CHAPTER 89: THE DEVIL DOESN’T PLAY FAIR

It was still dark when Ivan opened his eyes. The sky outside the window had softened to a deep blue, hinting that dawn wasn’t far away. He blinked slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. Lydia lay beside him, wrapped in the sheets, her face calm and beautiful in sleep. Her arm rested across his chest, her fingers curled loosely near his heart. Her skin was warm against his, her breath brushing lightly over his collarbone.

For a long moment, Ivan didn’t move. He just stared at her. Her lashes fluttered slightly, and her lips parted in soft, steady breaths. She looked peaceful. Innocent. Like nothing in the world could ever harm her. The way her hair spilled over the pillow reminded him of all the quiet moments they rarely got to have—moments that always seemed borrowed from a life that wasn’t theirs to keep.

But Ivan knew better. The world wasn’t kind. Especially not to people like them.

Carefully, he shifted from under her arm. Lydia stirred a little but didn’t wake. She murmured something too soft to understand, pressing her face deeper into the pillow. He sat at the edge of the bed, taking one last look at her. A strange pain squeezed his chest. Quietly, he leaned over, pulled the blanket gently up to her shoulder, and kissed her forehead. His lips lingered there for a second longer than they should have.

"Forgive me," he whispered. Then he stood and left the room without a sound.

The hallway outside was dark and quiet, the soft creak of the wooden floor echoing faintly as he walked. Each step felt heavier than the last. There was a strange finality in the silence. It wrapped around him like a cold cloak.

He reached his chambers and stepped inside. The fire had gone out, and the room was cold. His breath misted in the air as he crossed to the washbasin. He moved quickly—he didn’t want to give himself too much time to think. He took a fast bath in icy water that jolted him awake, dressed in thick clothes lined with fur, and strapped his sword to his side.

When he glanced at the mirror, he barely recognized himself. The man staring back at him looked older. Harder. But determined.

By the time he reached his study, the first hints of light were peeking through the sky. The two servants — the ones pretending to be him and Lydia — were already there. They stood straight, wearing cloaks and clothing that resembled his and Lydia’s. The resemblance was strong. Not perfect, but enough. The girl was fiddling with her gloves, too nervous to meet his gaze.

A palace guard stepped in quietly and spoke in a low voice. "Everything is ready for your trip to Novostav, Your Highness."

The maid pretending to be Lydia glanced over curiously. She had been eavesdropping, clearly nervous.

Ivan dismissed the guard with a nod. Then turned to the servants. "Go now. The carriage is ready. Guards will follow you. Do exactly as you were told."

They bowed and left without a word.

Ivan walked slowly to the window and stood there, watching as the fake Grand Duke and Duchess climbed into the carriage. The snow crunched softly beneath the carriage wheels. The wind had grown quieter, but the cold was sharp. The horses began to pull forward, the guards falling into formation.

He stayed there a little while, his thoughts quiet but heavy. His fingers tapped against the windowsill, the only sign of the nerves he was trying to hide.

Then, he moved to the desk and wrote a short message. He tied it to the leg of a pigeon and sent it flying into the pale morning sky.

The message was simple: "Boris, come to Svetlana. Ruslan is alive. I need you to protect Lydia."

After the bird flew off, Ivan turned and walked briskly to the stables. He mounted his horse, gripping the reins tightly. The tracks from the decoy carriage were fresh in the snow, already being followed by other hoofprints. The wind bit at his skin as he rode out, but his focus stayed sharp.

Just as expected.

Ruslan had taken the bait.

Ivan pulled his horse in the opposite direction and began his journey to Novostav. The cold wind slapped against his face as he rode, but he didn’t slow down. The sky behind him grew brighter with every gallop.

---

Back at the palace, Lydia stirred.

Her face tightened in her sleep. A soft whimper escaped her lips. She was dreaming — or rather, having a nightmare.

In the dream, she saw Ivan. He was bleeding. Falling. And Ruslan stood over him, smiling.

She gasped awake, heart racing. The room was cold. She turned quickly.

The bed was empty.

"Ivan?" she whispered.

