CHAPTER 117: AGAIN

Lydia’s vision was blurry.

Everything felt distant, like she was floating in a fog. Her body was heavy. Her eyelids were too weak to stay open. The cold wind bit at her skin, and she could feel it... snow brushing against her cheeks, cold air stinging her lips. Somewhere above her, the sun was rising. It was too bright for her eyes, and all she could see was trees. So many trees. Tall, shadowy, endless.

Her fingers twitched. Her breath came in short, thin puffs. She couldn’t feel her toes. Her lips were cracked and dry. The light hurt her, but the darkness behind her eyes hurt more.

Then everything went black again.

---

Hours passed.

The next time she woke, it was mid-morning. A faint warmth touched her face. Her mouth was dry. Her head was pounding. Her throat ached from trying to scream. As her eyes adjusted, she realized she was inside a cave. Its rocky walls were damp, cold, and dark. Her wrists burned—tied tightly with rope. She tried to sit up, but her body was still weak.

She could barely feel her hands. Every breath hurt, like her lungs had frozen from the inside. Her lips were trembling, her whole body shivering under the weight of her dress, which was soaked in cold.

Just outside the cave, Ruslan sat by a small fire. His coat was off, his sleeves rolled up, and he was watching the flames like they whispered secrets to him.

"You’re finally awake," he said without looking at her.

Lydia’s voice came out rough. "Where am I?"

He looked up. "Away."

She blinked at him. "I know why you dragged me here. But I just want you to know something. Your plan? It’s going to fail. Miserably. It’s not going to work. Okay?"

Her voice cracked at the end, more from fear than confidence. She wished she sounded stronger. She wished she didn’t feel so helpless.

Ruslan smirked. "Don’t worry. It’s going to work just fine," he said in a calm, mocking tone. "I’ve already sent a message to our dear Prince Ivan. He should be here by nightfall."

Her stomach turned.

She imagined Ivan getting that message. His face. His fury. His pain. The blood. The fear. It hit her all at once like a wave and left her cold.

They were quiet for a long time after that. The only sound was the fire crackling and the wind howling outside the cave.

Lydia sat still. Her hands were numb. But her mind was racing.

She needed to escape.

She needed to run far, far away.

But how?

Then she remembered the dagger she had hidden under her dress. It was still there—she could feel it against her thigh. Her hope flickered. If she could just reach it, maybe she had a chance. But her hands were tied, and Ruslan was watching her like a hawk. Any sudden move would give her away.

So she stayed quiet, pretending to be calm. Thinking. Planning.

After a while, Ruslan pulled something from his coat. A piece of bread.

He walked over and handed it to her.

She hesitated for a second, then took it with both tied hands. She was starving. Her throat was so dry it hurt to swallow, but she forced the bread down. She needed the strength.

"You know..." Ruslan began, lowering himself to sit across from her, "I used to be his friend. Your prince. Ivan."

Lydia didn’t respond. She kept her eyes on the fire.

"Fifteen years ago," Ruslan continued, "he was just a scared little boy. And I wanted to protect him. I really did."

He chuckled to himself.

"Until he betrayed me. Tried to kill me."

Lydia looked at him slowly. "Maybe because you were already betraying him first."

Ruslan ignored the comment. "But he failed, just like he always does. Just like in Viregrad. All it took was one dead man—someone loyal to me—to convince him I was gone for good."

Then his eyes turned back to her.

"Do you know why you’re here?" he asked.

Lydia said nothing.

"You’re here to help me. To get my revenge on him."

She stared at him in silence. It was obvious now—he had twisted everything to suit himself. She could see it in his eyes, the way he spoke, the bitterness buried deep inside. He didn’t want truth. He wanted revenge.

She swallowed and then said, "I need to relieve myself."

Ruslan raised a brow. "What?"

"I need to go," she said firmly. "Outside."

He stood up and grabbed her by the arm, dragging her to a tree just outside the cave.

"Do it here," he ordered.

She pointed to her tied hands. "You think I can relieve myself like this?"

He scoffed. "You think I’m stupid? I’m not untying you."

Lydia narrowed her eyes. "Do you think I can run dressed like this? I can barely walk, let alone run. I just need my hands. Or are you planning to help me yourself?"

He grunted, annoyed. He stared at her for a long second. Then, finally, he untied her hands.

"Be fast," he snapped. "I’m watching you."

She stood there, hands free now, looking straight at him.

He frowned. "You’re not even pressed, are you?"

"And you expect me to do this with you standing right there, watching me?" she said sharply.

