The Bride Of The Devil-Chapter 32: Deadly Bargain

Olga sat on the edge of her bed, tired but with eyes wide open. Candles made long shadows across her fancy room. When she sighed, two servants appeared right away.

"Your bath is ready, Your Majesty," one said quietly, looking at the floor.

The servants walked her across the soft carpet to a big white tub filled with hot water. Rose petals floated on top, making the room smell sweet. They helped her take off her clothes and get into the bath.

"Is the water okay for you, Your Majesty?" asked the younger servant, fixing a towel nervously.

"It’s fine," Olga said, touching the rose petals with her fingers.

They washed her without talking. Olga stared ahead, thinking about other things. When they finished, they dried her with soft towels and helped her put on a light blue nightdress that made her pale skin look bright. They brushed her long black hair until it shined like black glass, letting it hang loose around her shoulders.

Even without jewelry or makeup, Olga was very beautiful—high cheekbones, perfect lips, and eyes that showed both strength and sadness. She moved to her mirror and sat, looking at herself without really seeing.

One servant stopped by the oil lamp that lit the room with warm light. "Should I turn off the lamp, Your Majesty? To help you sleep?"

Olga looked up quickly, meeting the servant’s eyes in the mirror. "No," she said firmly, shaking her head a little.

The servants looked at each other quickly.

"Do you need anything else, Your Majesty?" the older one asked.

"No. You can go."

They bowed low. "Good night, Your Majesty."

The heavy door closed behind them with a soft sound, leaving Olga alone with the flickering lamp and her thoughts.

---

"Poor Her Majesty," whispered one servant to the other as they walked through the dark palace halls, stepping quietly on the marble floor.

"Every night, she waits for him," said the second, shaking her head. "She sits up with the lamp on, hoping His Majesty will come to her room."

"But he never comes." The first servant’s voice got even quieter. "Not once in all these years, and still she waits. Like a statue, just sitting there."

"I feel bad for her. To be a queen and still so..." she stopped, trying to find the right word.

"Lonely," said the first. "So very lonely."

They got quiet as they passed a guard, then hurried to their rooms, leaving their pity hanging in the air behind them.

---

Back in her room, Olga sat still on the edge of her bed. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, her back straight as a stick. Only her eyes showed her feelings—wet with tears she wouldn’t let fall.

The lamp burned steadily, shining on the empty side of the bed. Hours went by. The palace got quiet as night grew deeper. Still she waited, knowing in her heart that Vladimir would not come, but unable to accept that fact.

"Come to me," she whispered to the empty room. "Just once."

But he never came.

---

The next morning was bright and clear, with sunlight streaming across the countryside as Ivan continued his trip back to Svetlana. The wooden box he carried seemed to get heavier with each mile, though its weight hadn’t changed.

---

In Svetlana, Lydia’s health had gotten worse. She moved restlessly in her bed, her nightdress sticking to her sweaty skin. Her cheeks were red with fever, but she shivered under the blankets. Her breathing was shallow, her lips dry and cracked.

Katherine came into the room, looking worried as she carried fresh water and towels. She put her hand on Lydia’s forehead and frowned.

"The fever’s still going up," she said quietly to herself.

Katherine squeezed water from a cloth and put it on Lydia’s forehead. She helped her sit up, supporting her weight.

"Please, Your Highness, just a few bites," she begged, offering a bowl of thin porridge.

Lydia weakly turned her head away. "Can’t," she whispered.

"You must try," Katherine said gently. "For your strength."

She got Lydia to swallow a few spoonfuls of porridge and some bitter medicine the doctor had left, but Lydia didn’t get better. Her eyes stayed glassy and unfocused, her skin hot to touch.

---

By noon, the sun was high in the sky as Ivan finally arrived at Svetlana. The moment he rode through the gates, a clear change swept through the palace grounds. Servants who had been doing their work suddenly found urgent things to do elsewhere. Guards stood straight and stiff, eyes forward, barely breathing.

Ivan gave his horse’s reins to a guard without a word and walked into the palace, holding the wooden box in his hands. His boots made loud sounds on the marble floors as he headed straight for his room.

Somehow, without planning to, he found himself standing in front of Lydia’s door instead. He frowned, annoyed at his own weakness.

"Why am I here again?" he muttered to himself, glaring at the door as if it had done something wrong. "Silly."

He was still deciding whether to go in or continue to his own room when the door opened, and Katherine came out carrying a basin of water and used towels. The moment she saw Ivan, her eyes got big with shock, then quickly dropped to the floor as fear took over her face.

Ivan’s face showed several feelings quickly one after another—anger, hate, and something else, something hard to name that softened his harsh features for just a moment before going away.

Katherine immediately dropped into a deep bow. "Your Highness," she said, her voice very quiet.

"Is the Grand Duchess inside?" he asked, his words short and sharp.

"Yes, Your Highness." Katherine kept her eyes down. "Her Highness is sleeping. She’s... she’s been sick."

Ivan’s forehead wrinkled. "What?"

"If you’ll excuse me, Your Highness," Katherine said quickly, clearly wanting to get away from him. She slipped past him with another bow and hurried down the hall.

Ivan waited just a moment before pushing the door open and going inside.

