Lydia’s face turned pale, like she had just seen a ghost. She couldn’t say anything. Her lips trembled, but no sound came out.
Irina was the first to speak.
"This is too much, Your Majesty," she said, turning to Olga with anger flashing in her eyes. "She came to you for help, to escape a terrible marriage. And this is what you offer her? An even more terrible one. Are you trying to kill her? Of all people for her to marry... him..."
Olga didn’t even flinch. She sat there, cold and calm, like she was watching something beneath her.
"I am not a matchmaker, Irina," she said. "If you think my decision is too much, then leave. I’m handing everything to her on a silver platter, and all I ask is a small price."
Irina turned to Lydia and said sharply, "We’re leaving."
Lydia could barely move. She just followed, her mind blank.
As they were about to step out, Olga’s voice rang out behind them.
"Think about it, Lydia. You have three days."
The carriage ride back was silent. Irina stared out the window, fuming.
"I should have known better than to trust that witch," she muttered.
Lydia said nothing. She just sat there, feeling smaller and smaller inside.
Before Lydia could even catch her breath, things got worse.
The moment she stepped back inside the house, Alexander was already waiting, sitting there with a smirk on his face.
"I have good news," he said, standing up. "I just spoke to the priest. Your wedding won’t be in two weeks anymore. It’ll be in three days."
"Rest for today," he added. "Tomorrow we’ll start the wedding plans."
It felt like the world was spinning around her.
The marriage she had spent every second dreading... was now three days away.
And the only escape — the queen’s offer — made her even more confused.
That night, Elena sneaked into her room.
"I heard what Father did," she whispered. "I really thought Lady Irina would help you."
Lydia sat up in bed, her voice low.
"Elena... what do you think about getting married to the Grand Duke Ivan Romanov?"
Elena froze. She looked uneasy.
"I don’t know much... but from what everyone says... it would be terrifying," she said. "They say he’s a cruel man."
"Why do you as?" Elena asked confused and curious.
"No reason. I was just wondering," Lydia lied trying to brush off anymore questions.
After a while, Elena left back to her room. Lydia didn’t sleep that night.
The next morning, just when she thought she couldn’t feel worse, Count Viktor came to visit again.
This time, he made her blood boil.
He started talking about how he didn’t believe in the tradition of not seeing the bride before the wedding.
"Your parents claimed they never met before marriage too," he said with a nasty smile. "Yet your mother gave birth in only eight months. Some tradition, isn’t it?"
Lydia clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms.
She held it in... at first.
But when he insulted her parents, she snapped.
"Over my dead body will I marry you!" she screamed, pushing past him and running straight to her room.
She locked the door and collapsed on the floor, shaking with anger.
It didn’t take long before she heard heavy footsteps pounding toward her door.
Alexander’s voice thundered outside.
"Open this door, Lydia!"
When she didn’t, he forced it open, slamming it against the wall.
His face was red with rage.
"You will marry the Count whether you like it or not!" he barked. "Even if I have to drag you to the church myself!"
The rest of the day, Lydia didn’t leave her bed.
She just lay there, her heart feeling like it had been torn apart.
Later, the door creaked open again. It was her uncle.
"The dressmaker is here," he said coldly.
The dressmaker had finished her work.
The gown was now fully stoned and detailed, and when Lydia tried it on, she looked like a dream.
Even the dressmaker gasped a little.
"It’s beautiful," she said, fixing the last little details. "I almost didn’t finish it on time. I had to work on the queen’s dress too. I will be delivering it the moment I am done with you."
That was when everything clicked.
A spark lit up in Lydia’s mind.
She had only one way left to escape this marriage — the queen’s offer.
While pretending to adjust her dress, Lydia quickly tore a tiny piece of paper and scribbled something on it.
She folded it tightly into a little square.
When the dressmaker wasn’t looking, Lydia whispered, "Please... hide this for me. Give it to the queen. Tell her it’s from me. Please don’t let my uncle see it."
The dressmaker nodded without a word, slipping the note into her pocket.
It was Lydia’s last hope.