The Bride Of The Devil-Chapter 34: Dining With The Devil

It was sunset. The golden rays of the dying sun filtered through the large windows of the palace, painting everything in warm hues of amber and gold. In his study, Ivan sat hunched over his desk, surrounded by stacks of reports about the deployment of soldiers along the border between Zolotaria and Venograd. His eyes moved across the pages, but his mind refused to focus on the words before him.

"Thirty regiments stationed at the northern pass... increased patrols along the river..." Ivan mumbled, trying to concentrate, but it was useless. His thoughts kept drifting back to the library and Lydia.

He couldn’t forget the way her eyes had glistened with unshed tears when she apologized. The usual spark in those beautiful eyes had dimmed, replaced by a sadness that tugged at his heart in ways he didn’t understand—or perhaps didn’t want to acknowledge.

"Why am I thinking about her?" he whispered to himself, running a hand through his dark hair. "She’s just a duty, a political necessity."

But even as he said the words, he knew they weren’t entirely true. Something had changed between them. What had started as mere obligation was growing into something he couldn’t quite name.

He pushed the reports away with a frustrated sigh. There was no point trying to work when his mind was elsewhere.

---

Meanwhile, in the grand library, Lydia sat in a plush armchair, a heavy book open on her lap. The pages remained unturned for nearly an hour. Like Ivan, her mind was far away from her task. Her thoughts kept replaying their argument, her hasty words, the hurt in his eyes that he had tried so hard to mask.

"Why does he have to be so... so..." she couldn’t even find the right word. Difficult? Complicated? Intriguing?

Lydia traced the patterns on the book’s page absentmindedly. She had come to this marriage expecting a cold, political arrangement. She hadn’t expected to care what her husband thought of her. She hadn’t expected to feel this hollow ache when they argued.

A gentle knock interrupted her thoughts.

"Come in," she called softly.

The door creaked open, and a young maid with rosy cheeks peeked in. "Your Highness," she said with a curtsy, "dinner has been set. Please come to the dining hall when you’re ready."

Lydia offered a small smile. "Thank you, Anna. I’ll be there in just a minute."

"Very good, Your Highness." The maid gave another curtsy before closing the door quietly behind her.

Lydia looked down at the book in her lap. She hadn’t read a single word. With a deep sigh, she closed it and placed it on the small table beside her chair. Her stomach felt knotted, and the thought of sitting alone at that long dining table again made the knot tighten. But she knew she had to maintain appearances.

"Another lonely dinner," she murmured, standing up and smoothing down her dress. "Just like every night."

---

Back in his study, Ivan finally admitted defeat. He couldn’t concentrate on the reports any longer. Standing up, he stretched his stiff muscles and decided to retire to his room for the night. His body felt heavy with exhaustion, both physical and emotional.

As he walked down the long corridor, its walls adorned with portraits of stern-faced ancestors, he heard hurried footsteps approaching. Turning a corner, he nearly collided with a young servant girl carrying a tray laden with covered dishes.

The girl gasped, taking a step back, her eyes wide with fear. "Y-Your Highness!" she stammered, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to steady the tray. "I-I brought your meal to you. I thought you would still be in your study, so I came here. I’m so sorry! I’ll take it to your room right away!"

Ivan looked at the girl, noting how she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Was he truly so intimidating? He simply nodded at her, not wanting to frighten her further.

Then, an unexpected thought occurred to him. "What about the Grand Duchess?" he asked. "Has she eaten?"

The maid looked surprised by his question. "Not yet, Your Highness, but her meal is set at the dining hall. She should be there soon."

Ivan remembered what Katherine, Lydia’s lady-in-waiting, had mentioned earlier that day. Lydia had been eating very little lately, claiming she had no appetite. Katherine had hinted that the Grand Duchess felt lonely sitting at the vast dining table by herself night after night.

The realization struck him with unexpected force. Had he been neglecting his wife? True, theirs was a political marriage, but she was still his wife, living in a strange land far from everything familiar.

"You need not worry about setting the food in my room," he told the maid firmly.

Confusion flitted across her face, but she nodded obediently. "As you wish, Your Highness."

As the maid hurried away, Ivan changed direction, heading toward the dining hall instead of his chambers. He wasn’t sure what compelled him to go there—curiosity perhaps, or maybe something deeper that he wasn’t ready to examine too closely.

---

Lydia had just reached the dining hall. She paused at the doorway, taking in the sight before her. The long table, polished to a gleaming shine, was set with numerous dishes at one end. Pork soup, freshly baked bread, beef stew, roasted vegetables, and various desserts—enough food to feed several people, yet she would dine alone as usual.