Nothing. No answer. Only silence.

Before she could even sit up fully, the door opened.

Katherine stepped in with a tray and a worried look. "Good morning, Your Highness."

She moved to the window and pulled the heavy curtains shut.

Lydia blinked in confusion. "Why are you closing the curtains?"

Katherine looked down, clearly uncomfortable. "His Highness’s orders. You’re not to leave your chambers until he returns. No open windows. No stepping outside."

Lydia’s breath caught.

He was gone.

She had felt it the night before — the way he held her, kissed her. It wasn’t just passion. It was goodbye.

Her heart sank, tears stinging her eyes. She turned away from Katherine quickly and covered her face.

He wasn’t sure he would return.

And now, she wasn’t sure either.

---

Back To The Present

---

Somewhere deep in the forest, Ruslan rode in silence.

The snow stretched wide around them, white and endless. His men followed closely, but quietly. None dared to speak. The only sound was the crunch of hooves and the faint whistle of wind slipping between the trees.

His jaw was tight. His eyes sharp. He looked tense, angrier by the second.

One of the riders nudged his horse closer to Anatoly and whispered, "What’s in Viregrad? Why does sire look... scared?"

Anatoly glanced at him. "His mother is there."

The man blinked. "I thought she was dead."

"No. She’s alive," Anatoly said. "She was sick years ago. He joined the Zolotaria army to make money for her treatment. But they paid soldiers like dogs. That’s when he agreed to spy for Venograd. He needed more. But things went wrong. He betrayed everyone. And now, he can’t even visit his own mother."

The man looked stunned. "I didn’t know."

A few more steps passed in silence before he added, "But isn’t this a trap? We’re riding straight into the Grand Duke’s hands."

Just then, Ruslan pulled his horse to a stop.

The riders behind him halted as well.

He turned to Anatoly. His voice was cold. "Go back to Svetlana."

Anatoly looked confused. "Sire?"

"Find a way in. Kill the Grand Duchess."

Everyone went silent.

"If I don’t survive," Ruslan said, his eyes blazing, "at least make sure the Grand Duke doesn’t win either."

No one spoke.

They just nodded.

Because they understood — this wasn’t about victory anymore.

It was revenge.

And Ruslan wasn’t going to play fair.

---

Lydia sat quietly on her bed, staring at the curtains Katherine had drawn shut. The room felt dim and heavy. Time moved slowly, like the wind outside had frozen it.

She hadn’t been able to rest since the day before. Her chest felt tight, her thoughts kept spinning. Was Ivan safe? Was he cold? Had he eaten anything? Was he riding through a storm somewhere, exhausted and alone?

She didn’t know where he had gone or how long he would be away. All she had were his last words, his last touch. The way he kissed her like he was afraid he’d never have the chance again. Something about it haunted her. It had been goodbye. She was sure of it now.

Her hands trembled slightly as she ran her fingers along the edge of the blanket. Then, as she shifted to sit properly, her foot hit something under the bed. It made a soft thud.

She blinked and leaned over, pulling it out. It was a small wooden box. She recognized it instantly.

Her breath caught.

The box her cousins had given her.

She remembered Elena smiling and saying they had given it to Ivan to pass on to her. That had been days ago. She hadn’t even remembered it until now.

Carefully, Lydia brought it into her lap. She didn’t open it yet. She just held it to her chest and laid back down, clutching it like a child would hold a teddy bear. Her fingers clutched the edges so tightly they turned pale.

And just like that, her memory took her back to that night.

The night she had fallen sick.

At first, she thought she had dreamed it. The soft touch on her hair. The warm palm on her forehead. But now... she knew it had been real.

Ivan had been there.

He had sat beside her and patted her head like she was the most fragile thing in the world. He didn’t leave her side. Not even once.

Tears welled in her eyes again.

He was always like this—showing love in silence. Caring in secret. Protecting her while pretending to be distant.

She held the box tighter, whispering into the air like he could somehow hear her.

"Come back to me, Ivan... just come back."

And then, she closed her eyes.

Not to sleep.

Just to remember.