The room was dim, with curtains pulled against the midday sun. Lydia lay in the middle of the big bed, looking small and weak among the pillows and blankets. Her face was pale except for two bright spots of color high on her cheeks, her blonde hair spread out around her like a light halo.

Ivan walked to her bedside, putting the wooden box on the nearby table. Almost against his will, he reached out and gently stroked her hair, his rough fingers surprisingly gentle against the silky strands.

Lydia moved slightly at his touch, making a small sound in her throat. Ivan quickly pulled his hand back and turned to leave, but stopped when he felt thin fingers wrap around his wrist.

"Please don’t go," Lydia mumbled, her voice thick with sleep and fever. "Don’t leave me." Her eyes stayed closed, her face troubled even in sleep.

Ivan turned back to look at her. She looked very vulnerable, her usual brightness dimmed by sickness. He wanted to pull away, to keep the distance he’d so carefully built between them, but her grip tightened on his wrist.

The door opened again as Katherine came back, carrying a fresh bowl of water and clean towels. She looked surprised to find Ivan still there.

"What happened to her?" he asked in a flat voice, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Lydia.

Katherine kept her eyes down. "The doctor says it’s because of not enough rest and food, Your Highness."

Ivan’s eyebrows went up slightly. "Not enough food?"

Katherine glanced up briefly, then back down. "To be honest, Your Highness, she hasn’t been eating right since she came to the palace." She paused, then added, "She said she found the dining hall too lonely and stifling. It made her lose her hunger."

Katherine took a deep breath before going on. "It’s gotten worse since you left for the capital. She hasn’t been eating at all, and she barely sleeps. All she does is cry."

Ivan said nothing, his face giving away nothing. He couldn’t leave now even if he wanted to—Lydia’s fingers were still wrapped around his wrist, surprisingly strong despite her weak state. And deep down, part of him didn’t want to leave her side.

Katherine moved to soak a towel in the cold water, getting ready to cool Lydia’s fever, but Ivan stopped her with a hand motion.

"Leave," he ordered. "I will take care of her myself."

Katherine’s eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly hid it. "As you wish, Your Highness." She bowed and quietly left the room.

Ivan sat down carefully on the edge of the bed. He dipped the cloth in the cold water, squeezed it out, and placed it gently on Lydia’s forehead. Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, but she didn’t wake up.

---

In her fever dream, Lydia walked along a sunny beach with her parents, one on each side, their hands warm and solid in hers. The sound of waves touching the shore filled her with peace, and she smiled up at her mother, then her father.

"I’ve missed you both so much," she said, her heart full.

But as she spoke, their hands began to crumble in hers, turning to dust that blew away in the sea breeze. She grabbed at them frantically, but they disappeared before her eyes, leaving her alone on the empty beach.

"Mother! Father!" she cried out, tears running down her face. "Please don’t leave me alone again! I’m scared... I’m so scared..."

---

In the real world, Lydia’s face twisted with distress, tears leaking from under her closed eyelids as she mumbled the same pleas. "Don’t leave me... please... I’m scared..."

Ivan watched her, his own face troubled. He reached out and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb. Guilt washed over him in a sudden wave.

"You’ll only suffer more because of me," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

---

Night had fallen over the capital. In her room, Olga once again sat on her bed after her evening bath, dressed in her nightgown, her hair brushed and arranged. She sat perfectly still, her hands in her lap, waiting for the sound of Vladimir’s footsteps in the hallway outside.

Through the door, she could hear the whispers of passing servants, their pitying tones carrying clearly to her ears. Each word was like a knife stuck between her ribs.

"Still waiting..."

"...never comes..."

"...poor woman..."

Olga’s fingers tightened on the bedsheets, knuckles turning white with the force of her grip. Tears filled her eyes, then spilled over, making silent paths down her cheeks. Something inside her—something that had bent and bent for years—finally broke.

She stood up quickly, wiping the tears from her face with angry motions. Enough was enough. If Vladimir wouldn’t come to her, she would go to him.

She stormed out of her room, ignoring the startled looks of the guards, and marched down the hall toward the Czar’s rooms. Her bare feet made no sound on the soft carpets, but her presence seemed to fill the hallway with crackling energy.

Vladimir was sitting at his desk, reading by the light of several candles when his door flew open. He looked up, surprise quickly changing to cold displeasure as Olga swept in.

"You should leave," he said, his voice as cold as a winter wind.

"Why?" Olga demanded, approaching his desk with her hands clenched at her sides. "Why won’t you share a bed with me? Even after all these years, you’re still thinking of her, aren’t you? No matter what, I am still your wife!"

Vladimir rose slowly from his chair, his eyes hard. "You’re getting greedy, Olga. You seem to have forgotten our arrangement. Our marriage is just a formality, nothing more." His lip curled slightly. "And we have shared a bed."

"That was years ago!" Olga cried, her voice rising with her anger and pain. "Years!"

"That was our agreement," Vladimir replied coldly. "I have kept my promise. I expect you to keep your end of the bargain."

Olga’s eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Vladimir stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I know you were behind the attempt to kill the Grand Duke." His eyes bored into hers. "This is my final warning, Olga. If you try anything like that again, I won’t spare you. Not even for the sake of appearances."

Olga took a step back, her face pale in the candlelight.