefully gathered Lydia in his arms, pulling her against his chest. She felt so small and fragile.

"It’s all right," he murmured, one hand stroking her hair. "You’re going to be fine."

Lydia relaxed against him, feeling safe for the first time in days. The warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart were comforting. Her eyes grew heavy again, and she struggled to keep them open.

"Don’t leave," she whispered, but she wasn’t sure if she said the words out loud or just thought them.

Everything went blurry, and she fell back into a deep sleep, still wrapped in Ivan’s arms.

Early the next morning, Ivan woke up with a start. He had fallen asleep sitting up, still holding Lydia. She had turned in her sleep and was now curled up against him, one of her hands clutching his shirt.

He carefully checked her forehead. Her temperature was normal now—the fever had broken during the night. Relief washed over him, though he tried to push the feeling away.

Gently, he disentangled himself from Lydia, moving her hand from his shirt. She stirred a little at the movement but didn’t wake up. Ivan stood up, his body stiff from spending the night in such an uncomfortable position.

He walked quietly to the door, looking back once at Lydia’s sleeping form. Her face was peaceful now, her breathing steady. Something twisted in his chest at the sight, but he ignored it.

Just as he opened the door to leave, he came face to face with Katherine. She looked surprised to see him still there.

"Your Highness," she said, quickly dropping into a curtsy.

"There’s no need to check on her," Ivan said in a low voice. "Her temperature is normal, and she’s sleeping peacefully."

Katherine nodded, her eyes curious but her face carefully neutral.

"One more thing," Ivan added, his voice firm. "If she wakes up and asks, I was never here. The wooden box on the table was sent by her family. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Katherine replied without hesitation. "I understand completely."

Ivan gave her a sharp nod and then walked away, his footsteps echoing down the empty hallway.

Ivan strode through the palace, his face set in a deep frown. Servants who saw him coming quickly moved out of his way, bowing as he passed.

When he reached his chambers, he barked an order at the waiting servants. "Prepare a bath for me. Now."

The servants jumped into action, though fear was evident in their eyes. They had all heard about his temper, especially lately.

While he waited, Ivan sank into a large chair by the window. His mind kept returning to the previous night. The image of Lydia lying sick in her bed, her face flushed with fever, kept appearing before his eyes.

"Why do I even care?" he muttered to himself, rubbing his face with his hands. "Why did seeing her sick feel like a knife in my chest?"

And then there was the way he had held her when she asked. He hadn’t even thought about it—he had simply done it, pulled her into his arms as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"What is happening to me?" he wondered, staring out the window at the gardens below without really seeing them.

A servant approached cautiously. "Your bath is ready, Your Highness."

Ivan nodded and stood up. Perhaps the hot water would clear his head and wash away these confusing feelings.

In her chambers, Lydia finally woke up properly. The sun was streaming through the windows, filling the room with warm light. She blinked and looked around, realizing she was alone.

But something felt odd. She had a strange feeling that someone had been there with her. She remembered warmth, and safety, and someone’s arms around her.

The door opened, and Katherine walked in, carrying a tray with tea.

"You’re awake, Your Highness," she said with a smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Lydia replied, sitting up in bed. Her voice was still a bit weak, but the terrible exhaustion of the previous day was gone. "Katherine, did... did Ivan come to my room last night?"

Katherine’s face revealed nothing as she set down the tray. "No, Your Highness. The Grand Duke has been busy with his duties. You’ve been alone except for me and the physician."

"Oh," Lydia said, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice. "I thought... I must have dreamed it then."

"You had a high fever," Katherine reminded her gently. "Dreams can seem very real when you’re sick."

Lydia nodded, looking down at her hands. "Of course. It was silly of me to think..." She left the sentence unfinished. "Of course it wasn’t real. Why would he come to see me anyway?"

Katherine watched her mistress’s face fall and quickly moved to cheer her up. "I have some good news that might lift your spirits. There are new books being added to the library today. Perhaps you could visit once you’re feeling stronger?"

Lydia’s face brightened slightly at the mention of books. Then Katherine walked over to the table and picked up a wooden box.

"This arrived for you yesterday," she said, bringing it to Lydia. "It’s from your family. They sent it to cheer you up."

Lydia’s eyes widened, and she practically jumped out of bed to take the box. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened it.

Inside were letters from her cousins—Pyotr, Mikhail, Anya, and Elena. There were also small gifts: a tin of Anya’s favorite tea, a small wooden carving from Mikhail, a beautiful hair ribbon from Elena, and a little book of poetry from Pyotr. Small things, but each chosen with love.

Lydia held the letters to her chest, tears of happiness filling her eyes. "They haven’t forgotten me," she whispered.

"Of course they haven’t," Katherine said kindly. "Now, let’s get you ready for the day. You need to eat something to get your strength back."

She called in Lydia’s maids, who helped their mistress into a warm bath. The hot water helped wash away the last traces of her illness. Afterward, they dressed her in a simple but elegant blue dress and styled her hair, weaving Lydia’s ribbon into the braids.

Breakfast was brought to her room—hot porridge with honey, bread, and tea. Katherine sat with her, making sure she ate everything.

"The physician was very clear," Katherine said firmly. "You must eat properly and get enough rest. No more skipping meals or staying up all night reading."

Lydia nodded, eating obediently. "I’ll try," she promised.

After finishing her meal, Lydia felt strong enough to visit the library. She loved being surrounded by books; they had always been her comfort and escape. And now, knowing there were new ones to discover, she couldn’t wait any longer..

Lydia walked slowly to the library, still feeling a bit weak from her illness. When she pushed open the heavy wooden door, she was surprised to see Ivan already inside. He was sitting in one of the armchairs near the window, a book open in his hands.

"Ivan—I mean, Your Highness!" she exclaimed, caught off guard. "You’re back."

Ivan didn’t reply or even look up from his book. His face was as cold and distant as ever, showing no sign that he had sat by her bedside all night.

Lydia stood awkwardly by the door, unsure whether to stay or go. She didn’t want to disturb him, especially when he was clearly ignoring her.

"I’m sorry," she said quietly. "I’ll come back later."

She turned to leave, her heart heavy in her chest.

"No need," Ivan’s voice stopped her. "I was just finishing. You can stay."

He closed his book and stood up, walking past her toward the door. He was so close that she could smell his familiar scent—clean and slightly spicy. It made her heart beat faster.

Just as he was about to leave, Lydia gathered her courage and spoke again.

"I’m sorry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "For what I did the other day. For throwing myself at you. It won’t happen again."

Ivan stopped but didn’t turn around. Lydia waited, hoping for some response, some acknowledgment. Her eyes filled with tears, making the library blur around her.

Finally, Ivan turned slightly. He saw her glassy eyes, the tears threatening to spill over. Something in his expression changed for just a moment—a flicker of emotion breaking through his cold mask. But it was gone so quickly that Lydia couldn’t be sure she had seen it at all.

Instead of speaking, Ivan simply gritted his teeth and turned away again. Without another word, he walked out of the library, the door closing firmly behind him.

Lydia wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and moved to sit in the chair Ivan had just vacated. It was still warm from his body.

"I have to let him go," she told herself, staring out the window at the palace gardens. "He will never love me. He will never care for me."

But even as she thought the words, she wondered if it was possible. How could she stop her heart from wanting what it wanted? Still, she had to try. She couldn’t keep hurting herself by hoping for something that would never happen.

With a sigh, Lydia reached for one of the new books on the table. Perhaps in its pages, she could find a few hours of escape from her troubled heart.