CHAPTER 113: SILENCE

Lydia. Lydia. Lydia.

Ivan’s voice echoed softly as he held her hand, pulling her gently back to reality.

Her body was trembling, her eyes lost. She couldn’t breathe right. The room felt heavier than ever. She was no longer dancing. Her heart was pounding too hard.

Her fingers curled slightly, clinging to his hand as if it were the only thing keeping her from falling apart. Every noise in the room faded except the sharp rhythm of her pulse. The golden chandeliers blurred above, spinning slowly. She could feel the sweat gathering at the back of her neck, cold and sharp like a knife.

Ruslan.

He was there. In the crowd. Watching her.

Her stomach turned. Her skin prickled like needles. Even though he’d vanished, she could feel his gaze—like something crawling just beneath her skin. A memory she wanted to bury but couldn’t.

Ivan leaned close, concern written all over his face.

"Lydia, are you okay?"

His voice was gentle, but his brows were drawn. His eyes searched hers like he was trying to reach into her soul and pull her back.

Her lips parted slightly as she snapped out of her thoughts.

"Yes... I’m okay."

But he knew she wasn’t. She looked pale, and her hands were cold.

He didn’t ask further. Instead, he said, "Let’s take a break."

They stepped away from the dance floor, quietly walking into the crowd.

Lydia tried to blend in, but her mind wasn’t with the music, or the laughter, or the lights. Her eyes kept scanning the ballroom, but Ruslan was no longer in sight. Still, she could feel him. That cold shadow lurking.

The back of her neck tingled again. Her breathing was shallow. Her throat felt tight.

She bit her lip, hoping the pain would ground her. But the panic still buzzed in her ears.

"I’ll get you something to drink," Ivan said, gently letting go of her hand.

She nodded, her eyes still searching.

The announcer returned to the stage and with a loud, clear voice announced,

"Next, we present a ballet performance in honor of our kingdom."

The lights dimmed slightly and the music changed. Soft and graceful. Dancers came forward in white and gold, their movements elegant, telling the story of how the kingdom came to be. It was beautiful, truly.

But Lydia couldn’t focus. Her eyes followed the dancers, but her heart was elsewhere.

She had seen that face. That cold smirk. That same monster from her nightmares, standing just a few feet away, alive and free.

Her fingers dug into her skirt. She didn’t even realize she was shaking until someone brushed past her and gave her a strange look.

Ivan returned with a glass of sparkling drink.

"Here. Drink this."

She took the glass but only sipped. Her mind was still in chaos.

She wanted to scream, but her throat was closing. Her skin itched like it didn’t belong to her. She didn’t feel safe in her own body. Not while Ruslan was near.

"Lydia," Ivan said softly. "Are you sure you’re okay? You can talk to me. Please."

She looked at him. His face was full of care. And guilt swept over her.

He looked so worried, so gentle. He had no idea what kind of storm was clawing inside her.

And she hated herself for hiding it from him.

"I just need some air," she said. She handed the glass back and walked towards the doors.

Ivan watched her go. He didn’t feel right letting her walk alone. So, he followed. Quietly.

Tatiana, who had been observing from a corner, noticed too. Without hesitation, she followed as well.

Outside the ballroom, under the cold night sky, Lydia stood alone, hugging herself.

The air was crisp, but it didn’t help calm her. It only made the sting in her eyes worse. The wind pressed against her cheeks like tiny needles, and her breath came out in white clouds. Her shoulders quivered. Her hands couldn’t stop shaking.

Everything felt like it was collapsing again.

Ivan reached her first.

He took her hand gently.

"Lydia, please. Tell me what’s wrong. I can see it. You’re not okay."

Lydia looked up at him. Her lips trembled. Her eyes were glassy.

Should she tell him? About Ruslan? About everything?

She took a breath, just about to speak.

But then a voice cut in.

"Your Highness," Olga said, stepping out from the shadows. Her smile was forced.

"You look tired. Perhaps you should take some rest."

She turned to Ivan.

