Lydia pretended the whole day like nothing was wrong. First, she came down for breakfast dressed neatly in a light cream dress, her hair tied back in a soft braid. Her face was calm, and not a single tear betrayed her sleepless night.
She sat at the table and ate quietly, even picking at her food now and then so no one would suspect anything. Elena kept glancing at her and eventually leaned closer.
"Are you… okay?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm fine," Lydia replied, smiling faintly, her tone so smooth it almost fooled herself.
To complete the act, she later approached her uncle in the study, where he was sipping tea and reading the day's correspondence.
"You were right," she said, bowing slightly. "I've been immature. I apologize."
Her uncle looked at her with a smile full of pride, like he had just tamed a wild horse. "Ah, my dear! That's the right attitude. I knew you'd understand. You're a smart girl, just like your mother."
Lydia's stomach twisted at the mention of her mother, but she forced a nod.
By noon, the Count arrived.
Lydia had dressed carefully in a sky-blue gown trimmed with lace, her hair brushed and curled by the maids. She looked like a doll on display, not a girl with a broken heart. She met him in the parlor, her hands locked together to keep from shaking.
He made conversation as if they were old friends.
"Your mother," he began suddenly, swirling his drink, "she had the most beautiful eyes. I remember when I saw her at a ball… back then, I tried to woo her too, you know."
Lydia's heart stilled. Her grip on her dress tightened under the table. She forced a smile as bile rose in her throat.
"She was stunning. But I must say, you've inherited her charm… and maybe even more." He chuckled.
Lydia smiled, barely, but her teeth were clenched. She kept nodding politely, keeping her eyes fixed on the window behind him, counting the seconds until he would leave.
Eventually, he did. He spoke with her uncle for a while, and they both laughed heartily. When they stepped outside, her uncle waved him off with one arm around Lydia's shoulder.
"You did well," he said proudly. "Very well. The priest will be invited tomorrow. We'll pick a date. I'm thinking two weeks. What do you say?"
Lydia simply nodded and excused herself quietly. Once in her room, she locked the door and pressed her back against it, breathing heavily.
At the palace, the sun had begun to set, casting a golden hue over the marble floors and glinting off the swords of the guards. Servants rushed about, preparing for Ivan's departure.
He stood in the courtyard, his cloak sweeping behind him as he mounted his horse. Two helmeted guards stood beside him.
From a distance, the Czar watched silently, arms crossed behind his back. Ivan's younger brother Leonid came running toward him, tears spilling down his cheeks.
"You're leaving again?" he cried. "But I haven't even heard the stories you promised!"
Ivan didn't answer. He stared ahead, eyes cold and unreadable. Then he turned to his guards and said, "Let's go."
As their horses trotted away, the palace behind them seemed to disappear into the dusk.
Back at the Andreyevna estate, Lydia sat by the window, staring at the empty sky. Galina came in quietly and told her dinner was ready.
The dining room was awkwardly quiet. No one spoke. Her cousins looked unsure—unsure whether to congratulate her, avoid her, or pretend everything was fine. The silence felt like glass—fragile and dangerous to touch.
After dinner, Lydia took her bath with Daria's help. Warm water and soap bubbles rose around her, but nothing could wash away the anxiety twisting inside her.
Daria broke the silence. "How will you survive without money?"
Lydia looked at her, water dripping down her cheek. "Don't worry. I've saved enough. I always had a feeling I'd need it."
Daria hesitated before speaking again. "I've thought of something."
Lydia's eyes widened with hope.
"At midnight," Daria whispered, "when everyone's asleep, I'll leave the back door open. The one the servants use to bring in the deliveries. Take it. The barn will be unlocked. Take one of the horses. Ride through the forest path. There's a small house there. My cousin and her husband live in it."
Lydia grabbed her arm, water sloshing over the edge of the tub. "Thank you… thank you, Daria."
Daria looked nervous. "Don't thank me yet. Just… be careful. At dawn, a ship sails from the bay. It's headed to Velinograd, one of the outer islands. You can take it. Start a new life there."
"I will," Lydia whispered, holding back tears. "I promise."
Meanwhile, just outside the capital, Ivan and the guards trotted through the forest. The night was quiet except for the rustle of leaves.
Suddenly, one of the guards slowed down. "I need to relieve myself," he said and walked into the trees.
Minutes passed.
"Too long," Ivan muttered. He turned to the other. "Go check on him."
The second guard nodded and followed the trail. More time passed. Then he returned.
"Your Highness," he said, voice low. "You need to see this."
Ivan dismounted and followed him through the trees, sword by his side. As they moved through the darkness, he saw a body.
It was the first guard—dead. Throat slashed. Nearby, another corpse lay stripped of his clothes.
"What is this?" Ivan asked, confused.
Then he turned—and a sharp pain exploded through his stomach.
He gasped and stumbled back, clutching the wound. Blood poured through his fingers.
The guard removed his helmet.
It was the rebel.
He laughed softly, watching Ivan fall to his knees.
"Let me see," the man said, crouching. "Let me see the face of the monster behind the stories."
He tilted Ivan's head up and froze.
The man in front of him wasn't some old, cruel tyrant.
He was young. And handsome. And calm, even in pain.
"You're just a man," the rebel whispered. "You're not a monster."
That pause was his mistake.
With a burst of strength, Ivan drew his sword and drove it through the rebel's chest.
The man choked on his breath. Eyes wide. Blood at his lips.
He dropped to the ground, dead.
Ivan fell beside him, hand pressed to his wound, blood soaking the earth.
Darkness closed in.