CHAPTER 116: THE SUN SET

The Previous Day. Hours Before Lydia Went Missing

The sun was setting. A soft golden light filled the room, pouring through the windows like a final kiss before nightfall. Lydia stood by her mirror in silence. Her maids had just finished dressing her. Her gown was beautiful, an elegant shade of royal blue that shimmered under the light. Her hair had been done up with care, her skin powdered, her lips gently colored. She looked every bit the picture of grace and nobility.

But as she stared at her reflection, all she could see was the fear in her own eyes.

Her hands trembled lightly by her sides. She blinked, trying to stop the tears that threatened to well up. This night... she knew. She could feel it in her bones. Ruslan would show up. She didn’t know how or when, but he would. Her heart had been warning her for days. Her instincts screamed louder than any voice of reason. And tonight, she would no longer hide behind anyone.

She had promised herself she would take care of him. She wouldn’t let him win again. Not this time.

But deep inside, another voice whispered.

You’re not strong enough.

You’re still the girl he broke.

That voice didn’t shout—it crept in quietly, almost kindly. It sounded like doubt, but it felt like truth. And that’s what made it so dangerous.

She tried to shut it out. She clenched her hands tightly, digging her nails into her palms until her skin stung. She had to be brave. She had to, even if it meant pretending.

Her breath shook as she exhaled. She looked down at her hands. So clean. So fragile. They didn’t look like hands that could fight back. They looked like hands made for tea cups and silk gloves, not blood and steel.

She stepped away from the mirror and walked toward her drawer with heavy steps. Her fingers fumbled through the compartments until they found what she had been searching for: a small silver dagger. She unsheathed it. The blade caught the fading light and glinted sharply. It was clean, polished... untouched. But in her hands, it trembled.

She stared at it. Her breath came in shallow gasps. This wasn’t a fairytale. This was real. She could die tonight. But maybe... that was better than being taken again.

Her fingers wrapped tighter around the hilt. It felt heavier than she expected. The thought of using it made her stomach twist.

She swallowed hard and looked down at her thigh. She took out a leather strap and quickly tied the dagger to her leg, securing it tightly beneath her dress. Her fingers shook as she did it. She wasn’t a killer. She wasn’t even strong. But she was done being helpless. She had to be ready.

She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, her eyes fixed on the window, watching the sun slowly disappear behind the hills. Shadows stretched across the floor. Her heart thudded so loud it echoed in her ears.

She whispered to herself. "You can do this. You have to do this."

But she didn’t believe it. Not fully. Her voice cracked on the last word. She bit her bottom lip hard enough to taste blood.

Lydia stood up slowly and smoothed out her gown. Her face was composed again. A perfect mask of royalty. But inside, her heart pounded like a wild drum. Her body felt heavy, like she was dragging grief with every step.

She opened the door and walked out of her chambers.

As she reached the hallway near the ballroom, she spotted Tatiana standing just outside. The younger woman’s face lit up the moment she saw her.

"Are you okay, Your Highness?" Tatiana asked gently, stepping toward her. "I was getting worried... your presence was already announced inside."

Lydia forced a small smile and nodded. "I was a little nervous, that’s all," she said, her voice calm.

Tatiana looked at her with soft eyes. "You look really beautiful," she said with a smile.

"Thank you," Lydia whispered.

Their eyes met for a second too long. Lydia wished she could say more. Something about how afraid she was. How she felt like her lungs were made of glass and her thoughts were tied in knots. But the words refused to leave her lips.

Her throat felt tight. Like if she spoke too much, it would crack and everything she was holding in would come spilling out.

Then, without another word, Lydia walked into the ballroom.

The music was soft and elegant. The lights were warm and golden. Guests stood in clusters, laughing, sipping wine, dancing. Everything was perfect on the outside. But inside Lydia, there was nothing but noise.

Her heart beat painfully in her chest. Her eyes darted from one face to the next, scanning the room slowly. She smiled when needed. She nodded politely. She even danced with Ivan. But her mind wasn’t there.

She didn’t see the chandeliers. She didn’t hear the music. All she could think about was him.

She knew Ruslan was here. She could feel it—like the sharp prick of a needle on her spine. He would try to abduct her. She was sure of it. So she stayed alert. She stayed cold.