Ruslan sighed and turned his back, stepping a few feet forward.

The moment he turned away, Lydia acted fast.

She lifted her dress quickly and pulled out the dagger from under her thigh. Her hands shook as she held it. This was her only chance.

"I can’t hear anything," Ruslan called over his shoulder. "Don’t even think about playing games—"

He turned.

And she stabbed him.

The blade went into his stomach. Not deep enough, but it made him stumble.

Lydia dropped the dagger and ran.

She ran through the woods, her heart pounding wildly. Snow flew around her. Her dress tangled around her legs. Branches scratched her arms, tore her sleeves. She didn’t care.

She just ran.

Her lungs burned. Her vision blurred again with tears, from the pain, the fear, the panic. Her mind kept screaming the same word over and over—run.

---

Back at the palace, Ivan stood in his chamber, staring down at the note written in blood.

Nikolai stood behind him, tense and alert.

"He wants you to go alone," Nikolai said softly. "Because he thinks that’s his only chance."

Ivan didn’t say a word.

Nikolai continued, "So we’ll let him think that. You go first. I’ll follow—but from a distance. As soon as I get a clear shot, I’ll take him out."

Ivan nodded slowly. His jaw was tight. His eyes cold. He turned and left the room, his cape dragging behind him.

Nikolai grabbed his rifle and followed, silent as a shadow.

---

Back in the woods, Lydia didn’t make it far.

She was weak. Her stab had only slightly injured him. Ruslan caught up quickly.

He grabbed her by the hair and threw her to the ground. Snow flew into her face. Her back hit the frozen earth hard. Before she could even breathe, he was on top of her, strangling her with both hands.

She fought back. She clawed at his arms. Her vision turned white. Then black. Her lungs screamed for air.

Just when she was about to slip into darkness—he let go.

Lydia coughed and gasped for air, sitting up quickly.

Her body trembled. Her ribs ached. Her hands clutched the snow like she was trying to hold onto life itself.

"You’re lucky I need you alive," Ruslan growled.

"Let’s go," he barked. "Back to the cave. No more games."

She stood shakily, her face red and wet. Her lips trembled.

"What did I ever do to you?" she asked in a broken voice. "If you want to kill me... then just do it already."

He turned to her. "What did you say?"

She snapped.

"You blame Ivan for everything, but you’re just making excuses," she shouted. "You killed my parents! For what? For nothing! You’re a monster!"

His face twisted in anger, but she wasn’t done.

"I heard what you did. You were a traitor. You sold out your kingdom for money. Stop pretending like you’re some victim!"

Ruslan’s jaw tightened.

"I know I’m a traitor," he said slowly, "but so are you, Grand Duchess."

She looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

He stepped closer. "Why do you think your parents died? Because your father was offered a deal by the Venograd Imperial family. They wanted him to ship weapons and spies through his trade routes. But he refused."

Lydia’s face went pale.

"So I was ordered to kill him," Ruslan said. "He knew too much."

Her lips parted in shock. She wanted to speak, but no words came.

"The only reason you’re still alive," Ruslan whispered, "is because your uncle agreed to the deal."

He bent down and pulled her up by the arm.

"So you see, my dear Grand Duchess... your family’s blood is just as stained as mine. I wonder how your precious Ivan will look at you when he finds out."

Lydia’s heart shattered.

Her vision blurred with tears. She could barely breathe. Her knees almost gave out, but she clenched her fists.

He couldn’t use her pain against her.

So she did the only thing her instincts told her to do.

She bit him.

Hard.

He shouted and slapped her across the face.

She fell to the ground.

"You crazy bitch!" he yelled.

But she saw the dagger again.

With all her strength, she lunged for it and grabbed it. Before he could stop her—she stabbed him.

Straight in the throat.

His eyes widened. Blood gushed from his neck. He fell on top of her, heavy and warm.

Lydia screamed and pushed him off.

His blood soaked her dress. It was everywhere.

She didn’t wait. She didn’t check if he was alive or dead. She just ran.

The sun was setting again, casting golden light across the snowy forest. Her dress tore as she ran through branches, her hands bleeding. Her legs were frozen. Her shoes were gone.

But she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t.

And then—

She saw him.

Ivan.

He was running toward her.

Her legs gave way.

She collapsed into his arms, the world spinning around her.

"Ivan..." she whispered, then went completely still.

He caught her before she hit the ground.

"Lydia!" he shouted, holding her tightly. "Lydia!"

But she didn’t answer.

She was safe.

But broken.

And he had arrived just in time.