Lydia walked away from the village, her heart heavy and sore. She didn’t know what hurt more—what she heard or how easily she believed it. Her feet carried her without direction, until she reached the market square. She sat on a stone bench, her hands in her lap, trying to gather herself. People passed, but she didn’t notice any of them.
After about an hour, Katherine showed up, her voice light and curious. "Was your visit okay?"
Lydia forced a small smile. "Yes, it was fine."
Katherine didn’t push further. They walked back to the palace together.
Meanwhile, Ivan stood by the window in his chambers, his brows furrowed. He had waited for her. He told himself it didn’t matter—but it did. She hadn’t shown up, and he didn’t know why.
"Why do I even care?" he muttered to himself.
He tried to distract his mind and walked to the library, hoping a book would do the trick. But no matter what he read, his thoughts drifted back to her. Again and again.
Back at the palace, Lydia was quiet. The entire walk had felt like a blur, and even the sight of the palace didn’t shake her from her thoughts. When they stepped inside, something about the air felt different, but she was too tired to think much of it.
"I’m exhausted," she said softly. "I just want a bath."
Katherine nodded. "I’ll tell your maids to prepare one."
Lydia walked straight to her chambers and sat at the edge of her bed. A few minutes later, the maids arrived with warm water and a fresh nightgown. They helped her undress carefully, speaking softly as they prepared her bath.
Not long after, Katherine came in again, this time with a tray of food. "I noticed Your Highness didn’t eat much."
Lydia managed a grateful smile. "Thank you."
She soaked quietly in the warm bath, trying to relax, though her chest still felt tight.
As Katherine folded a towel, she spoke casually. "His Highness is back."
Lydia’s heart jumped, and she nearly slipped underwater. "What?"
She quickly composed herself. "Oh... I see."
The moment Katherine left and the maids were done, Lydia dressed in her nightgown, her hair still damp. She tried to act normal, but her steps quickened as soon as she was alone. The hallway felt quiet. Too quiet.
She made her way to Ivan’s chambers and pushed the door open gently. The room was empty.
Her heart sank. Maybe he’s training... I’ll come back later, she thought.
What she didn’t know was that Ivan, instead of going to his room, had found himself standing in front of hers.
He hesitated at first, but then opened the door and stepped inside. It was the first time he had ever entered her chambers. The room smelled faintly like roses and soap. Everything looked softer, neater. So different from his space. He walked in slowly, almost careful not to touch anything.
His eyes landed on a small book on her reading table. Her diary.
He reached for it, curious. His fingers brushed the cover—and that’s when the door opened.
Lydia stood frozen. Her eyes locked on the diary in his hand.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
She rushed over and snatched the book from him. In the process, she accidentally hit him in the stomach.
Her heart dropped. "Did I hurt you?" she asked, panicking. "Oh no—your wound!"
Ivan tried to speak. "I’m fine—"
"I didn’t mean to hit you. I’m sorry." She dropped the book and placed both hands on his chest. "Sit down. Please."
He let her guide him to the bed. She was trembling slightly, her fingers already working to unbutton his shirt.
"You don’t have to—" he started, but she didn’t listen.
The shirt came open, and she sighed in relief when she saw the wound had healed. Just a scar remained.
"Oh," she muttered, a little embarrassed. Her hands were still on his chest. She tried to move them but couldn’t.
Ivan watched her quietly. She looked flustered, unsure of herself.
"I thought it reopened," she said. "I’m sorry."
She tried to stand, but his hand caught her wrist.
"Do you only want to be near me when I’m hurt?" he asked, his voice low.
She blinked, confused. "What?"
Before she could pull away, he drew her in gently, guiding her onto his lap, her knees straddling his thighs.
Ivan lay back on the bed, his body bare, scars marking his skin like they were a part of him. Lydia straddled him, her nightgown barely hanging on, the heat between them impossible to ignore.
She couldn’t stop herself. Her fingers traced his scars, feeling the rough, jagged lines of his past. Her touch was light, exploring, and the more she traced, the more she wanted. Her lips found one of the deeper scars across his stomach, and without thinking, she kissed it.
The moment her lips touched his skin, Ivan’s body tensed, his breath catching. Lydia kissed the scar again, soft at first, but the hunger in her grew. She moved lower, her lips following the lines of his body, tasting him, feeling the heat of him.
His hands slid up her legs, slow and deliberate. The heat in his touch made her gasp. His fingers moved higher, slipping under the edge of her nightgown, his hand brushing the soft skin of her thighs.
She shivered when his hand moved closer, touching the fabric of her underwear, his fingers brushing against her, feeling the warmth of her. Her body went rigid, her breath coming faster. She wanted him to touch more, deeper, and he knew it.
Ivan didn’t wait. His hand moved between her legs, finding her soaked, trembling with need. He didn’t give her time to think, his fingers sliding inside her without hesitation.
Lydia gasped, her body arching toward him as his fingers moved inside her, rough and relentless. She couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped her lips. She wanted more, needed more, but he was in control now.
Her hands scrambled to pull at his chest, her nails digging into his skin, but Ivan didn’t let up. His grip on her tightened, holding her in place, his fingers pushing deeper, making her cry out...