CHAPTER 199: THE JOURNEY THROUGH LOVE AND LONGING PT2

Lydia was still staring at Ivan as he walked toward the carriage. His tall frame, his steady walk, his expression that always seemed unreadable. For a moment she forgot to breathe. Then she quickly shook her head and scolded herself inside.

Why are you looking at him? Stop it, Lydia.

Ivan reached them, his face calm but his eyes flickered briefly toward hers. His voice was soft when he said, "Let’s go."

The coachman stepped forward and opened the door of the royal carriage. Ivan moved first, holding out his hand to help Lydia up. For a long second, she hesitated. Her eyes dropped to his hand, strong and steady, waiting for her. She told herself not to take it, that she didn’t need his help. Yet her own fingers betrayed her, reaching out and settling reluctantly into his palm.

His touch was warm. Too warm. It made her heart jolt.

She pulled her hand back as soon as she climbed inside. He followed her in, his presence filling the space instantly.

Outside, Katherine was already organizing the rest. "Anna, you will ride with Boris," she said firmly. "And I will go with Xenia."

Anna nodded. Soon the doors were closed, and the journey began.

The carriage rolled smoothly, wheels crunching softly against the road as they headed toward the capital. Inside, the silence was heavy. Not a cold silence, but one that carried weight. Every passing second felt stretched, loaded with everything unsaid.

Lydia sat by the window, her hands clasped over a book she had carried with her. She opened it, determined to focus her mind. Her eyes scanned the pages, but nothing made sense. The letters blurred, lines twisted, and her thoughts refused to settle. She wasn’t reading. She was remembering.

Last night.

The kiss.

Her heart twisted at the memory. The way he had kissed her—not in hunger, not in cruelty, but in a way that made her feel like she was the only person in the world. The way his hand had caressed her so tenderly, as if he was afraid she would break. She remembered the warmth of his lips, the weight of his breath, the ache that spread through her chest.

She shook her head. No. No, stop. Don’t think about it.

But her heart betrayed her just as her hand had earlier. The thought clung to her, burning against her mind.

On the other side of the carriage, Ivan was still. Too still. He hadn’t looked away from her since the carriage began to move. His gaze was soft, deep, almost aching. He couldn’t stop himself.

She looked so fragile sitting there, trying to pretend she was fine, hiding behind her book. He remembered the night again. The taste of her lips. The way her body trembled under his touch. For one fleeting second, he had felt she belonged to him again. That she hadn’t gone too far away.

If only he had said something last night. If only he had told her the truth. Maybe she would have stayed. Maybe she wouldn’t have walked away.

But then he reminded himself.

Her pain.

The reason she looked at him with so much anger. He had caused it. He was the reason she cried. He was the one who had destroyed her trust. His fault. His mistake.

His chest tightened. He looked away, staring out of the window. He couldn’t let himself hope. He didn’t deserve to.

Lydia glanced up then. She caught the look in his eyes before he turned away. Her heart skipped. Why did his eyes look like that? Why did he look so broken? So sad?

She frowned. This doesn’t make sense. He is the one who hurt me. He is the one who threw me away. Then why does he look like the one who’s hurting?

It doesn’t make sense. None of it does.

Her chest felt heavy. She pressed her hand against it. But before she could make sense of her thoughts, something shifted inside her.

Her stomach turned.

Her head spun slightly, and the words on the page swam before her eyes. Her throat felt tight. She swallowed, but the sickening feeling only grew.

She felt dizzy. As if the walls of the carriage were pressing closer and closer. Her hand trembled as she set the book aside.

Ivan saw it immediately. Her skin had gone pale, her shoulders tense.

"Are you okay?" he asked quickly, leaning forward, concern pouring from his voice.

"I’m fine," Lydia said, forcing her tone to be steady. "It’s nothing."

But her lips were trembling.

"You aren’t fine," he said firmly, his voice softer now, gentler. "Tell me. Please."

And there it was again—that look in his eyes. That unbearable, disarming look. As if she was the center of his world. As if she was the only thing that mattered.

His voice dropped into a whisper. "Do you feel sick? Is it the carriage? Is it going too fast?"

She shook her head. "I said it’s nothing."

But her face betrayed her.

Without hesitation, Ivan lifted his hand and tapped the roof of the carriage. "Stop the carriage," he ordered.

The horses slowed to a halt. The carriage rocked gently as it stopped. Lydia pushed the door open with trembling hands and rushed out.

The cold air hit her, but it wasn’t enough. She bent down, her body shaking, and threw up at the side of the road.

Ivan immediately stepped out after her. He bent beside her, one hand rubbing her back in slow circles, steady and careful.

"Don’t—" she choked out between breaths, her voice weak. She shoved his hand away. "Leave me alone. Stop pretending you care. We both know you don’t. Please... just stop."

Her voice broke on the last word.

Ivan froze. Her rejection cut deeper than any blade could. For a moment, he wanted to tell her everything. To tell her how wrong she was. That he cared more than anything. That she was his life.

But the words died in his throat. He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. He stepped back.

The others had rushed out, alarmed by the sudden stop. Katherine, Xenia, and Anna hurried to Lydia’s side.

"Your Highness!" Katherine’s voice was filled with worry. She knelt quickly, reaching for Lydia’s hand. "Are you okay? This is exactly what you should be avoiding. You need to be more careful."

Xenia’s eyes were wide. "What if something happens to you? Please, Your Highness, think of your health—"

"I said I’m fine!" Lydia snapped, her voice cold. She pulled away from their touch. "It’s just motion sickness. Nothing else. Stop acting as if I’m going to die right here. I said I’m fine."

Her voice was sharp, but her eyes... her eyes betrayed her. They were glassy, trembling with the truth she refused to say.

Deep down, she wasn’t fine. Not at all.

Ivan turned to the coachman, his face unreadable now. His voice steady but carrying weight. "Please ride carefully. She doesn’t feel well." Then he turned to the others. "We will take a short break before continuing."

He didn’t wait for a reply. He walked away, his steps firm, his back straight, but his chest heavy with silence.

Lydia sat back against the carriage wheel, her breath shaky. She kept whispering to herself, "I’m fine. I’m fine."

But her eyes drifted against her will. Toward him.

Toward the figure standing apart, looking away, yet carrying her pain with him.

And for the first time, Lydia felt it—her walls breaking, her heart trembling. She could feel herself falling apart.