Even when she danced with Ivan, even when their hands touched and their eyes met—she couldn’t focus on anything but the feeling of danger creeping closer. She wasn’t surprised when she saw him in the crowd. No. Not at all. But she was scared.

Terrified, really.

She couldn’t breathe properly. Her whole body was stiff, her chest tight. The moment she spotted him watching her from across the room, she wanted to run. But she didn’t. She held her head high. She kept her composure. But inside, her thoughts were screaming.

He’s going to use me to hurt Ivan.

He’ll do it in front of everyone if I let him.

I need to stay away. Even if it’s just for a moment. I have to protect him... I have to protect myself.

She made up an excuse quickly, telling Ivan she needed some air. Her voice was soft but controlled. She smiled gently, gave a nod to the others, and left the ballroom.

The halls were quiet. The air was cold.

She knew he was behind her. She couldn’t see him, but she could feel it. Like a shadow moving just out of sight. She kept walking, calmly, confidently. But her ears were sharp, her breath shallow.

When she finally reached her chambers, she was relieved to see Tatiana there, waiting. The young woman helped her back inside, thinking Lydia just needed to rest. And for a moment, she did. She waited until Tatiana left.

Then she stood up again.

Her hands moved fast now. There was no time to waste.

She grabbed the fruit knife from her table. It was small, not sharp enough for a clean strike, but enough to hurt. Enough to protect herself.

She stepped out of the room quietly, walking alone toward the hallway near the stairs. She could feel him watching her from the shadows. Following her. He was close now.

And then, finally, she saw him.

He stepped into the light, dressed in black, cold and confident. His voice was quiet but sharp like ice.

"Hello, Lady Andreyevna."

Lydia froze for a moment, her fingers tightening around the handle of the knife. Then, without thinking, she lunged at him.

She aimed for his chest, but he was quick. His hand shot out and grabbed her arm mid-air. They struggled. The knife scraped his palm, cutting it open. Blood poured from the wound, dripping onto the white marble floor.

"Ah—" she gasped.

Ruslan grunted, grabbing her other wrist. He was stronger. Much stronger. She tried to fight him, to scream, but he was too fast. He pulled out a handkerchief and shoved it over her mouth. It smelled strange. Sweet, chemical. A sedative.

She shook her head violently. She tried to scream through the cloth, but the sound came out muffled.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her lungs burned. Her eyes rolled. Her legs gave way under her. And then everything went dark.

She collapsed into his arms.

Ruslan looked down at her, shaking his head slowly. "What a stubborn girl," he muttered.

He laid her gently on the floor, brushing her hair away from her face with bloodstained fingers. Then he pulled out a note from his bag and knelt down. With his bleeding hand, he dipped his finger in the pool of blood on the marble and began to write the message.

His handwriting was shaky, but clear.

Then he placed the note beside her.

He picked her up, carefully, like she was a fragile doll. Her head dropped against his chest, her earrings slipping from her ears and falling to the floor. He didn’t notice. He walked slowly, quietly, toward one of the storage rooms nearby.

There, he waited.

He listened from the darkness. Time passed slowly. The palace grew louder. He heard Ivan shouting orders. Guards running. Footsteps echoing. The panic had started.

But Ruslan stayed still. He didn’t move. He knew how they thought. Ivan would first check the exits, not the rooms. He had time.

When the footsteps faded, he opened the door and stepped out, Lydia still limp in his arms.

But a guard spotted him.

"Hey! You there! Stop!" the man yelled.

Ruslan laid Lydia down gently.

She stirred slightly, her lips parting. Her eyes fluttered open—but only halfway. Her limbs felt heavy. Her vision was blurry.

She saw Ruslan kill the guard.

He stabbed him quickly, dragged him aside, and stepped out of sight before anyone else saw. She tried to move, but her body wouldn’t obey.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to crawl. But her limbs were useless.

Ruslan came back for her.

He bent down and picked her up again. Her earring lay on the floor, shining under the hall light. He didn’t notice it this time either.

He walked out into the cold night.

The snow was falling fast now, covering their footprints almost as quickly as they formed. He carried her to the stables, mounted his horse, and rode off into the night.

Heading straight for Mirograd.

And behind them, the palace burned with confusion.

The trap was set.

And Ivan... Ivan would walk right into it.