CHAPTER 95: THE BROKEN CHILD

Tatiana looked down at the floor. Her hands were folded tightly in front of her. She was shaking her head gently as Lydia pleaded.

The silence between them felt thick—almost unbearable. Lydia’s breath caught in her throat. The room felt colder now, as if the truth itself had drawn the warmth away.

"I can’t tell you what happened then," Tatiana whispered.

Her voice was barely there, like it hurt just to speak. Her shoulders were hunched, almost like she was trying to make herself smaller. Her fingers twisted together as if she was physically trying to hold herself back.

Lydia moved closer, her voice trembling. "Please, Tatiana. I need to know. Everyone keeps hiding things from me. I just want to understand him."

There was desperation in her voice, but also something softer—something broken. Like a child begging to understand why everyone speaks in riddles around her.

Tatiana’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I really wish I could tell you," she said. "But I can’t."

Her words cracked at the end. Her face was pale, and her lower lip trembled just slightly. She looked like someone carrying a secret so heavy it had bent her spine over time. But she wouldn’t say it. Wouldn’t even dare.

Lydia turned away, her hands tightening around the box she still held. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Fine... you don’t have to tell me about what happened eight years ago. But at least tell me what’s in that room. Why isn’t anyone allowed there?"

Her voice was small but firm. The kind that carried a pain that couldn’t be ignored anymore. Her thumb brushed the lid of the box like it was her anchor.

Tatiana stayed silent for a while.

The clock on the wall ticked softly in the background. The snow tapped gently at the windows. It felt like time itself was holding its breath.

Lydia turned back to face her. "Please, Tatiana. Just tell me. What is it about that room?"

Tatiana’s voice was quiet and heavy. "There’s nothing in it... But he doesn’t allow anyone there because he’s scared of that room."

Her voice cracked on the last word. Fear didn’t seem like something that belonged to Ivan. But Tatiana said it like it was sacred knowledge.

Lydia’s brows pulled together. "Scared? Why?"

The word didn’t sit right with her. Ivan was many things—angry, cold, guarded. But scared?

Tatiana opened her mouth to speak but stopped. Her lips trembled. Her eyes told the story her mouth couldn’t.

There was something behind her gaze—like she was remembering screams that once echoed behind those walls. Things a child should never have lived through.

---

Outside...

Ivan rode into the palace courtyard at full speed. Snow and mud splashed around his horse’s hooves. His coat was soaked, but he didn’t care. His heart was racing so fast he could barely breathe. Nikolai followed behind but kept his distance, knowing better than to get in his way.

The horse neighed and reared slightly when Ivan pulled hard on the reins. The steam from its nostrils blended with the sharp wind. Ivan jumped off his horse before it even came to a full stop and rushed straight into the palace.

Servants gasped as he stormed through the halls, but he didn’t hear them. His mind was too loud. His steps were fast, his face pale and anxious. His boots left wet prints across the floor, snow trailing behind him like a shadow. He didn’t stop until he reached the Grand Duchess’ chambers. A guard nearby tried to speak.

"Your Highness, she’s not—"

But Ivan didn’t hear the rest. He pushed open the door. The room was empty.

His heart sank. For a moment, the world felt like it was spinning. His hands shook as he turned around and grabbed the guard by the collar.

"Where is she?!" Ivan shouted, his voice raw.

The guard stuttered. "I... I... I don’t know..."

Ivan’s eyes were wild, red with fear.

Boris’ voice broke through. "She’s okay. Nothing happened to her. She’s not in her room, that’s all."

Ivan dropped the guard and turned to Boris. "Then where is she?!"

Boris hesitated. "I don’t know why, but she’s heading toward that room."

Ivan didn’t wait to hear more. He turned and ran.

---

The hallway felt too long. The cold air from the windows cut against his skin, but he didn’t slow down. His boots echoed down the corridor. His chest burned, but he didn’t stop. His mind was spiraling. What had she seen? What did she know now?

He pushed the door open.

There she was.

