CHAPTER 197: THE MORNING REGRET

The lounge was quiet that morning. Curtains were drawn halfway, and the air was heavy, still carrying the faint smell of smoke from the fire that had burned out in the night. Ivan had not gone to bed early. He had stayed up, his mind restless, his body heavy, until finally exhaustion had dragged him into sleep.

But sleep was no comfort. His body lay still on the couch, yet his face was restless. His brows were pulled together, his lips trembling as though he was whispering words he couldn’t say aloud. His fists clenched at his sides.

Because in his mind, he wasn’t here. He wasn’t in the lounge.

He was back in Svetlana.

He was back on that day.

The day he learned of his son.

---

The cemetery was cold. The air smelled of earth, freshly dug, and sorrow. Ivan stood frozen, trembling, with the tiny body of his son pressed tightly against his chest. His arms wrapped around the boy as though holding him could somehow bring him back. His eyes were red, swollen, wet with tears that burned like fire.

Beside him stood Irina. She was quiet, though her own eyes glistened with pain. She didn’t try to take the boy away, she didn’t rush him. She just stood by his side, her presence steady, waiting until he was ready.

The gravedigger finished his work, brushing the dirt from his hands. His voice was rough, but respectful. "It is ready, your highness."

Ivan’s body shook. His lips parted, but the words that came out were weak, broken. "Let me... let me hold him a little longer."

His arms tightened around the lifeless child. He pressed his cheek against the baby’s soft skin. His tears fell onto the tiny face. "I’m sorry," he whispered. His voice cracked, his chest heaving. "I’m so sorry. Forgive me. I failed you. I failed her."

Irina’s eyes softened. Her voice was calm, but steady. "We have to bury him, your highness. We must."

Ivan shook his head, unwilling, but the weight of her words pressed into him. His lips trembled as he looked down at the boy one last time. His throat ached as he whispered, "Can you give me his shawl? Please. I need... I need something to remind me. Something to keep."

Irina’s hands moved gently. She unwrapped the soft shawl from around the baby and placed it carefully in Ivan’s arms. His fingers clutched it desperately, pressing it to his chest like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

With one last trembling kiss on the boy’s forehead, he gave him back to Irina. He turned his face away, unable to watch as they lowered the child into the ground. His whole body was shaking, and yet he stood still, because he knew he deserved the pain.

When it was over, he and Irina walked quietly out of the cemetery. The world felt empty. The sky was grey, the wind cold, but inside him there was only silence and guilt.

Irina broke the silence softly. "She should be awake by now. If she sees you, perhaps she will feel better."

Ivan barely nodded. His lips were pressed tight, his eyes staring straight ahead. He couldn’t find his voice.

They rode back toward the small cottage where Lydia had been resting. But as they approached, something felt wrong. One of the servants was outside, pacing, her face pale with panic.

Irina called out quickly, "What is the matter?"

The servant’s hands shook. Her eyes darted between them. "My lady... she is gone!"

Ivan’s heart stopped. He leapt from his horse, his voice sharp. "What do you mean gone?"

The servant’s words tumbled out in a rush. "She woke up earlier. When she didn’t see the baby, she started crying. I tried to comfort her, but she wouldn’t listen. Then she suddenly went quiet, and I thought she had gone back to bed. But when I went to check... she was gone. She just disappeared. I don’t know where she went. I fear... I fear she might hurt herself."

Ivan felt the ground fall from under him. His blood ran cold.

"No," he muttered, shaking his head. His chest rose and fell quickly. "No. Not her. Not like this."

He ran. He searched everywhere.

Through the market square, through the narrow streets, calling her name, his voice cracking. Faces turned to him, confused, but she wasn’t there. His panic grew with every step. His heart pounded painfully.

"Where are you?" he whispered. "Please... please be safe."

His legs carried him beyond the village, out toward the forest and the lakeside. His throat was dry from shouting her name. His chest burned from running. He prayed with every breath, Let me find her. Let her be alive. Please, God, don’t take her too.

And then he saw her.

She was by the shore of the lake, the water lapping at her feet. Her dress was soaked, clinging to her trembling body. Her hair was damp, sticking to her face. She stood there, looking out into the cold water, her tears falling freely.

His heart broke at the sight.

Her voice carried softly over the wind, broken, full of despair. "I’m tired. I can’t do this anymore. Why can’t I just disappear? Why does it hurt this much? It’s too painful to live like this."

Ivan’s whole body ached to run to her, to wrap his arms around her, to tell her it would be alright. To tell her he loved her, that she wasn’t alone.

But he didn’t move.

He stood frozen, guilt suffocating him.

It’s my fault, he told himself. All of this is my fault. If I hadn’t abandoned her, if I hadn’t left her to suffer, none of this would have happened. I destroyed her. I destroyed us.

His knees felt weak, his chest heavy. He couldn’t breathe.

And so he just watched her cry, watched her pain, watched her break.

Because he felt he had no right to comfort her.

---

"Your highness... your highness..."

A voice cut through the darkness. A hand shook his shoulder.

Ivan’s eyes flew open. He gasped, his chest heaving, sweat soaking his skin. His eyes were wet with tears that clung to his lashes.

Boris stood before him, concern written all over his face. "Are you alright?"

Ivan wiped quickly at his face, trying to steady his breathing. His voice came out rough. "It’s nothing."

Boris looked at him sharply. "That didn’t look like nothing."

Ivan turned away, his hand pressed against his forehead, trying to push back the memories that still burned in his mind. "I said it’s nothing, Boris."

Boris hesitated, then sighed. His tone grew heavy. "There is a serious problem. The grand duchess... she is to stand trial in front of the senate. They may dismiss her. She is already getting ready to leave."

Ivan froze. His head lifted slowly, his eyes narrowing in shock. His heart, which moments ago had been drowning in grief, now burned with dread.

"Dismiss her?" he repeated, his voice sharp, almost disbelieving.

Boris nodded grimly. "Yes. The order has already come from the capital. Two days. The trial will decide everything."

Ivan’s chest tightened. The nightmare of the past had barely released him, and now the present struck him with another blow.

Lydia.

His Lydia.

She was walking into a fire.