The Bride Of The Devil-Chapter 83: The Silent Fear

The next morning came slowly. The sun was rising, but its warmth did not reach the snow-covered inn or the two people tangled in the bed inside.

Ivan and Lydia woke up in each other’s arms. Neither of them said a word. The room was quiet, filled only with the sound of soft breathing and the faint wind outside. They stayed still for a few moments, their bodies close, hearts beating quietly next to each other.

There were no kisses. No smiles. Just silence. The kind that holds more words than any conversation ever could.

Ivan opened his eyes first. He looked at her, at the way her head rested gently on his chest. Her lashes were still wet from the tears she had cried the night before. She had fallen asleep in his arms after everything. He had held her until her breathing slowed.

Now, she opened her eyes too. They looked at each other — not long — just long enough to understand that neither had slept well.

They got up without speaking. Ivan helped her with her coat. Lydia brushed her hair with slow, tired fingers. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. The silence said everything — we are still here, we are still alive, but we are not safe.

Downstairs, the carriage was already waiting outside. The horses were ready, steam rising from their breath in the freezing morning air. The coachman sat straight, waiting for orders. The guards were alert. The servants were ready.

Ivan helped Lydia into the carriage carefully. He held her hand a moment longer than needed. She looked up at him, but again said nothing.

He turned to the guards. His voice was cold and sharp.

"Be watchful," he said. "If you see anyone following us, do not hesitate. Do what needs to be done. Understood?"

"Yes, Your Grace," the captain replied.

Ivan turned to the coachman. "Drive fast. We must be in Svetlana before sundown."

The man nodded quickly. "Yes, Your Grace."

Lydia, still seated inside the carriage, had been listening. She watched him from the small window as he gave each order with that cold, commanding tone. His face was unreadable, his silver eyes sharp.

When he finally got inside the carriage and sat beside her, she turned to him.

"Ivan," she said softly, "what’s going on?"

He didn’t look at her. "It’s nothing," he replied. "Bandits often move during this time of year. I’m just being careful."

Lydia looked at him a moment longer. She nodded slowly. "Okay."

But she didn’t believe him. She knew it wasn’t bandits. The way he stood outside the door the night before. The way he had shouted. The way he had held her through the night, sword under the bed, eyes on the door.

She knew there was more.

Far behind them, inside a dim tavern, Ruslan sat with Anatoly. They were drinking by the window, watching the carriage prepare to leave.

Ruslan smiled as he sipped his drink.

"Look, Anatoly," he said, tilting his head toward the window. "My old friend is in love. Look how gentle he becomes. Look how protective. Isn’t that sweet?"

Anatoly narrowed his eyes. "Sire, should we follow them? We can finish the job. Their guards look weak. It wouldn’t be hard."

Ruslan waved his hand lazily. "No, no. Let them go."

"But—"

"I said no. Let them run," Ruslan said with a grin. "Besides... I have a better idea. A fun one."

Anatoly looked confused. "What kind of idea?"

Ruslan leaned back in his chair, eyes still on the window. "It’s a secret. But soon enough, I’ll play a little game with my old friend. Just wait. It’ll be entertaining."

---

The carriage moved fast through the snow. Trees passed by like shadows. The wind was sharp, but inside the carriage it was quiet.

Too quiet.

Ivan sat with his eyes fixed out the window. His hands were resting, but his mind was not. He was thinking. Thinking of Ruslan. Thinking of Lydia. Thinking of everything he had done — and everything he still had to do.

How do you kill a man who never leaves a trail? Who hides in the shadows and laughs as he cuts open your past?

Lydia sat beside him, her eyes on his face. She didn’t speak. But she could feel it — the storm inside him. The guilt. The fear. The anger.

And she knew it was all because of her.

Not that she blamed herself, no. But she knew Ivan was carrying it like it was his fault.

She reached for his hand but stopped herself halfway. He didn’t look her way.

After hours of silence, the rooftops of Svetlana finally appeared in the distance. The golden domes shone in the last light of the sun.

They arrived just before sundown.

At the gates, Tatiana and Katherine were already waiting.

"Welcome back, Your Highnesses," Tatiana said politely. "How was the journey?"

"It was okay," Lydia replied with a small smile. It was a lie, but it was easier than explaining.

Ivan said nothing. He stepped out of the carriage and walked straight inside the palace.

The moment they entered, everything changed.

Ivan went cold. Not just outside, but inside.

His voice turned sharp again. His eyes were empty.

"From now on," he told the palace guards, "no one enters or leaves this palace without my permission."

They stood at attention.

He continued. "All food, drinks, fruits, even water — nothing reaches the table unless it is tasted first."

The servants nodded nervously.

"Understood?" he asked.

"Yes, Your Highness," they said in unison.

Lydia stood at the staircase, watching him. She could see it clearly now. This wasn’t just fear. This was guilt. And pain. And something else — something darker.

He thought it was his fault. But why? She couldn’t understand why he was blaming himself.

---

Later that evening, Ivan sat alone in his study. The windows were shut. The fire was burning. But he felt cold.

A parchment sat on the table in front of him. He was supposed to be reviewing supply orders. But the words blurred on the page.

All he could think about was Ruslan.

How do you kill a man who knows your every move? Who once held your hand like a brother and now holds a knife behind your back?

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. His mind was racing.

Then a thought came to him — clear and sharp.

Nikolai.

If anyone knew how Ruslan thought, it would be Nikolai. The man had trained them both. He had seen Ruslan before the masks and lies.

He had to go to the northern border. To speak with Nikolai. To find a way to end this.

But the journey would take two weeks at least.

And that meant leaving Lydia behind.

He looked toward the door, thinking of her. Of the way she had buried her face in his chest. Of how she had cried and said she still felt like she was being watched. How afraid she still was.

How could he leave her now?

But how could he stay... and do nothing?

His hands clenched into fists.

If he didn’t end this, Ruslan would strike again. And next time, Lydia might not survive it.

He had to make a choice.

A hard one.

But he already knew what it would be.

He had to go.

He would speak to her in the morning. Tell her it was a political trip. Something simple. Something safe.

He would leave guards. He would lock down the palace. He would make sure she was protected.

And then... he would find Ruslan’s weakness.

And finish what should’ve been done years ago.

Once and for all.

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