CHAPTER 151: THE HIDDEN KNIFE

It was midnight. The palace was quiet. The long halls were dark except for a few lamps that glowed faintly in the corners. Everyone was asleep.

Everyone except Ivan.

He was still sitting alone in the dining room, his elbows on the table, his eyes staring into nothing. The food on his plate was cold. The candles had burned low.

The words Lydia had said to him kept replaying in his mind.

Her voice was still there. Cold. Sharp. Beautiful and cruel at the same time.

You never deserved anything good. Not the palace. Not the title. Not me. You are just a bastard who got lucky in life.

He believed it.

He had always believed it.

He had never felt like he deserved to be Grand Duke or heir to the throne. Not the palace. Not the fine clothes. Not the respect that came with his position. And certainly not Lydia.

But hearing her say it—hearing her voice cut straight into that place he had always tried to hide—felt like his heart was being squeezed until it couldn’t beat.

For a long time, he sat there, not moving. His eyes were tired but dry. His chest felt heavy, but he refused to cry again.

Finally, he stood up. His steps were slow as he left the dining room and made his way to the stairs.

The grand staircase felt endless. His body was tired, but his mind refused to rest. Every step echoed faintly against the stone. He kept climbing until he reached the hallway that led to his chambers.

When he opened the door, the room was dim. The lamp on the table had burned low, the flame small and quiet. The air was still.

And then he saw her.

Lydia was asleep on his bed.

She was lying on her side, curled up under the blankets. Her hair was loose, spilling across the pillow and falling softly over her cheek. Her breathing was slow and even, almost like a child’s.

She looked harmless. Small. Soft. So different from the woman who had cut him down at dinner only hours ago.

Ivan walked closer, his steps quiet. He stopped beside the bed and looked down at her. For a moment, the walls he built around himself weakened.

He reached out slowly, wanting to brush the hair from her cheek. He wanted to tuck it gently behind her ear. But his fingers froze before they touched her.

He couldn’t.

He let his hand drop back to his side.

Without a word, he turned away. He removed his coat, then his shirt, moving slowly, almost without thought. He walked around to the other side of the bed and lay down at the far edge, leaving space between them.

In the dim light, he looked at her one last time. His eyes softened in a way they never did for anyone else. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t speak. He just watched her breathe until his own eyes grew heavy.

That was the only thing he could do—love her quietly in the dark, from a distance she would never allow him to cross.

He stayed like that until sleep finally pulled him under.

---

The day broke gently.

The sky outside was pale gold, the sun just beginning to rise. A cool breeze came through the small opening in the window, carrying the sound of birds singing in the gardens.

Lydia stirred under the blankets. Her lashes fluttered before her eyes opened. For a moment, she didn’t move, letting her mind catch up with the new day.

Then she saw him.

Ivan was lying near the edge of the bed, facing her. His eyes were closed. His breathing was slow. His hair was a little messy, falling across his forehead.

He looked tired, like he had barely slept. Yet the way his body was turned toward her made it seem like he had been watching her before falling asleep.

But rather than feeling anything soft or warm toward him, something in her chest turned cold. Disgust, sharp and uninvited, rose up in her.

She sat up slowly and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Without a glance at him, she stood and walked to the window. She pulled the curtains slightly and looked out. The sky was painted in light pink and gold. The air felt clean. For a moment, she just stood there in silence, her hands resting on the window frame.

The door opened.

Lydia turned slightly and saw Tatiana walk in. She was carrying a silver tray with a pot of tea, two cups, a basket of warm pastries, and a plate of fresh fruit. Her face was calm when she entered—until her eyes landed fully on Lydia.

Lydia was standing in front of the window wearing one of Ivan’s robes.

Tatiana froze. Shock and something sharper—annoyance, maybe even anger—flashed in her eyes. Her grip on the tray faltered, and before she could steady it, it slipped from her hands. The sound of porcelain shattering and fruit rolling across the floor broke the morning quiet.

The noise woke Ivan.

He blinked, sat up, and rubbed his eyes, still half-asleep. His gaze went first to Lydia, then to Tatiana.

Lydia turned her head toward Tatiana with an expressionless face. Her voice was cold.

"Why are you so loud so early in the morning?"

Tatiana’s hands were trembling at her sides. Her voice rose.

"You are unbelievable, your highness. Even after what you did last night... you—you—"

Lydia cut her off, her tone sharper now. "Why are you making so much noise?"

Tatiana’s eyes flashed. "You crazy witch. I have had it with you. Just who do you think you are?"

Lydia’s answer came like ice.

"I am the Grand Duchess. His wife. So why are you acting so surprised to see us in the same room?"

Tatiana opened her mouth to speak, but Lydia didn’t let her.

"If there’s anything strange here, it’s you," Lydia continued, stepping away from the window. "You are not a servant, so what right do you have to come here unannounced?"

Her steps were slow but deliberate as she moved closer to Tatiana. Her eyes were sharp, her voice steady.

"You should know your place. You are my lady-in-waiting, and that is all. If you act like more than that, I will deal with you myself."

Tatiana’s jaw tightened. Her knuckles were white at her sides.

"Leave," Lydia said coldly. "But first, clean your mess."

She turned her back and walked toward the window again, dismissing her completely.

Tatiana’s breath came faster. She bent down, her fingers moving over the broken pieces of porcelain. But then her hand stopped.

Her eyes fell on the silver fruit knife lying among the fallen pastries.

Her fingers curled around it slowly.