Lydia sat on the cold floor of the forbidden room, her face buried in her palms. Her shoulders shook with every sob. The room was dark, still, empty... but full of pain. The walls seemed to breathe sorrow. Shadows clung to every corner. A child’s pain still lived here.

"What are you doing here?" Ivan asked, his voice sharp.

She didn’t move.

"Who asked you to come here?" he said again, harsher.

Lydia looked up slowly. Her eyes were red and swollen.

"Ivan..."

He stepped forward.

Her voice was soft. "I’m sorry."

He stood in front of her now. Her tears, her broken expression—it crushed him.

He took her hands gently. "You shouldn’t be here," he said. His voice was shaky. "This place... it’s not for you."

His hands were cold. She felt him trembling.

Lydia rose with him. "Ivan... please..."

He didn’t say anything. He just led her out of the room. Slowly. Quietly.

His grip on her hand was tight. Like he was afraid to let go. The hallway felt endless.

When they got to his chambers, he closed the door behind them and stood still.

He looked lost.

Lydia turned to him. "I’m sorry I went there. I shouldn’t have. I just..."

He let go of her hands.

"You should go," Ivan said. His voice was low.

"No."

"Please, Lydia. Just go."

She stepped closer. "You’re not okay. Don’t lie to me."

He looked away. His eyes were full.

She touched his arm. "Talk to me. Please. Don’t shut me out."

His body stiffened. Then suddenly, he shouted. "Just leave, Lydia!"

She didn’t flinch.

"No! I won’t! Just like you stayed with me. I’m staying with you now. You didn’t leave me then, and I won’t leave you now."

His breathing was uneven. He turned to face her.

"Why won’t you leave me?!"

"Because I love you!" she cried, her voice breaking.

He looked at her, stunned.

Tears finally fell from his eyes. He reached for her and pulled her into a tight hug. He held her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.

His head rested on her shoulder. He couldn’t stop shaking. She wrapped her arms around him and stroked his hair gently.

He cried. Not just tears, but deep, aching sobs.

And she held him through it all.

Neither of them said anything. They didn’t need to.

They just stayed in each other’s arms, two broken hearts trying to heal together.

---

Now

Olga walked down the long hallway toward Vladimir’s study. Her steps were slow but elegant, the soft sound of her shoes echoing faintly against the polished floor. The message from the servant had been brief—His Majesty requested her presence. No explanation. No reason. Just a command. She hated when he did that.

She paused at the door and knocked lightly. A firm voice from within replied, "Enter."

She stepped in gracefully, her gown brushing the floor behind her. Vladimir was seated at his desk, surrounded by papers and half-open scrolls. He didn’t look up immediately, his eyes focused on the parchment in front of him. He looked tired, but his posture was sharp and stiff. The air felt heavier than usual.

"Your Majesty," Olga greeted, bowing slightly. She was about to move toward the chair across from him when he lifted a hand.

"Don’t bother sitting," he said flatly. "This won’t take long."

Olga straightened, confused. "What’s going on?"

"I’ve made a decision," Vladimir said, folding one of the papers. "The Ember Lights Ball will no longer be held in the capital."

Her brows knitted. "What?"

"It will take place in Svetlana instead," he continued, still not looking at her. "Tell the planners. Inform the court. Make the arrangements."

Olga’s eyes widened in disbelief. "Have you lost your mind?" she snapped. "Why would you move the most prestigious ball of the year to that snowy corner of nowhere? This is tradition—"

"It’s my kingdom," Vladimir cut her off, finally meeting her gaze. His eyes were cold. "Not yours. I didn’t ask for your opinion, Olga. I asked for your obedience."

She stared at him, stunned.

Vladimir leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping once against the wood. "We’re done here."

Olga stood frozen for a second longer, then gave a short, stiff nod. She turned and walked out, her heels clicking harder now. Her hands were shaking with fury by the time she closed the door behind her.

She didn’t understand what was happening anymore. But she knew one thing—something had changed in Vladimir.

And it terrified her.