CHAPTER 146: THE DEVIL’S WEAKNESS

It was sunrise now.

The rain had stopped falling, leaving the palace washed in silver light. The stone walls were still wet, the gardens dripping. The air carried the smell of damp earth and fresh leaves. Somewhere in the distance, a bird gave a lonely call.

Inside, the halls were quiet except for the soft clinking and shuffling of servants cleaning after the ball from the night before. Chairs were being moved, candle stubs scraped from tables, broken glass swept into small piles. The echo of laughter and music was gone, leaving only silence.

In her chambers, Lydia was already awake.

She sat by the tall window, her nightgown flowing loosely over her frame, her hair falling over one shoulder. Her hands rested in her lap, still as stone. Her eyes were on the horizon where the pale morning light brushed against the edge of the sky.

Her gaze was empty.

She didn’t blink often, as if her mind was somewhere far away from the room, from the palace, from the morning itself.

The door opened softly.

Katherine stepped in, followed by two servants carrying a wicker basket filled with bottles of oils, folded towels, and small jars of creams. The steam of warm water drifted faintly from the adjoining bath chamber.

But Lydia did not turn her head.

She didn’t seem to notice them. Her eyes stayed fixed on the fading blue of the morning.

Katherine exchanged a small, worried glance with the servants, but said nothing at first. She approached Lydia slowly and touched her arm gently. "Your bath is ready," she said in a soft voice.

Lydia turned her head slightly, as if the words had to pass through a haze before she understood them. She gave the faintest nod.

She rose from the chair without a word and followed Katherine into the bath chamber.

The room was warm, the air scented with roses and jasmine. Steam curled gently above the surface of the bath, which was filled with rose petals floating like small pieces of sunset. The scent was rich and soft, made heavier by the oils poured into the water.

It should have felt like comfort.

Katherine stood beside her while one of the maids stepped forward. "The water is ready, Your Highness," the maid said.

Lydia took a slow breath and stepped in. The warmth closed around her, but she felt nothing. The heat that would have made another person sigh in relief barely touched her heart.

Another maid leaned in slightly. "Is the water to your liking, Your Highness?"

There was no answer.

The maid tried again, her voice a little louder. "Your Highness?"

Lydia’s head turned slightly, her voice distant. "Huh?" She blinked. "Yes."

Katherine’s eyes caught the moment. Something in Lydia’s voice was far away, as if she was speaking through a dream.

Without a word, Katherine told the servants to leave. The women bowed and stepped out, closing the door behind them.

The only sounds now were the faint ripple of the water and the soft patter of petals shifting against Lydia’s skin.

Katherine knelt beside the tub and poured a little more hot water from a small copper kettle, letting it blend into the bath.

Her face was troubled.

Lydia finally looked at her, studying her expression. "You’re keeping that face you keep when you want to say something," she said quietly. She leaned back against the tub. "Say it."

Katherine hesitated but then spoke. "I heard what happened at the ball last night." Her voice was low. "And also... the other night at dinner. I heard what you said."

Lydia’s face changed, cooling in an instant. "What about it?"

"I know he wronged you," Katherine said, her eyes steady, "but you are being too much. How could you say that to him? You, of all people, should know how he feels."

Lydia’s lips curled into a small, humorless smile. She let out a quiet chuckle. "You are bothered about how he feels. How sweet. You care about him so much."

Her eyes sharpened. "Too bad he doesn’t think that way."

She turned her head slightly, her voice gaining an edge. "Did you forget what he did to you? And the worst part is... you were innocent."

Katherine’s breath caught. Her hand slid down to her leg without thinking, resting over the faint scar there. The memory stung like an old wound suddenly opened.

Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away quickly. "I know he’s not perfect," she said, her voice breaking a little, "but still... I think you should stop. He doesn’t deserve this. You know he loves you very much. Please... stop hurting him."

The bath chamber grew heavy with silence.

Lydia’s head lifted sharply. Her voice rose. "He doesn’t deserve it? He loves me?" She laughed once, a bitter, cold laugh. "Stop deluding yourself, Katherine."

Katherine opened her mouth to speak again, but Lydia’s voice cut through like a blade. "Don’t you dare tell me what to do and what not to do when you don’t know anything. You don’t know anything."

The words were sharp, but the tremble in her voice gave them away.

Tears suddenly spilled down Lydia’s cheeks, quick and hot. They dripped into the bathwater, disappearing without a trace.

Katherine’s worry deepened. "What are you talking about?" she asked quietly. "Did something happen... after your divorce? I don’t understand."

Lydia’s hand came up, brushing her own tears away. "Then shut up if you don’t understand," she said in a low voice.

She stood, the water streaming from her body. Her skin glistened with oil and drops of water, her expression still hard but her eyes red.

"You said he still loves me," she said, reaching for the towel Katherine held.

Katherine hesitated, unsure, but nodded. "Yes."

Lydia wrapped the towel around herself, her movements quick and almost careless. "Then... sorry for him then."

Her voice was quiet but laced with steel.

"Because he will suffer for having those feelings."

She stepped past Katherine without looking back, her bare feet leaving small wet prints on the marble floor.