Chapter 223: The Father And Son
Ivan’s body lingered in the doorway. He stood there frozen, staring into the empty corridor where Lydia had just vanished. The silence she left behind was heavier than thunder. His chest ached, his thoughts clouded. For a moment he forgot why he had even come here. The world felt blank. All he could see was her cold face turning away, her dress brushing past him as if he were nothing.
He closed his eyes, dragging in a breath that trembled. He had to remind himself where he was, why he was standing there. Slowly, with the weight of iron in his chest, he lifted his feet and walked into the study. The door closed behind him with a soft sound, and for a moment the silence stretched.
Vladimir was seated at his desk, his hands resting flat on the wood. He didn’t rise, but his eyes followed Ivan as he entered. His expression was tired, almost wounded, though his posture still carried the dignity of a king.
Ivan bowed his head lightly and said in a low voice, "You called for me, Your Majesty."
Vladimir’s lips pressed together before he spoke. His tone was quiet, but heavy with unspoken blame. "Where were you? She fainted."
The words struck Ivan like a blade. He stood still, unable to answer. His throat tightened, but no sound came out. He dropped his gaze to the floor, hiding the storm in his eyes.
Vladimir leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze fixed on him. There was no anger there, only sadness, like a man watching someone he loved slowly destroy himself. "You are obviously hurting," Vladimir said gently. "It is clear you are still in love with her. In fact, you have always been. Then why are you doing this? Why did you divorce her in the first place?"
Ivan’s jaw tightened. He said nothing. His silence spoke louder than any denial could.
Vladimir studied him carefully. Then his voice softened, steady but firm. "You are hiding something, aren’t you?"
Ivan finally lifted his head. His eyes were sharp, almost defensive. "What?" he asked.
Vladimir didn’t blink. "I know you, Ivan. You are hiding something. Something that you are protecting her from. That is why you left her. To protect her." He leaned forward. "Tell me. I can help."
For a moment, Ivan’s lips parted as if to speak, but then he pressed them shut again. His eyes dropped, and his voice came out as a whisper. "It does not matter anymore."
Vladimir leaned forward more. "Please tell me," he said, his tone almost pleading now. "Let me help you. Not as the Czar. But as your father. Please, Ivan. I just don’t want you to suffer anymore."
Ivan’s chest rose and fell, his heart hammering painfully. He wanted to speak, to pour everything out, but something inside him still locked the words away. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. After a long silence, he finally shook his head. "Time’s running out. I’d better get back so we can begin the journey to Svetlana."
He turned to leave, his face heavy with restraint, but then Vladimir’s voice broke the air again. The words made him pause.
"I am very sorry, Ivan," Vladimir said softly. "For everything I did to you. For all the pain I caused you. You and Marina."
Ivan froze. His heart skipped. Slowly, stiffly, he turned his head to look back at him.
Vladimir’s eyes were glassy, shimmering with tears he had held back for years. His voice trembled with old wounds. "I am very sorry. More than anything. I wish I could change time. I wish more than anything I wasn’t so powerless then. I couldn’t even keep her. I loved Marina more than anything, but I couldn’t even protect our love." His words cracked. "When she died, my entire world collapsed."
Ivan’s breath caught in his throat.
Vladimir’s hand trembled as he pressed it to his chest. "I let my grief cloud my responsibility. I abandoned you. I didn’t think of it that way then. I thought I didn’t deserve to be a father to you. I thought I was punishing myself for her death. That maybe it was best to stay away." His voice broke. "But I didn’t realise I was punishing you. You were just a child. You lost your mother, and I neglected you. I let her hurt you. I left you alone with that woman. And I am sorry, Ivan. I am so sorry."
Tears fell freely down Vladimir’s face, glistening in the light of the study. His shoulders shook as he tried to hold himself together.
Ivan’s vision blurred. His throat burned as tears welled up against his will. He clenched his jaw hard, but the pain of his father’s words broke through the walls he had built. A single tear slipped down his cheek, followed by another. His breath shuddered.
The two men, so often cold and restrained, stood before each other undone. Their pain was the same, born from the same woman, from the same loss, carried through years of silence.
Vladimir looked at him with trembling eyes. "I know it is too late to fix what happened between us. Too much time has passed, too much damage has been done. But please, Ivan, don’t do the same thing I did. Don’t make the same mistake. Don’t abandon her the way I abandoned you." His voice cracked, pleading. "It is not too late to fix things with her. Don’t let her go. Don’t let your silence ruin everything."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them was heavy, filled with sorrow but also with a strange tenderness that had never been there before.
In that moment, they were not the Czar and the Grand Duke. They were not monarch and heir. They were simply father and son. Broken, wounded, but finally standing face to face with the truth they had both buried for too long.
The tears rolled quietly down their cheeks. They didn’t embrace, but the bond between them, fractured for years, felt painfully alive again.
Ivan lowered his gaze, his chest rising and falling sharply. He could not bring himself to speak, but he heard his father’s words echoing in his heart. Don’t make the same mistake I did.
He knew exactly what Vladimir meant. He knew it was true. But the weight of his choices, the secrets he carried, the pain he had caused Lydia, pressed down on him so heavily that he could not see a way forward. He swallowed hard, fighting against his own tears, and turned his face away so his father would not see the torment twisting inside him.
But Vladimir had already seen it.
And for the first time in many years, he didn’t look at Ivan as the Grand Duke, the heir, or the soldier. He looked at him as his son, and he grieved for him.