CHAPTER 131: THE DEVIL’S DINNER PT1

The ceremony had ended, but the palace was still buzzing. No one could stop talking about what had happened. Every corner of the palace echoed with voices, whispers, and loud guesses. Some were true. Most were not. Some people even added their own spice to the story, turning it into something far more dramatic than it really was. It didn’t matter anymore. The fire had been lit, and gossip was burning through the walls like a storm.

The sun was slowly setting now. The sky outside the palace was painted in soft orange and pink. Birds were flying home. The great halls were quiet again, but it was a different kind of quiet—uneasy, like the calm before something worse.

In the servant’s quarters, there were hushed voices.

---

Inside her chambers, Olga sat in front of her mirror. She was already dressed. Her green gown was rich and royal, the color deep like a forest. Her emerald jewellery sparkled softly under the candlelight. Her hair was swept up high and perfectly done. She looked at herself in the mirror, her face calm but strong.

She stared for a long time, as if reminding herself, You are the Queen of Zolotaria. No one disrespects you. No one breaks your rules.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," she said.

Pavel entered and bowed deeply. "Everything is ready, Your Majesty. I’ve done what you asked."

Olga nodded. "Good. Let’s go. They must be waiting by now."

---

Elsewhere in the palace, Lydia was in her bath.

The warm water was filled with rose petals that floated around her like soft, dying memories. She sat there in silence, her back leaning gently against the tub. Her eyes were cold. Distant. She looked like she wasn’t even present in her body.

Servants quietly stepped forward, helping her out. They wrapped her in clean towels and gently dried her skin. She said nothing. Not a word. Even as they touched her hair and began drying it, she looked as though she wasn’t truly there.

Then they brought in her dress.

It wasn’t just black. It was deep, unkind black—the kind of dress you wear to a funeral, but not for someone you loved. No, this dress was made for the funeral of your enemy. There was no softness in it. No lace, no shine. It was sharp and cold and dark.

The servants glanced at each other. They didn’t dare speak, but they all noticed. She even added a pair of black lace gloves, and around her neck was a rare black diamond necklace. Her perfume was strong—rose oil, the expensive kind. It clung to her skin like armor.

Just then, Katherine walked in.

"Your Highness," she said softly.

She looked deeply worried, as if she wanted to speak. Her hands were clasped in front of her, fingers slightly trembling. But she said nothing.

Lydia’s eyes met hers for a moment. She didn’t speak either. She simply walked past her, leaving a trail of rose scent and silence behind.

---

Outside her chambers, Ivan stood.

He had been standing there for a long time. He was still in the coat from the wedding ceremony. The buttons were undone. His collar slightly wrinkled. His face looked pale under the candlelight that lit the hallway.

His eyes were stuck on her door.

When it finally opened, and Lydia walked out, he didn’t speak at first.

Then, barely audible, he said, "Lydia."

She didn’t stop.

She didn’t even glance at him.

It was like he wasn’t even standing there. Like he didn’t exist.

Katherine was still inside. She stepped out and saw him. She could remember it clearly—the day they signed the divorce papers. She remembered how Ivan had left his study that night, shaking, wiping his face, trying not to cry.

Now here he was again, silent, lost.

Katherine touched his shoulder and said softly, "Her Majesty has been called for dinner. I think you should go too."

Ivan nodded weakly and followed.

---

The dining hall was already set when Lydia walked in.

The table was long and beautiful. Candles flickered, silverware shone, and the dishes were too fancy for anyone to enjoy in peace. But the tension in the room was so thick, it felt like it could choke someone.

The entire Andreyevna family was seated. Elena, Alexander, even Mikhail. On the other side sat Tatiana, Leonid, Vladimir... and Olga at the head, her crown gently shining.

Lydia walked in like she owned the room. Calm, unbothered, untouched. Her black dress moved behind her like a shadow. She saw Ivan’s seat. He wasn’t there yet.

As soon as he walked in, Olga lifted her chin and said firmly, "Have a seat."

Ivan, almost without thinking, walked to Lydia’s chair and pulled it out for her.

But she didn’t acknowledge it. She simply sat down on her own, as if his presence meant nothing.

Olga turned to Alexander and said, "Thank you for joining us, Lord Andreyevna."

"Thank you for inviting us, Your Majesty," Alexander replied stiffly.

Lydia’s eyes didn’t move. She kept them on her plate. Her face blank. Elena kept looking at her, her lips slightly parted, wanting to speak—but Lydia didn’t even blink in her direction.

The servants began to serve the meal.

Vladimir, clearly uneasy, asked, "Your Majesty... why did you call us here?"

Olga smiled a little. "I just wanted a nice dinner. With the whole family... and in-laws."

Vladimir wasn’t convinced. "Seriously. Why are we here?"

Olga sighed, her voice turning cold. "Fine. I’ll say it plain. I called you all to talk about what happened today. I won’t lie—it was unexpected. But now that everyone is here, I want this ridiculous charade to end."

Everyone stopped eating.

She continued. "His Highness and Lady Orlova should get married. As it was planned."

A silence fell over the table. Forks froze mid-air.

But Lydia? She kept eating. Calmly. Slowly. Like she was listening to music only she could hear. She cut her food gently, placed it in her mouth, and chewed with care. As if Olga’s words had nothing to do with her.

Ivan’s eyes were glued to her. There was pain in them. Longing. Regret. But she didn’t look at him, not once.

Tatiana noticed. She looked at the way Ivan stared at Lydia, like he was under some sort of spell. Her hands gripped the fabric of her dress tightly under the table.

Olga turned to Alexander. "They’ve been apart for three whole years. And Lady Orlova is already with his child. There’s no need for this marriage to continue. Lord Andreyevna... I know it might be difficult, but you must persuade her to let go. For both their sakes. I’m sure she’ll listen to you."

Then something loud happened.

Lydia dropped her silverware onto her plate. It made a sharp, echoing noise that rang through the hall. Everyone flinched.

And then... she laughed.

Not loudly. But not softly either.