Chapter 246: Losing Game

Irina sat quietly on a cushioned seat in the waiting room. The large window beside her let in a soft, warm light that rested gently on her hands folded on her lap. From a distance, she looked calm, graceful as always, the perfect image of poise and gentleness. But inside, she was far from calm. Her mind was heavy with worry, her heart restless and full of questions that refused to leave her alone.

She kept glancing at the door, waiting, praying for it to open.

She had arrived early that morning, hoping to see Lydia. She hadn’t slept well. The news from the previous night had shaken her badly. She heard that Lydia had collapsed, that she was hurt during the ball, and no one could tell her what really happened.

Irina tried to keep her calm face, but her thoughts were full of fear. Lydia was like her own daughter. She had held her as a baby, cared for her after her parents died, and had seen her through every painful Chapter of her young life. And now, seeing her return from the capital looking so pale, so different—it frightened her.

Her fingers played softly with the edge of her shawl. She whispered to herself, "Please, let her be alright."

The silence of the room pressed around her until suddenly, the door opened. The sound made her lift her head quickly. Her heart gave a small jump.

It was Lydia.

"Godmother," Lydia said softly, her voice weak but filled with relief.

Irina’s eyes softened at once. She stood up slowly, her lips trembling slightly as she breathed out. "You are okay," she said in a whisper that almost sounded like a prayer.

She moved closer at once and reached for Lydia, her eyes glistening. She placed her hands gently on Lydia’s arms and looked at her face carefully. "I have been worried since last night," she said, her voice shaking with emotion. "When I came, I heard you were hurt. Are you—"

"I’m fine," Lydia said quickly, shaking her head gently. "I was just tired. I’m okay now."

Irina sighed deeply, her shoulders softening with relief. "Thank the heavens," she said softly. She reached up and tucked a loose strand of Lydia’s damp golden hair behind her ear. "Thank God you are okay, my sweet child."

Then she pulled Lydia into her arms and held her tightly. The warmth of the embrace made Lydia’s eyes sting. She closed her eyes and buried her face against her godmother’s shoulder. The smell of jasmine and faint lavender from Irina’s dress filled her chest, reminding her of home, of peace, of everything she had lost.

Irina held her even tighter, whispering softly, "You must take care of yourself, Lydia. You cannot keep doing this to your body."

Lydia’s voice came out small. "I know."

Irina pulled back slowly and cupped her cheeks. "You look so pale," she whispered. "You’ve lost weight."

"I’m fine," Lydia said again, though her voice trembled. She tried to smile, but it looked fragile, almost painful.

Irina looked at her closely, her heart breaking at how tired Lydia looked. There was something in her eyes that worried her deeply—something she couldn’t name, something heavy and secret.

Before she could ask, Lydia looked down at her hands, fidgeting with her ring.

"I heard the ball didn’t go as planned," Irina said softly.

Lydia smiled faintly. "No, it didn’t," she said in a low tone. "But it’s alright."

Irina sighed and brushed her fingers through Lydia’s golden hair. "You don’t have to pretend with me, my dear," she said quietly. "You have always tried to be strong for everyone, but you don’t have to hide your pain from me."

Lydia’s eyes filled with tears. She blinked quickly and looked away. "I’m trying," she whispered.

"I know," Irina said, holding her hand gently. "But trying does not mean breaking yourself."

For a long time, neither spoke. The room was still. Only the sound of the fireplace crackling softly could be heard. Lydia looked lost in thought, and Irina watched her quietly, realizing how grown she had become, how much weight she carried alone.

---

Meanwhile, in another part of the palace, Tatiana walked quickly down the hall, her long skirt brushing the floor. Her face was calm, but her fingers were clenched tightly around the edge of her dress. Her mind was racing.

She had spent most of the morning thinking about Lydia, about the whispers she had heard from Yelena. Something was not right with the duchess. Tatiana could feel it.

As she approached the corner leading to Lydia’s chambers, she saw a young servant carrying folded linens. The servant stopped and curtsied quickly. "My lady," she greeted politely.

Tatiana nodded with a small smile, hiding her impatience. "Good morning," she said smoothly. "Are you heading to Her Highness’s room?"

"Yes, my lady," the servant said. "I was sent to tidy her chambers."

Tatiana tilted her head, pretending to sound casual. "Is Her Highness inside?"

The servant shook her head. "No, my lady. Her Highness is in the waiting room. She has a guest."

Tatiana blinked, her heart lifting slightly. "A guest?"

"Yes, my lady," the servant replied. "Lady Volkova, to be exact."

Tatiana forced a soft smile. "Oh, I see."

She nodded like it was nothing, thanked the servant, and turned around slowly. Inside, however, her thoughts were burning. So Lydia was meeting her godmother. That could mean only one thing—they were discussing something private.

She wanted to know what it was.

For a moment, she thought about sneaking into Lydia’s room to look for clues, but that idea was gone the moment she remembered the servant. If she was caught there, it would be over. She had to be careful.

Tatiana’s heels clicked softly against the marble as she walked away, whispering to herself, "I’ll try another time."

But as she turned down the corridor, she stopped suddenly. Her lips curved into a faint smile. "Or maybe I won’t have to."

If Lydia and Lady Volkova were in the waiting room, she could go there quietly, stay near the door, and maybe hear something useful. The walls were thin near the edge of the hall. If she stood close enough, she could catch every word.

Her smile widened slightly. "Yes," she whispered. "Let’s see what secrets you’re hiding, my dear Duchess."

She turned and walked towards the waiting room, her heart steady, her eyes cold with purpose.

---

Back in Ivan’s study, the room was in chaos. He paced from one end of the room to the other, his boots making sharp sounds on the floor. His mind was restless.

He had been sitting for hours, trying to read the reports piled on his desk, but every time he picked one up, he found himself staring into space, his thoughts always going back to Lydia.

Something was wrong with her. He could feel it.

The way she looked that morning—it wasn’t just tiredness. Her face was pale, her hands cold, and her eyes distant. Every time he looked at her, his chest tightened.

He stopped pacing and leaned against his desk, pressing both hands on it as if to steady himself. His heart was beating too fast.

He whispered to himself, "I can’t sit here doing nothing."

He turned sharply, grabbed his coat from the chair, and threw it over his shoulders. He didn’t care who saw him. He needed to see her. He needed to know she was alright.

He rushed out of the study, his steps echoing down the corridor.

---

Inside the waiting room, Lydia and Irina finally pulled apart from their long embrace. Irina looked at her softly, brushing away a tear that had escaped Lydia’s eye. "You must take care of yourself," she said again.

Lydia nodded slowly. "I know," she said faintly.

Irina hesitated for a moment, then took her hand gently. "Lydia," she said carefully, "I think it’s best you tell him."

Lydia froze. Her eyes widened slightly, and her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Irina’s voice softened even more. "I think it’s best you tell him about your pregnancy."

For a second, time seemed to stop. Lydia’s whole body trembled. Her heart thudded so loudly she could barely hear anything else.

Outside the door, Tatiana stood still. Her eyes widened as the words hit her like a blow. Her hand slowly covered her mouth as she whispered, "Pregnant?"

Her face went pale, and tears gathered in her eyes, but not from sadness—more from shock and rage. Her mind started spinning. Lydia was pregnant. That meant she was already losing.