Chapter 243: The Devil’s Love

Three months ago

It was the last day of winter. The sun was sinking low, leaving behind a faint orange glow that touched the white snow with fire. The sky was clear, and the snowfall that had not stopped for weeks had finally ended. But the air was still sharp and freezing, and the land of Svetlana remained covered in layers of ice, silent and cold as if holding its breath.

Lydia stood in her cloak, motionless, before a small grave. Her son’s grave. The earth was frozen hard, the stone headpiece dusted with ice, and beside it lay a flower, withered and bent. Her hands trembled as she reached forward, brushing away the dead petals. She replaced it with a new one—fresh, white, and delicate, the only soft thing in the cruel cold around her.

She did not speak. Her lips pressed together, her face calm, but her eyes carried the storm. Her heart was breaking and yet she held it all inside. There was no one to hear her, no one to comfort her. She stood there in silence, only her breath coming out in soft clouds in the winter air.

From behind, her coach called gently. "My lady."

Lydia blinked, her eyes still fixed on the stone. Finally, she whispered, "Let’s go."

She walked back slowly, her cloak trailing behind her on the frozen ground. The carriage door opened, and she stepped inside, sinking into the seat with tired grace. The wheels crunched over the ice as the horses pulled forward.

From the small window, Lydia looked out at the passing land. Bare trees, silver frost, and hills of snow. Then, in the distance, she saw it—the palace of Svetlana. Its tall towers and wide walls were glowing under the last light of sunset, as if the entire palace had caught fire, blazing against the ice. It looked untouchable, unreachable, a dream she once lived in but no longer belonged to.

Her first instinct was to look away. Her chest tightened, and she whispered, almost scolding herself, "It does not matter anymore."

But then her eyes betrayed her. She turned back to the view. Her voice broke into a whisper, shaky and fragile. "Let me just look at it... one last time."

Her hand touched the glass of the carriage window. Her eyes burned, but she would not cry. Not here. Not for something that had already been taken from her.

"Stop," she suddenly said to the coachman.

The carriage slowed, halting a few meters from the long road that led to the palace gates. Lydia pushed the door open and stepped down, her cloak sweeping the snow. She stood still, staring at the palace. The cold cut through her bones, but she felt nothing.

She told herself over and over—it does not matter, it does not matter—but the ache in her chest was unbearable.

And then she heard it.

"Your Highness."

Her whole body froze. That voice. That title. She had not heard anyone call her that in three years. Slowly, stiffly, she turned.

Katherine stood a few steps behind her, breath showing in the cold, her voice soft. "Your Highness."

Lydia’s lips parted. Her heart jumped painfully. She said, with a broken little laugh, "I am no longer the Grand Duchess."

Katherine lowered her eyes. "My apologies, my lady. It is just... I am used to calling you that."

Lydia said nothing, her eyes drifting back to the glowing palace.

"What brings you to Svetlana?" Katherine asked, stepping closer.

"Nothing much," Lydia murmured. "I only came here because of one of my donations." Her voice was calm, but inside her chest it hurt to speak so simply, as if her reason for being here was just duty, when the truth was so much heavier.

Katherine studied her for a moment, then said quietly, "Do you want to come in?"

Lydia should have said no. She should have turned away and left, but something in her feet moved before her mind. She followed Katherine.

Together, they stepped through the gates and into the palace.

The air was warmer inside, but it did not feel like warmth to Lydia. The walls, the halls, the familiar corridors—every corner was filled with memories that clung to her like ghosts. Her chest grew tight. She regretted this already.

"I should not be here," Lydia whispered. Her voice was almost shaking. "This was a mistake. I do not want any trouble."

"It is all right," Katherine said gently, reaching for her hand. "His Highness barely moves around the palace. He only goes to his room... and his study." She gave her hand a squeeze.

Lydia pulled away quickly, her eyes cold and sad. She did not want comfort. Comfort would only break her further.

"I missed you," Katherine said softly. "How have you been?"

Lydia’s lips pressed together. Her eyes gave no answer, only the silence of someone who had suffered too much.

Katherine swallowed, regret clear in her voice. "If only I had helped you back then. I am sorry."

"You did nothing wrong," Lydia replied, but her tone was sharp, almost cold. "Why are you apologising?"

Katherine lowered her head. She whispered, "Do you want to look around?"

Lydia hesitated, then nodded faintly. She did not want to, but she needed to. Maybe this was why she came here. Maybe she was searching for closure, for something that would explain the pain she still carried.

She walked through the palace quietly. Her steps echoed in the wide halls. She kept to the wings she knew Ivan would not take. She could not face him, not here, not after everything.

First, she went to her old chambers. The door creaked softly as she pushed it open.

Her breath caught.

The room was dark, lifeless. The bed stood neatly made, untouched for years. The curtains hung still, heavy with dust. It was as if no one had ever lived here.

A single tear slipped down Lydia’s cheek before she could stop it. She pressed her lips together, whispering, "There is nothing here for me anymore."

She turned quickly, almost running from the room, muttering to herself.

Her feet carried her to the library. She paused at the door. Her hand hovered above the handle. She hesitated, afraid of what she might feel inside.

Finally, she pushed it open.

The smell of books, dust, and firewood met her. The shelves stood tall and quiet. But her eyes did not stop at the shelves.

On the floor, near the desk, she saw him.

Ivan.

He was slumped, wasted, his body heavy with wine. His head was bowed, his face pale. His hands trembled as he tried to steady himself.

The moment he lifted his eyes and saw her, his whole body shook. His face crumpled, and tears burst from him.

"Lydia..." His voice cracked, broken, unbelieving. "I did not think I would ever see you again."

He stumbled forward, reaching for her, his hands desperate. "I missed you."

Her breath caught. Panic rose in her chest. She turned quickly, whispering, "I should not have come here." She tried to leave.

But he caught her, arms wrapping around her from behind. He pressed his face into her shoulder, shaking.

"I am sorry, Lydia," he whispered, his voice breaking into sobs. "For everything. I am really sorry."

Lydia froze. Her whole body went still.

His words cut through her like a knife. She stood there, trembling. He was sorry.

Her heart gave way. She let herself melt in his arms. Slowly, as if against her own will, she turned and looked at him.

His eyes were wet, his face raw with pain.

He leaned down and kissed her.

And she kissed him back.

Because maybe, just maybe, it was not closure she had been searching for all along. Maybe it was his love.