Chapter 229: The Devil’s Tunes
It was a soft sweet afternoon. The kind of afternoon where the sun did not burn too hot, but spread its light gently over the world. Birds sang from the branches of the tall trees, their songs floating like little pieces of joy in the air. The wind blew softly through the garden, carrying the smell of fresh blossoms. The flowers, heavy with color, leaned into the breeze and swayed gracefully. Everything outside looked perfect, peaceful, beautiful.
But inside the palace, it was far from quiet. Servants ran back and forth. Their hands carried ribbons, golden cloth, baskets of roses, crystal lamps, and trays of polished silver. The air was full of movement and noise. The palace was already busy, because in two days there would be the grand ball. Lydia’s birthday ball.
The servants were hanging decorations, cleaning marble floors until they shined, and making sure the chandeliers sparkled like diamonds. The hallways smelled of wax polish and flower water. People bowed as they hurried by, whispering instructions to each other.
And in her chamber, far from all that noise, Lydia stood still. She was staring at her reflection in the tall mirror. Her eyes were distant, her face pale. She stood there, not moving, as the royal tailor worked carefully around her.
It was a dress fitting. The tailor adjusted the fabric around her waist, smoothing the blue silk over her body. It was a beautiful dress, even though it was not yet finished. The skirt fell like a soft waterfall. The sleeves were delicate, the fabric shining under the sunlight that came through the tall window. Even without the jewels, even without the embroidery that was yet to be added, it looked stunning.
The dressmaker stepped back and sighed with admiration. "Your Highness," she said gently, "you look beautiful. Truly. Even without jewels, without powder on your cheeks, without the finishing touches, you are radiant. And blue... blue is your color."
Her words were warm and honest. They were meant as a compliment. But for Lydia, they pierced like knives.
That sentence alone made her sick to her stomach.
Blue is your color.
Her chest tightened. Her throat felt like it was closing. She felt her eyes sting and before she could stop it, tears slipped from her eyes. Quickly, almost desperately, she lifted her hand and wiped them away before they could fall onto the fabric. She did not want to explain. She did not want to reveal what those words had reminded her of.
The dressmaker noticed. She looked alarmed, worried she had made some mistake. She tilted her head and whispered softly, "Your Highness... did I say something wrong? Did I offend you?"
Lydia shook her head quickly, almost too quickly. "I don’t want the dress in blue," she said firmly. Her voice trembled but she forced it to stay cold. "Make it red."
The dressmaker blinked. She froze in place, scissors still in her hand. She looked even more confused. "But... Your Highness," she said softly, almost pleading, "the ball is tomorrow night. You asked for this dress a week ago. We have worked on it every single day. If I start again... it will be impossible to finish. Please, Your Highness. You look so perfect in this. Blue suits you so much."
Something inside Lydia cracked. The kindness in the woman’s words hurt more than any insult could. Her voice rose sharply, cutting through the room.
"Just do what I asked you!" Lydia snapped. Her hands clenched at her sides. "If you cannot make it red, then I will find another dressmaker who can. Do not argue with me."
The poor woman bowed her head, her face pale. "Yes, Your Highness," she whispered. "As you wish."
She lowered her eyes and stepped forward to loosen the pins, carefully helping Lydia out of the blue gown. Neither of them spoke. The silence was heavy.
When Lydia was free from the fabric, the dressmaker folded it gently into her arms. She looked down at it, her lips pressed tightly together, then excused herself quietly and walked out of the chamber.
The moment the door closed, Katherine stepped forward. She had been waiting nearby. Her eyes fell on the dressmaker’s troubled face.
"What is it?" Katherine asked softly.
The woman sighed, shaking her head. "Her Highness... she asked me to remake the dress completely. She wants it in red now. Red, and nothing else. I told her it was too late, that blue was perfect, but she refused. I do not know what I did wrong."
Katherine’s heart sank. She placed her hand on the woman’s arm and whispered kindly, "Just do what she asked. Please. Do not argue with her. It will pass."
The woman nodded reluctantly and hurried away with the bundle of blue fabric.
Katherine stood there for a long moment before she quietly pushed open Lydia’s chamber door.
Inside, Lydia was sitting by the window, her face buried in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed quietly.
The compliment had been kind. The tailor’s words had been nothing but good. And yet, they had reopened a wound that Lydia tried so hard to keep hidden.
"Blue is your color."
It was a sentence she had heard her whole life. Something many people had told her. Something she had known already. But the memory it brought back was unbearable.
It reminded her of that day, in her own room, when Ivan had whispered those same words. When he had looked at her as though she were the only thing in the world. When his eyes had burned into her, making her feel like her heart was no longer her own.
Her chest ached so much she felt like she could not breathe. She wiped her tears quickly, angry at herself for being weak, but more tears kept coming.
She pushed herself up suddenly, too restless to sit still.
"I need a break," she whispered to herself, pressing her hand against her chest. Her voice shook. "I cannot... I cannot sit here."
She looked around the chamber as though it were a prison. She needed air. She needed space.
She told herself that a walk would fix everything. A walk would calm her down. So she pulled her cloak around her shoulders and slipped quietly out of her room.
Her footsteps echoed down the long hallway. She told herself she was just walking for fresh air. But her heart was not listening. Her mind was heavy, her body trembling.
And before she even realized where she was going, her feet betrayed her.
She stopped suddenly. Her breath caught in her throat. She looked up and saw the familiar door.
The lounge.
The very room she had sworn not to go near. The place she did not want to see. The place that held too many memories.
Her hands shook. She whispered to herself in frustration, "What is wrong with you?"
She turned sharply, ready to walk away, ready to escape before the ache in her chest grew worse. But then... she froze.
Because through the thick door, she heard something.
Music.
Soft, aching music.
The piano.
The notes rose gently, filling the hallway like a ghost. They curled around her, pulled her closer even though she wanted to run.
Her hand lifted on its own and touched the door. Her heart pounded in her chest. She closed her eyes, trembling, listening to the sound that tied her to the very man she had promised herself to stay away from.