Chapter 245: The Haunting Lies

Lydia sat quietly in her room, still wearing her silk robe. Her golden hair was damp from the bath, curling slightly at the ends as it fell over her shoulders. The soft smell of rose and jasmine filled the air, drifting from her skin and hair. The morning sun fell through the window curtains, painting the room in a calm golden light.

She was sitting by her dressing table, holding the small flower necklace in her hand. Her fingers brushed over the cold surface slowly, almost like she was afraid it might disappear if she touched it too hard. Her eyes softened as she stared at it. That same necklace. The one Ivan had placed around her neck that night. The one that never left her mind.

Her lips trembled a little as she smiled faintly. It was the only memory she could hold onto that didn’t make her completely break down. The night they shared still felt like a dream—painful, sweet, wrong, and right all at once.

Her hand tightened around the necklace, and a quiet sigh escaped her lips. "You’re still so foolish," she whispered to herself. "Still clinging to something that will only hurt you."

Just then, the door opened softly. Anna walked in, dressed softly. She bowed respectfully and said, "Are you feeling okay, Your Highness?"

Lydia quickly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and turned slightly, forcing a small smile. "I’m fine," she said gently. "Thank you for last night."

Anna smiled a little, walking closer. "You’re most welcome, Your Highness."

Lydia nodded and placed the necklace carefully on the table beside her perfume bottles.

Anna hesitated for a moment, then said, "Your Majesty, Lady Volkova is here to see you."

Lydia’s eyes lifted at once. "My godmother?" she asked, sounding surprised.

"Yes, Your Highness," Anna said softly. "She’s waiting for you in your waiting room."

Lydia nodded slowly. "I will be there shortly," she said quietly.

Anna bowed again and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Lydia turned her eyes back to the necklace. For a long moment, she didn’t move. Her reflection in the mirror looked calm but her eyes were swollen and tired. She brushed her hair again, trying to look normal, but her hands were shaking slightly.

Her heart still ached from all the memories—the truth she was hiding, the child growing inside her, and the fear that one wrong move would destroy everything she was trying to protect. She whispered under her breath, "Please, don’t take this one away from me." Her voice broke. "Not again."

She pressed the necklace gently against her chest, closing her eyes for a moment before putting it away and standing up.

---

In another corner of the palace, Tatiana sat in her room, her long dark hair spread down her back as Yelena brushed it carefully. Tatiana was lost in thought, her expression cold and distant. The early morning light touched her pale face as she stared at nothing, thinking about the ball, about Lydia, and about the strange way things had changed lately.

Yelena hesitated before speaking. "My lady," she began softly, "you weren’t at the ball last night."

Tatiana’s lips curved slightly. "I didn’t feel like going," she said calmly. "Was it dreadful?"

Yelena chuckled quietly. "Apparently, Her Highness embarrassed herself at her birthday ball."

Tatiana turned her head a little, her interest caught. "Embarrassed herself? How?" she asked, almost amused.

Yelena giggled, shaking her head. "Her Highness tripped and fell on the floor last night. It wasn’t exactly embarrassing because everyone thought it was due to fatigue from her travels. But it would have been worse if she had fallen flat on her face."

Tatiana gave a small laugh and looked at her reflection in the mirror. "Yelena," she said with a soft smirk.

Yelena shrugged lightly, still brushing. "But my lady," she continued, "I can’t help but feel something isn’t right. It’s strange."

Tatiana turned her gaze to her maid through the mirror. "What do you mean?"

Yelena looked around, as if afraid someone might be listening. Then she leaned a little closer and whispered, "I think she may be ill, my lady. Or something else."

Tatiana frowned slightly. "Ill?"

Yelena nodded, her eyes wide. "Yes. I heard from one of the servants that she fainted at the capital before coming here. And lately, she hasn’t been looking too strong. She looks pale. Sometimes she doesn’t even eat much."

Tatiana’s smile slowly faded, replaced with curiosity. "She fainted?"

"Yes, my lady," Yelena said softly. "It’s just strange. Her behavior has been... quiet but strange."

Tatiana leaned back against her chair, crossing her legs. "You’re right," she said, tapping her finger against her chin thoughtfully. "She is hiding something. And I will find out exactly what it is."

Her eyes darkened a little as she looked into the mirror. The corners of her lips curved faintly upward. There was something sharp and cold in that look—a mix of envy and suspicion.

---

Meanwhile, in Ivan’s study, silence filled the large room. The air smelled faintly of ink and paper. His desk was covered with piles of parchments, reports, complaints, and other documents waiting for his attention. But Ivan wasn’t reading any of them. His hands were on his desk, but his mind was far away.

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. His eyes looked tired, almost haunted. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate, his thoughts kept drifting back to Lydia.

He could still see the way she looked that morning—the pale color of her face, the way she moved slowly, like every step was heavy. She smiled, yes, but it was the kind of smile that didn’t reach her eyes. It made something inside him twist painfully.

He didn’t understand why she looked so weak. Why she seemed so fragile lately. And every time he remembered, he felt this strange tightness in his chest.

He looked down at the half-written letter on his desk but couldn’t bring himself to continue. His hand trembled slightly as he pressed it against his lips.

"She looked pale," he whispered softly to himself. "Like mother did."

The memory hit him so suddenly he had to close his eyes. He saw his mother again—her soft, tired smile, her weak hands, the way she would reach out to touch his face even when she could barely lift her arm.

He remembered how she used to throw up blood. How frightened he was as a little boy, standing in the corner of her room, crying silently because he didn’t know what to do. She had been everything to him. And then she was gone.

He swallowed hard, trying to shake the image away. But it stayed.

He whispered again, this time almost like a prayer, "Please don’t let her be sick."

He couldn’t bear to lose Lydia. Not again. Not after all that happened.

He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, breathing slowly. The thought of Lydia dying like his mother made him feel sick. His fingers gripped his hair tightly as if trying to pull the thought out of his head.

He knew she was avoiding him lately. He knew something was wrong. He could feel it, but he didn’t know what it was. And that helplessness—being unable to fix it, to help her—was driving him mad.

He whispered her name softly. "Lydia."

The sound of her name broke the silence. His heart hurt every time he said it. He missed her even when she was just in another part of the palace.

He wanted to go to her, to hold her, to ask what was wrong. But he was afraid. Afraid that she would look at him with those eyes filled with pain and say she didn’t need him anymore.

So he sat there in silence, trapped between his fear and his love. The clock ticked softly in the background, and the wind brushed faintly against the windows.

He looked toward the door as if expecting her to walk in, but of course, she didn’t.

He sighed quietly and whispered again, "Please don’t let her be sick."

The sound of the clock kept echoing in the room, steady and slow, marking the long silence that followed.