CHAPTER 127: THE LAST DAY OF WINTER

The winter had been unbearable, but finally, it came to an end. The snow had started to melt slowly as spring crept in, but the cold still lingered in the air like a stubborn shadow.

It was the kind of cold that didn’t just sit on your skin — it lived in your bones, quiet and cruel, refusing to let go even when the sun came out.

Inside the grand palace in the capital, Vladimir sat quietly on his throne. The large double doors opened slowly, and Ivan walked in. His face was pale. His eyes were not cold, but empty. Empty like a man who had lost everything.

There was no light in him anymore. No pride, no anger, no purpose. Just a hollow silence.

He moved with no energy, like he was just a shell of the person he once was.

Vladimir looked at him. His heart sank at the sight. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound followed. So he spoke in an official tone instead.

"Your Highness," he said carefully, "thanks to your efforts, the long war between Zolotaria and Venograd is over. We have won. We now control their lands. Our people will thrive."

Ivan said nothing. He gave a small bow, then turned to leave. His steps were slow, heavy — like his body weighed more now, carrying something invisible and unbearable.

"Wait," Vladimir said quickly, stopping him. "Tell me your wish. Anything you ask, I’ll give it to you."

"I don’t need anything," Ivan replied quietly. His voice barely made it past his throat. "I’ll be returning to Svetlana now. I’ll take my leave."

He walked out, his steps slow and heavy.

Vladimir watched him go. His expression was filled with worry. Guilt tightened his chest. He turned to his guard. "Boris."

Boris stepped forward and bowed. "Your Majesty."

"Follow him," Vladimir said. "Keep an eye on him. Stay close."

Outside, Ivan walked down the hallway. He was heading to the stairs when he ran into someone.

Olga.

She stood tall, wearing a stunning red dress. Her long black hair fell around her shoulders. She looked at him with a smug, knowing smile.

"It’s been a while," she said, standing in his path. Her tone then changed, turning sharp. "You look miserable. Like a man who has only one day left to live. Is it because of her?"

She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming. "How funny. The man who destroyed a whole kingdom now looks so pitiful... all because of a girl."

She smirked. "Well, to be fair, she was very pretty."

Ivan didn’t say a word. He stepped past her.

But Olga wasn’t done. Her next words were like a knife.

"I heard she left Zolotaria," she said slowly. "Far, far away. Such a pity, isn’t it? You can’t even see her, even if you wanted to."

Ivan paused for a second but still said nothing. He walked away.

But his face tightened. His jaw clenched. Inside, something twisted — a silent cry trapped inside a man who no longer knew how to scream.

As he reached the stairs, he ran into Leonid, who was carrying a box. Leonid smiled, "Brother—" but his voice stopped when he saw Ivan’s face. His smile faded. He just stood there and watched Ivan walk away.

He looked like he wanted to call him back, say something lighthearted to make it better — but the words died in his throat. There was nothing left to say.

The next day, in Svetlana, the skies were still grey. It was early evening.

Ivan had arrived at the palace. He was not alone. Boris was following from a distance, unnoticed.

The palace looked just as it always had. But to Ivan, it felt completely different. It felt... empty.

Like a house that used to laugh. And now only echoed.

He dragged himself up the stairs, his steps slow.

From the far corner, Katherine stood watching. Her eyes were full of sadness. When she noticed Boris, she bowed gently.

"It’s been three years," she whispered. "And he still hasn’t moved on."

Ivan reached the grand duchess’s chambers. He opened the door.

It was the same room Lydia once lived in. But it was cold and empty now. Like her spirit had left with her.

Everything looked untouched, yet everything had changed. He could almost hear her laughter... and then feel the silence that crushed it.

He stepped inside, quietly, as if hoping she might somehow be there.

But there was nothing.

Just silence.

He gently closed the door and stepped out, only to see Tatiana waiting.

"You still come to this room," she said softly, "like you’re waiting for her."

Her voice lowered. "But you know... she’s not coming back."

Ivan didn’t say a word. He walked past her like she wasn’t even there.

He made his way to the library.

On the table sat a book. Their favorite one. The Last Voyage of Captain Elias. It was covered in dust. He walked up to it, gently wiping the dust away like it was something precious.

He looked at the chair. He remembered her giggle. Her soft voice as she sat on his lap and told him how happy he made her.

That voice haunted him. It didn’t fade like memories were supposed to — it followed him like a ghost that refused to rest.

Ivan slowly sat on the floor, his back against the shelf. From beside him, he pulled out a small jar of liquor he had hidden away. He took a drink. Then another. And another.

He drank to forget.

Hours passed.

Night fell.

Ivan was still there, on the floor of the library, completely drunk. His head leaned back against the shelf. His eyes half-closed.

Then... he heard footsteps.

He blinked slowly.

A figure appeared.

He sat up, staring in disbelief.

"Lydia?" he whispered.

She stood at the door, unsure. "I think I should leave," she said softly.

"No," Ivan said, standing up on shaky legs. He staggered forward and wrapped his arms around her tightly. His voice broke as tears spilled from his eyes.

"Lydia... you’re here. You’re really here," he cried. "I thought... I thought I’d never see you again."

He held her like he’d been drowning for years and finally reached the surface.

"I’m sorry," he sobbed. "I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I had no other choice. Please don’t leave me. It’s too hard... it’s too hard to live without you."

He gently touched her face. His hands trembled.

Tears fell from Lydia’s eyes.

Ivan leaned in. He kissed her tears, softly. Then her nose. Her chin. Her cheeks. Finally, he kissed her lips. Like he was afraid she’d disappear.

And she kissed him back.

He pulled away only to kiss her hands.

Then he gently opened the small hidden door by the shelf. It led to a room.

He walked inside with her and closed the door. He held her close, whispering, "I missed you so much."

He kissed her neck. Her shoulder. Her chest.

His fingers untied the ribbons of her dress, slowly, gently. His lips trailed down her back to her spine. She trembled under his touch.

He lifted her and carried her to the bed.

And there, under the quiet shadows of the library, he kissed her like she was his breath.

Then the world faded into darkness.

The next morning, the soft light of the sun filtered into the room.

Ivan stirred from sleep. His head throbbed painfully.

He blinked.

He looked around.

The room was the same.

He was unclothed. Confused, he turned to the side.

There was a woman lying next to him.

At first, he smiled.

But then...

His heart dropped.

It wasn’t Lydia.

It was Tatiana.

Ivan froze.

His breath caught in his throat.

He couldn’t breathe.

He sat up quickly, staring at her, his hands shaking.

His heart raced in panic.

His chest felt tight. It was like something was choking him from the inside.

He felt sick.

A wave of pain rushed through him.

Tears began to fall from his eyes.

"No," he whispered. "No. No. No."

He covered his face with his hands.

Everything around him felt like it was crashing down.

He had made a mistake.

A terrible, terrible mistake.

The woman he loved. The only one he ever wanted...

Was gone.

And now, this.

His sobs filled the room.

His heart... broke all over again.

And all he could feel was regret.

Pure, soul-crushing regret.