CHAPTER 120: THE SILENT STORM

Lydia sat by her chair and Ivan stood behind her, brushing her hair softly. She kept giggling happily, her eyes half closed from comfort. Ivan smiled, trying his best to braid her long hair.

"Stay still, Lydia," he said, with a soft laugh.

"I am trying," she laughed again, wiggling a little on purpose.

He let out a sigh. "I swear, I’ll lose it and just brush it only."

She burst into more giggles. He chuckled too, giving up. He set the brush aside and leaned down to kiss her forehead gently.

Then he lifted her from the chair into his arms, holding her close. He kissed her cheeks, then her nose, and she smiled in his arms.

"Ivan," she said softly, resting her head on his shoulder. "Can you read a book to me?"

"Of course," he said.

They lay together in Lydia’s bed. Ivan had the book open in his hands, reading slowly. Lydia giggled as she fed him cherries between the words. Every time he paused, she slipped one into his mouth, laughing more when the juice dripped on his chin. He wiped it clumsily, and they both laughed again. Her laughter was light and warm, like the sound of a bell in spring.

When he finished the book, the day had grown into a quiet, soft afternoon. The light from the windows was golden.

"Is there anything you want?" he asked her.

"Not exactly," Lydia said. Then she turned to him. Her voice lowered. "Ivan, there’s something I really want."

He leaned in closer, curious. "What is it?"

She whispered into his ear, her voice warm, "I want to play a song with you."

Ivan pulled back slowly and looked at her. "I can’t do that," he said gently. "Did you forget? I’ve forgotten how to play."

Lydia pouted. "That’s because you told me to teach you but you never continued your lessons."

Ivan laughed. "So, you want me to learn again? Just so we can play together?"

"Yes," she said with a soft smile, pulling at his hand. "Let’s go."

They walked hand in hand to the music room, their steps slow and warm. Once they got there, they sat together on the bench in front of the piano. Lydia pulled out a music sheet.

"Start with this. It’s simple," she said.

He looked at it, then at her. "Alright."

They began. Ivan placed his fingers on the keys and played the first few notes. It was off. Lydia giggled.

"No, not like that. Look here." She took his hands in hers, gently placing his fingers where they should be. Her touch was soft and patient, like guiding a child through something delicate.

"Follow my lead," she said softly.

But Ivan was not focused. He kept playing with her fingers, squeezing them slightly.

"Ivan," she whispered, "please be serious."

He looked into her eyes and nodded. "Okay, I will."

Then he kissed her, soft and deep. He pulled back a little and looked at her again.

"Why do you want to play with me so much?"

She looked down, then back at him. Her voice came quiet. "When I was a girl, I used to watch my parents play together. My father even wrote a song for my mother. I just wanted something like that."

Ivan smiled, his voice quiet. "Fine. I’ll learn to play. And I’ll write a song for you."

Lydia laughed, shaking her head. "You’re funny. Writing a song takes real practice."

"I will," he said seriously.

She looked into his eyes. "Do you mean it?"

He nodded slowly. "But you have to promise me something too."

"What is it?" she asked.

"A wish. When I write the song, you have to give me one wish."

She giggled. "And what do you wish for?"

He leaned in, kissed her ear, and whispered, "I’ll tell you then."

They returned to the lesson. Ivan kept missing some keys, but he finally got the simple tune right. Lydia’s eyes lit up. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

"You did it!" she said.

He hugged her back. They stayed like that for a while. Then her eyes moved to the chaise in the room. Her cheeks flushed red. Ivan pulled back and looked at her face.

"Why are you blushing?"

She looked away. "It’s nothing. I just... remembered that day. Our first time here."

She stood up quickly. "Anyway, let’s go back."

But Ivan reached out, gently pulling her hand. "How could I forget that day?"

He stood and pulled her close. He kissed her lips softly. Then her hands. Then slowly up to her shoulders. His touch was warm and gentle. He took his time, looking at her as if she was the most delicate thing in the world.

He began to undress her, carefully and slowly. There was no rush. Just love. His fingers moved with reverence, as if he was peeling away layers of time. Her breath trembled, her lashes fluttered like butterflies.

He laid her down gently on the chaise. She looked up at him with soft eyes, her breath trembling a little. Her heart beat wildly beneath her chest, but there was no fear. Only love, and trust, and that strange ache of wanting to belong completely.

He removed his own clothes, his eyes never leaving hers. Then he joined her.

He kissed her cheeks, her neck, her chest. He whispered her name like a prayer. His hands moved along her skin with care. His body met hers slowly. There was no roughness. No rush. Just warmth, softness, and love.

He kissed her as they moved together, again and again. Her fingers clung to him. She gasped softly in his ear. Her eyes were wet, not with pain but with the feeling of something deep. Something too big for words. Something sacred.

They held each other like the world was ending outside. Time melted away. All that existed was the way they touched, the way they breathed, the way their hearts whispered to each other in silence.

Afterwards, they lay on the chaise together, wrapped in a blanket. Ivan gently twisted strands of her hair in his fingers. The room was quiet. Outside, snow had begun to fall. The sun was setting, covering everything in soft orange light.

Suddenly, Lydia’s stomach made a loud noise.

They both paused. Then burst into laughter.

Ivan looked at her with a smile. "I think your stomach loves ruining the mood."

Lydia laughed so hard she had to wipe her tears. "It does!"

He kissed her temple. "Come on. Let’s go have dinner."

They got dressed and walked toward the dining room. On the way, a servant came up to Ivan, bowing.

"Your Highness," the servant said, "a message has been sent to you. It is urgent."

Ivan looked at Lydia. "Go ahead. I’ll meet you inside."

She nodded and continued walking.

When she reached the dining hall, only Tatiana was inside.

Tatiana smiled. "Where is His Highness?"

Lydia sat down gently. "He’s on his way."

They waited. About ten minutes passed before Ivan entered. He was now dressed in a thick coat. Lydia saw it and her heart sank a little.

"Are you leaving?" she asked softly.

He nodded. "It’s urgent. I promise, I’ll be back before you sleep."

He kissed her forehead and walked out.

Lydia sat quietly. She felt a soft sadness in her chest, but she didn’t want to show it. She knew he would come back. He always did.

But her chest still felt heavy. Because tomorrow, she knew, she would have to tell him the truth. About Olga. About the deal.

Dinner ended. Lydia returned to her chambers. She waited. He still hadn’t returned.

She bathed and dressed in her nightgown. She sat by the window for a while. The snow was falling harder. Still, no sign of Ivan.

Eventually, her eyes grew tired. She laid down in bed and waited some more.

He didn’t come.

She fell asleep.

When she woke up, the sun was already rising. Her first thought was of him. She sat up quickly. But he wasn’t beside her.

He hadn’t kept his promise.

Her chest ached. Still, she tried to understand. Maybe it was something important. Maybe he had no choice.

She sat in silence, not knowing what to do.

Then came a knock on her door. A servant peeked in.

"His Highness has returned. He is in his stu—"

Lydia didn’t let her finish. She stood up and ran.

Her feet were fast. Her heart was faster.

She didn’t knock. She pushed the door open.

There he stood.

Ivan. But not the same Ivan.

His eyes were cold. They were full of rage.

In his hand was a piece of paper. Old. Torn. Faded.

Lydia froze.

He looked at her. His voice was not loud, but it was full of pain.

"How could you?"

Her breath caught. Her knees felt weak.

It was the page she had ripped from her diary. The one where she wrote about her deal with Olga.

She had forgotten about it.

Now it was in his hands.