He had pulled her close. So close she could feel his breath brushing against her cheek.
Lydia’s heart pounded in her chest as her eyes locked with his. His grip was strong, firm... but there was no anger. Just something else. Something she couldn’t name.
"Your Highness..." she whispered, confused. "What did I do?"
He didn’t respond. He just kept staring at her like he couldn’t look away. His eyes, usually cold and distant, were stormy and restless now. For a brief second, it felt like he might say something. Like he might let her in.
But then—he snapped out of it.
His expression shifted, as if he had suddenly realized something terrible. His grip loosened, and he pushed her back—too roughly.
"Leave," he said sharply. "I want to be alone."
Lydia blinked, startled. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The warmth of his hand still lingered on her skin, but his tone had turned cold.
Without a word, she turned and left.
As she walked through the corridor, her mind raced. Her feet moved on their own, but her thoughts stayed behind in that room.
Did I say something wrong? Did I hurt him my mistake?
Why did he pull me close... only to push me away?
She reached her chambers and collapsed on the bed, burying her face in her pillow. Her heart was too loud. Her thoughts too heavy.
What did I do to him?
Queen Olga sat in her room, her hands resting on her lap. The air felt heavy, suffocating. She rose from her seat and left the palace, claiming she needed some air.
Her carriage passed through the outer gates, the horses trotting quietly along a path that curved through the valley. Just by the side, a field of wildflowers bloomed in colors that danced with the wind.
Two teenage girls were running through the flowers, giggling, their hair flowing behind them like silk. Their baskets were already full, but they didn’t stop. They kept running, barefoot, free.
Queen Olga looked at them through the carriage window.
Her eyes were sad. Hollow.
She stared as if the girls haunted her.
As if they reminded her of something she didn’t want to remember.
The palace was quiet.
Lydia sat in the grand library, a book open on her lap. She had been reading for hours, but nothing stayed in her head. Every now and then, her mind drifted back to him. To his hand. His eyes. His silence.
The sun had begun to set, golden light pouring in through the tall windows. She closed the book and stood up, stretching her stiff arms.
As she turned to leave, her foot brushed against something on the floor.
She bent down and picked it up.
It was the old map she had been trying to reach that day.
It was lying near the shelf where she found him that day... when his wound had reopened.
Her fingers tightened around it.
Could he have been trying to bring it down for me?
Her heart fluttered. She shook her head and clutched the map to her chest. Why would he...?
Queen Olga sat at her desk, her hair still damp from a bath. Her face was pale. Her lips dry. She didn’t speak a word.
Slowly, she reached for the drawer and pulled out an old, dusty book.
As soon as she opened it, her eyes filled with sadness.
A brief memory flickered in her mind—two young girls, side by side, giggling, running through a field just like the one she saw earlier. One had black hair and deep blue eyes. The other, golden hair and sky-blue eyes.
The first page of the book read: To my precious Olga.
Her hands trembled. A tear slid down her cheek. She hesitated before flipping the page, but her fingers wouldn’t move.
Then the memory changed. The two girls, now young women, stood facing each other. Tears rolled down their cheeks.
Olga’s sadness turned cold. Her jaw clenched.
She slammed the book shut and shoved it back into the drawer, her voice shaking with rage.
"I will never forgive you," she whispered. "You stole my happiness. And I will make sure he never sees his. I will make him suffer... every single day of his life."
Lydia knocked lightly and entered Ivan’s room with the medicine. The air felt heavy again. Quiet. He was seated by the window, back turned.
"I came to change the dressing," she said softly.
He didn’t say a word.
She walked to him and gently unbuttoned his shirt. Her fingers touched his skin, soft and careful. He didn’t flinch, but she could feel his body tense. The moment her hand brushed his chest, his breath caught. His muscles tightened.
Her touch was warm, too warm.
His skin burned under it.
She smiled faintly. "Your wound is healing faster than I expected," she said, trying to lighten the mood. "I guess even your body doesn’t like staying weak for long."
Still, he didn’t respond.
Her smile faded. "Ivan? Are you okay?"
She leaned forward, placing the back of her hand on his forehead. "Are you sick—"
His voice was cold. Sharp.
Lydia froze. Her hand slowly dropped.
"I don’t need your help anymore," he said. "You don’t have to come tomorrow."
She stared at him. "Why?"
"I’m leaving for a trip," he replied flatly, standing up and turning away. "And I don’t want to be disturbed."
She looked at him with glassy eyes, her lips parted in disbelief.
"I... I didn’t mean to upset you," she whispered.
He didn’t look at her.
She turned around and walked out quietly, biting her lip to stop it from trembling.
The door closed behind her with a soft thud.
Ivan remained standing in the center of the room. His eyes were empty, but his hands slowly rose... and traced the skin where she had touched him.
Lydia stood outside, watching the carriage being prepared. She waited by the steps, hands folded tightly in front of her.
When Ivan appeared, she took a small step forward.
"Safe journey," she said softly. "Please... take care of yourself."
He climbed into the carriage, the door shut, and within moments, the horses began to move.
Lydia stood still, watching him disappear into the distance.
Her chest ached. Her heart felt heavy.
She didn’t understand what she did wrong.
But somehow, it still hurt.