CHAPTER 160: THE LILY OF THE VALLEY

The sun rose, bright and bold, spilling golden light into Ivan’s chambers. The rays cut through the curtains and warmed the air, chasing away the shadows of the long night. It was a new day, but for Lydia it did not feel new. Her body was sore from the events of the day before, and her heart still carried the weight of it all.

She stirred slowly, her lashes fluttering open, and the first thing she saw was Ivan sleeping beside her. His face was calm, his breath even, his strong frame still. He looked at peace, but the sight of him only stirred something sharp in her chest. Annoyance. Bitterness. A strange mix of longing and anger that she could not name.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she turned her head away from him. She hated that she noticed how handsome he looked when he slept, how the morning light traced his jaw and softened the harshness of his features. She hated that he could sleep so soundly while she had cried herself dry only hours ago.

The door creaked open softly. Lydia turned quickly, pulling the blanket closer to herself. Several servants entered, their heads bowed, carrying in buckets of steaming water. They moved silently, trained not to disturb. Ivan did not stir. He remained asleep, still as stone, as though nothing in the world could wake him.

Lydia’s eyes lingered on him for a moment, but then she forced herself to look away. She rose from the bed and walked to the adjoining bath chamber. The servants quickly prepared the bath, filling the large tub with warm water, adding herbs and oils to soften and soothe the skin.

When they finished, they bowed and quietly left the room.

Lydia undressed and sank slowly into the bath. The warm water wrapped around her body, easing the soreness of her muscles and cooling the faint bruises on her skin. She closed her eyes, letting the heat wash over her, trying to let the water carry away her annoyance, her anger, her confusion. But her thoughts refused to be quiet.

She dipped her head beneath the water and came back up with a sharp breath. Droplets clung to her lashes. She wiped them away and whispered to herself, almost bitterly, "I will not let him see me broken."

When she was done, she stepped out and dried herself. She put on a fresh robe, soft and clean, and tied it loosely around her waist. Her hair was damp, falling in soft waves over her shoulders.

As she returned to the chamber, she saw Ivan awake now. His eyes were open, his body leaned slightly against the headboard. The sound of the servants leaving earlier must have woken him. For a brief moment, their eyes met. It was only a few seconds, but it felt heavy, like time itself paused in that silent exchange.

Then a knock came at the door. Lydia quickly turned her gaze away, her eyes going cold and distant as if nothing had passed between them. She called out, her tone steady. "Come in."

Ivan slowly looked away too. His chest tightened. He thought to himself that he should not even look at her, not after everything. He did not deserve even her glance.

The door opened and Katherine stepped in. Her face was calm, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Lydia lifted her chin slightly. "Is there any problem?"

Katherine bowed her head. "It is not exactly a problem, your grace."

It was not a problem at all. Because that very morning, carts rolled into the palace courtyard. Not just carts filled with food or supplies, but carts overflowing with gifts. Expensive, rare, luxurious gifts. And they were all for Lydia.

After the ball the night before, Lydia had become the talk of the town. Whispers of her beauty spread quickly through noble circles. Men who had seen her were enchanted, desperate to gain her favor. Some sought to win her heart, others to secure political ties through her. The result was the same: treasures from across the land began pouring into the palace.

Katherine stepped aside as several servants entered the chamber, their arms filled with ornate boxes tied with silk ribbons. They carried perfumes in glass bottles, rare oils, embroidered silks, fine jewels, and exotic flowers unlike any that grew in the palace gardens. The sight alone was dazzling.

Lydia sat calmly at the vanity, her reflection staring back at her in the mirror. She looked over the gifts as though they were nothing, but inside her heart stirred with a different thought. This was not just gifts. This was an opportunity. An opportunity to taunt Ivan.

He could act as calm as he wanted. He could pretend her presence meant nothing to him. But she would make sure he saw that other men valued her. She would make sure he saw what they gave her, what they thought she deserved.

She picked up a perfume bottle and held it to the light, gasping softly and dramatically as though she had never seen anything so precious. She touched a silk scarf and smiled faintly, running her fingers over it. "How beautiful," she said in a voice meant for him to hear.

From the corner of her eye, she could see him. He was sitting still, his gaze turned elsewhere, refusing to look at her. Her chest tightened with frustration. She clenched her fist against her robe. How dare he? How dare he act untouched, unmoved, when her heart was in chaos?

For a moment, she wanted to throw one of the jeweled boxes at him, to force him to react, to force him to show something. Anything. But she held herself back, biting her lip until it hurt.

More servants entered, carrying yet another set of boxes. These were heavier, larger, and decorated with golden patterns. They set them down carefully, and one carried with them a massive bouquet of flowers, so fresh and fragrant that the entire room filled with their scent.

Lydia’s eyes widened slightly despite herself. This was different. The servants opened the boxes to reveal what was inside. Jewelry. Not just ordinary jewelry, but breathtaking pieces of diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds set into necklaces, earrings, and rings.

Lydia’s voice was soft but sharp. "Who sent these?"

One servant bowed. "We do not know, your grace. The boxes arrived with no name."

"I see," Lydia said, her voice calm. "You may leave."

The servants bowed deeply and left the room. Silence settled again.

Lydia rose and walked to the bed. She sat gracefully, pulling the bouquet of flowers closer to her. She gazed at them, her lips curving softly. Unlike the other gifts, which felt heavy and meaningless, the flowers touched her heart. She reached out and stroked the petals gently, whispering almost to herself, "It is my favorite."

The flower she admired was a lily of the valley, delicate and white, a flower that bloomed even in Zolotaria’s cold. Its fragrance was pure and soft, and to Lydia, it felt like a reminder of innocence, of things untainted by pain.

Ivan, who had kept his eyes averted all this time, finally turned. He heard her whisper and could not resist. He wanted to see her smile, to see her face softened with genuine joy instead of the bitterness she carried.

But when he looked, what caught his eyes was not only her smile. Her robe had slipped slightly from her shoulders, revealing the pale curve of her skin. And on that skin, he saw them — the bruises. Faint, but unmistakable. On her neck, on her shoulder. Marks that should never have been there.

His heart clenched, his chest burning with sudden alarm. Without thinking, he rose quickly and moved to her. His voice broke out, urgent. "Lydia... what happened to you?"

Before she could react, his hands were already at her shoulders. He touched her robe and it slipped further as he tried to see the marks. His fingers brushed against her skin so carefully, so gently, as though he feared hurting her even more.

Lydia gasped softly. Her breath caught in her throat. Everything was happening too fast. His touch was tender, not harsh, and it sent a shiver through her body.

"Ivan..." her voice trembled.

He looked at her, his eyes dark with worry, his jaw tense. He had not realized until now how much it hurt him to see her bruised, to imagine her in pain. His fingers traced lightly along her shoulder, following the outline of the mark.

When he finally realized what he was doing, he froze. His hand lingered, but his mind screamed at him to stop. To pull back. To remember that he had no right to touch her. That he had hurt her before. That he did not deserve her.

But his body betrayed him. His chest moved closer to hers, his breath brushing her lips. His heart beat wildly, urging him forward. He wanted to kiss her. Not out of desire, but out of something deeper, something that had been buried too long.

Lydia sat still, her robe loose around her shoulders, her skin bare and soft before him. Her breathing was uneven, shaky, but she did not move away. She did not push him back. Her eyes searched his, wide and uncertain.

The air between them grew heavy, charged with everything unsaid.

And slowly, Ivan leaned in.