The morning sun crept slowly through the sheer curtains of Lydia’s room, casting soft light over the polished floor. She sat there on the cold wood, her back against the door, knees drawn to her chest. Her nightdress clung damply to her skin from sweat and tears. She had cried until her throat was sore. Her eyes were swollen and puffy, and there was a hollow heaviness pressing deep inside her chest.
She hadn’t slept at all.
A quiet knock came on the door.
"Lydia..." came Elena’s voice, barely above a whisper.
Lydia didn’t respond. Her lips were dry, and her voice had long given out.
Elena hesitated, then sat on the other side of the door, resting her back against it too, like they were sitting together again—only with a wall of silence between them.
"I’m sorry," Elena said gently. "What my father did yesterday... it wasn’t right."
Lydia blinked slowly, silent tears spilling again.
"I wish I could stop it. But I know I can’t. I’m scared of him too. I know he won’t change his mind."
She paused, her voice trembling.
"Please come out, Lydia. Don’t stay ..."
But Lydia didn’t move. Her breathing stayed quiet and even, like she hadn’t heard a word.
Eventually, Elena stood and walked away.
Lydia stared blankly ahead. Her uncle had slapped her in front of everyone, spoken about her dead parents like they were a joke, and decided to hand her over to an old man like property. And nobody—not even her cousins—had stood up for her.
Her fingers curled into fists.
No, she thought. I’ll never marry that man. Never.
Her parents would turn in their graves if she gave in. They didn’t raise her to be owned, to be used. Her uncle had already stolen her ship, her inheritance, her voice. If she gave in now, he would take everything. Even if the count died... her uncle would still find a way to take it all.
A soft knock came again—gentler this time.
"It’s me, Galina," came a warm voice.
Lydia stood and unlocked the door slowly. The moment it opened, Galina stepped in and pulled her into a tight hug.
"Don’t worry, sweetheart," she whispered. "Everything will be okay."
Lydia said nothing. Her lips were pressed into a tight line, but her eyes burned fiercely, like fire had taken the place of her tears.
Meanwhile, in the palace, the Czar Vladimir sat in his private study with Grand Duke Ivan.
"Ivan," Vladimir said, smiling calmly. "Why don’t you stay a little longer? This palace is your home. Why the rush?"
Ivan stood near the tall window, watching the breeze move the garden trees.
"My work here is done," he said. "There’s no reason for me to remain in the capital. I’ll be leaving for Svetlania by sundown."
Vladimir opened his mouth to speak again, but another voice cut him off.
"There’s no need to force him," said Olga.
She had just entered the room and was glaring openly at Ivan.
"He clearly doesn’t want to stay," she added, her tone cold.
Ivan didn’t look at her. He only gave a polite bow to the Czar.
"I’ll take my leave."
Vladimir looked between them but said nothing.
Back at the Andreyevna estate, Lydia sat in the bath while Daria gently poured warm water over her hair. The steam rose softly around them, scented with rose oil.
"Daria..." Lydia said quietly. "I’ll never marry that man."
Daria’s hands paused in her hair.
Lydia turned to face her, her voice urgent.
"I’m going to run away."
Daria’s eyes widened. "What?"
"Please help me," Lydia begged. "You know my parents wouldn’t have wanted this. They helped you when you had nowhere to go, remember? You told me yourself."
"I know but..." Daria’s voice trembled. "I’ll be thrown out if anyone finds out. Your uncle—"
"Please," Lydia whispered, grabbing her hand. "Please, Daria. You’re all I have left."
The maid looked torn. Fear flickered across her face—but so did something else. Loyalty. Gratitude. Heart.
After a long pause, she nodded slowly.
"Fine... I’ll help you. But you must act normal today. No tears. No defiance. We can’t raise suspicion."
"I will," Lydia promised. "I’ll be quiet. I’ll pretend."
"I’ll think of something," Daria said, more to herself. "I’ll do my best. I swear."
Without thinking, Lydia leaned forward and hugged her—even though her hair was soaked and bubbles were still clinging to her shoulders.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much."