With a quiet sigh, she moved to her usual place at the far end of the table and sat down. Everything looked delicious, the aromas tantalizing, but her appetite had abandoned her.

"Another meal alone," she whispered to herself. The vastness of the room seemed to magnify her solitude. Back home, meals had been lively affairs, with her parents and siblings talking and laughing. Here, the only sounds were the clock ticking on the wall and the occasional clink of her silverware against the fine china.

The door opened suddenly, and Katherine stepped in. The lady-in-waiting approached with a concerned look on her face.

"Is the food to your liking, Your Highness?" she asked gently. "Or is there anything else you’d prefer? Would you like me to keep you company while you eat?"

Lydia shook her head. "No, thank you, Katherine. The food is fine. I’d like to be alone tonight."

Katherine hesitated for a moment before nodding. "As you wish, Your Highness. Please ring if you need anything."

"I will. Thank you."

Once Katherine had left, Lydia picked up her spoon, stared at the soup for a moment, then set the spoon back down with a heavy sigh. The thought of eating made her stomach turn.

Just as she was contemplating leaving the table entirely, the door opened again. Lydia turned, a gentle rebuke on her lips. ƒrēenovelkiss.com

"But I asked to be—" The words died in her throat as she saw who had entered.

It was Ivan. Her husband. The man she had been avoiding all day.

He said nothing as he walked straight to the table, his steps measured and purposeful. His face gave away nothing of his thoughts, his expression as unreadable as ever. He stopped near her and looked down at her with those piercing blue eyes.

"You’re in my seat," he said simply.

Lydia blinked in confusion. She had been sitting in the same place for weeks, and he had never joined her for dinner before.

"I—I’m sorry," she stammered, feeling her cheeks warm with embarrassment. "I didn’t know."

She started to rise, intending to move to the other end of the table, but his hand shot out and caught her wrist. His touch was warm and firm, but not painful. It sent a strange fluttering sensation through her chest.

"Just sit in the chair beside me," he said, his voice softer now. "All the food is arranged here, and the servants have already left. No one will help you move everything."

Wordlessly, Lydia nodded and sank into the chair next to her usual place. Ivan took the seat she had vacated.

For several minutes, they ate in silence. Lydia tried to focus on her food, but her mind was racing with questions. Why had he come? What did it mean? Was he still angry about their argument in the library?

Though Ivan didn’t look directly at her, she noticed how he instinctively moved dishes closer to her reach, ensuring she had easy access to everything. It was a small gesture, but it touched her unexpectedly.

"The soup is good tonight," he said eventually, breaking the silence.

"Yes, it is," she agreed, though she had barely tasted it.

Another silence fell between them, but it felt less tense than before. Lydia found herself stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. She hadn’t been this close to him in quite some time, and she had almost forgotten the strong line of his jaw, the way his dark brows furrowed slightly when he was deep in thought.

Lost in her observations, she reached for her water glass without looking and accidentally knocked it over. Water splashed across the table, some of it landing on Ivan’s sleeve.

"Oh! I’m so sorry!" she exclaimed, mortified by her clumsiness.

"It’s okay," he said, surprisingly calm. "It’s just water."

He rolled up his sleeves to prevent the damp fabric from touching his skin, and Lydia found her eyes fixed on his hands. They were strong hands—the hands of a man who had trained with weapons despite his royal status. His forearms were muscular, the veins visible beneath his skin, speaking of strength carefully controlled.

Her gaze traveled from his hands to his face, watching as he picked up a piece of fruit from his plate. The way his fingers handled the delicate slice of apple was almost mesmerizing. When he brought it to his mouth, her eyes followed, noting how his lips parted to accept the fruit.

A drop of juice clung to his lower lip, and without thinking, he licked it away, his tongue quick and casual. Then he absently licked his fingertips to clean them, completely unaware of her stare or how such a simple action had suddenly made the room feel several degrees warmer.

Lydia quickly looked away, her cheeks burning. She couldn’t understand what was happening to her, why her heart was suddenly racing or why her mouth had gone dry. This was the man she had argued with just hours ago, the man whose cold demeanor had frustrated her for weeks. Yet here she was, captivated by his hands, his mouth, his mere presence beside her.

Taking a shaky breath, she reached for her now-empty glass, only to realize there was nothing to drink. Before she could call for a servant, Ivan silently passed her his own untouched glass of water.

Their fingers brushed as she took it from him, and their eyes met for the first time since he had entered the dining room. In that brief moment, Lydia saw something in his gaze—a warmth, perhaps, or a question—that made her breath catch in her throat.