"I didn’t know you could dance. Though I must say, it doesn’t suit you. You looked like a dog trying. No matter how hard you pretend, you’ll always be an embarrassment."

Ivan didn’t even blink. He held Lydia’s hand tighter.

"Come," he said softly. "Let’s take a walk."

Olga stood frozen, lips parted in disbelief.

As they walked away, Tatiana stepped forward, facing Olga.

"You must feel bad," she said with a smirk. "Having your spotlight stolen."

Olga rolled her eyes and stormed back inside.

Farther out in the gardens, Alexander stood alone, shivering under the night air. He lit a cigar with shaky fingers. The smoke danced around him.

"Papa," Elena said, walking close. "Are you alright? You seem distant."

Alexander didn’t look at her.

"What did you mean earlier, Elena?"

She crossed her arms.

"I know."

"Know what?"

"I know what you did," she said, her voice breaking. "The deal with that Venograd general. The one who killed Lydia’s parents. The one who threatened to kill her too. How could you, father? You made us traitors."

Alexander looked away, swallowing hard.

"You think I wanted to? He killed my brother. He told me if I didn’t listen, he’d kill you too. All of you. Lydia included. You had just lost your mother then. I had no choice."

"You always had a choice," Elena said, eyes filled with tears.

"I was trying to protect you," he whispered. "That’s why I wanted Lydia to marry that count. With power, she’d be safe. He’s dead now. If she had just listened..."

Elena wiped her tears and turned away.

Meanwhile, Ivan and Lydia walked further down the gardens.

"I don’t know what’s hurting you," he said. "But whatever it is, I don’t care. I’m here. Just tell me."

Lydia turned to him. Her lips parted. She wanted to say everything. About the deal with Olga. About Ruslan. About the fear. The guilt. But her heart felt heavy. She couldn’t.

"I want to be alone for a while," she said softly. "Please, go back to the ballroom. If we’re both gone, people will talk."

He looked at her, then kissed her forehead gently.

"I’ll wait inside. If you need me, I’ll be there."

As he walked back, Tatiana approached him.

"She’s not okay," he said.

Tatiana placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Don’t worry. I’ll talk to her."

Lydia had gone to her room. She sat quietly, staring at the floor.

Her thoughts were heavy, thick like fog. Her hands were folded tightly in her lap. Her breath was uneven. Every corner of the room felt like it was caving in. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt safe.

A knock came.

"Your Highness?" Tatiana’s voice was soft.

"Come in."

Tatiana stepped in, sat beside her.

"Are you okay?"

Lydia shook her head. "No."

Tatiana leaned closer.

"You can tell me anything. You know that."

Lydia smiled weakly.

"I’m fine. Really."

Tatiana looked away.

"You don’t trust me. And that’s okay. I didn’t like you either when we met."

Lydia turned.

"Why?"

"Because I was jealous," Tatiana admitted. "You seemed strong and kind. Despite everything. And I... I’ve always felt broken."

She stood up, facing the window.

"I grew up without love. My mother died giving birth to me. My father hated me for it. He reminded me every day. Then he forced me to marry. I thought I might find love. But my husband died on our wedding night. Killed by his own brother. His family threw me out. Said I was cursed. I didn’t like you because you reminded me of what I wanted to be."

She turned around.

"But I see you now. And I want to be your friend. So, here’s my advice. Don’t keep things inside. Tell someone. Tell him."

Tatiana left the room.

Lydia sat quietly. Her hands trembled. She stood, wiped her tears, and left the room. She would tell him. Everything.

In the ballroom, Ivan stood uneasy. Tatiana walked in.

"I talked to her," she said. "She should be here any moment."

He waited. One minute. Then two. But Lydia didn’t show.

Something felt wrong.

He left the ballroom, heading for the stairs. That’s when he saw it.

Lydia’s tiara. On the floor. Next to it, a trail of blood. His heart dropped.

There was a note. Written in blood.

"Now you will feel what it’s like to lose everything, Prince Ivan."

Signed:

Ruslan.