Chapter 228: The Devil’s Guilt
Tatiana paced in her room like a madwoman.
Her skirts swished against the floor as she walked back and forth, her hands twisting at the fabric until it wrinkled. Her chest was rising and falling quickly, her lips tight, her face pale.
She had gone into the corridor with a plan. She wanted to taunt Lydia. She wanted to see her face fall, to see her break, to see her eyes burn with pain. But it had not gone that way. Not at all.
Instead of Lydia being the one cut down, it was Tatiana who had been left burning. Lydia had walked away without flinching, without a twitch in her eye, without a single visible wound. It was as if her taunts meant nothing. As if her words, her very existence, were beneath Lydia.
Tatiana’s breath shook with anger. She pressed her hand to her stomach, the lie she had been carrying, the lie that had given her power all this while. But the more she thought of Lydia’s calm eyes, the more it felt like her lie was slipping, like it wasn’t enough anymore.
Worse, the trusk she had counted on, the uncle she had depended on, all the whispers and moves behind the scenes — none of it had succeeded. Lydia had not disappeared. She had not been disgraced. She had returned not as a broken woman but as a queen. A queen who walked with her head high, as if she owned the palace, as if no wound could touch her.
Tatiana pressed her hand against the wall and whispered under her breath. "I will make her leave forever."
Her eyes were dark and hollow, her lips trembling. Inside her mind, plans churned like poison.
Meanwhile, in Lydia’s chamber, the air was calmer. Candles glowed softly in the corners, filling the room with a faint golden light. The curtains swayed gently in the night breeze.
Katherine stood near the bed, her brows drawn together in worry. She could not understand. Her mistress’s words still echoed in her mind. Lady Orlova is not pregnant. I had the evidence destroyed because I need her lies.
"Your Highness," Katherine whispered, her voice unsure, "I do not understand."
Lydia’s face was calm, her eyes deep. She did not explain much. She simply said, "You will understand later."
Her voice was quiet, steady, almost too calm. "As you know," she continued, "I do not have enough time."
The room went quiet after that. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the faint sound of the curtains moving. Katherine shifted uncomfortably, her worry growing.
After a while, Lydia broke the silence. She straightened her gown and turned toward her maid. "Go and rest, Katherine. You are tired. We are all tired."
Katherine hesitated, still watching her closely.
"You will have much work soon," Lydia said softly. "As you know, I turn twenty-three in three days. I will be hosting a ball. To celebrate, and to show them all that I was not affected by their little games. You will need your strength. Please, go and rest."
Katherine’s lips parted, her heart heavy. "Are you sure, Your Highness?" she asked gently.
"Yes," Lydia replied firmly, but her tone was still soft. "I am sure. Stop worrying. I can take care of myself."
Katherine bowed her head. "Very well." She turned and left, though her eyes still carried doubt. She wanted to protect Lydia, but she also knew Lydia was stronger than anyone gave her credit for.
When the door closed, Lydia sat down slowly on the chair by the window. Her hands touched the folds of her dress, her eyes staring out at the dark night. The stars blinked faintly above the city. Her lips trembled slightly, but her face remained calm. Deep inside, her heart was heavy, yet her will was harder than iron.
Across the palace, Ivan sat on the edge of his bed. His chamber was quiet, the only light coming from a single candle on his desk. His head was blank. Empty.
He had wanted to speak to her in the carriage. He had wanted to tell her in the corridor. He had wanted to open his mouth and finally let out the truth, but he had failed. His chest was heavy with regret, his throat tight with words he could not speak.
The door opened slowly. Ivan lifted his head. It was Boris.
"Your Highness," Boris said carefully.
Ivan let out a breath and rubbed his face. "I wish to be alone, Boris."
But Boris only smiled faintly, stepping further into the room. His voice carried a teasing tone, light but gentle. "You are already alone, how much more alone do you want to be?"
Ivan did not respond. He lowered his gaze, his shoulders slumping.
Boris walked closer, his eyes watching him. He was trying to cheer him up, to pull him out of the darkness he kept drowning in.
"Just talk to her," Boris said softly. "Say something. Anything. She will understand you."
Ivan’s lips parted, his voice low, heavy. "Will she?" He shook his head. "I don’t think so."
Boris sighed, crossing his arms. "Her Highness’s birthday is in a few days," he said gently. "Maybe you can find a way then. Maybe you can fix things with her."
Ivan leaned back, staring at the candle flame. His thoughts were scrambled, tangled, impossible to control. He wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to ask for forgiveness. He wanted to look into her eyes and say everything that had been burning inside him for years.
But every time he thought of it, a shadow covered his heart. The reminder of her pain, of her suffering, of the child they lost, of the betrayal that haunted them both. The wound was too deep.
And so he asked himself again and again: did he even deserve her forgiveness?
The silence of the room pressed down on him. His chest felt like it was splitting in two. His heart longed for her, but his guilt kept pulling him back.