CHAPTER 98: FEAR AND CONFESSIONS

Flashback

The night had been quiet, too quiet. A sharp chill floated in the air, not from the snow outside, but from something else—something wrong. The stillness pressed on the walls like a held breath. Boris had just arrived at the palace at Svetlana from the capital. He dismounted quickly, brushing the snow off his coat as he noticed something odd. Only one guard stood by the gate. The wind howled softly behind him, as if trying to warn him.

His steps slowed as he walked over. "Where is the second guard?" he asked, his voice calm but alert, though his fingers twitched slightly near the hilt of his sword.

The guard straightened, caught off guard by the question. "I... I don’t know, sir. He was here just minutes ago. He left suddenly." The guard’s eyes shifted nervously, betraying his unease.

That was all Boris needed to hear. Something wasn’t right. The air felt wrong—too still, too quiet, as if the palace itself was holding its breath.

He didn’t wait for more. He rushed inside, his boots echoing sharply through the halls of the palace. The walls seemed to close in around him with every step.

Upstairs, Lydia lay in her bed. Her eyes were wide open, staring at nothing. Her tears had dried on her cheeks, leaving behind the heavy weight of exhaustion. She wasn’t asleep. She didn’t feel safe enough to be. Her body was tired, but her mind was racing with fear.

Then she heard it—a noise. Sharp. Quick. Unnatural. Her body went still. It wasn’t the creak of furniture or the whisper of wind. It was human. Intentional.

She sat up quietly, her heart pounding. Her bare feet touched the cold marble floor as she tiptoed to the door. She didn’t open it, but bent gently to peek through the keyhole. Her breath caught in her throat.

What she saw made her heart stop. Her entire body locked in place, frozen in disbelief.

Anatoly. Killing a guard. The man’s body dropped silently, like a sack of grain.

Her hand flew to her mouth to stop a scream. She backed away, eyes wide with panic. Her thoughts raced. Her body moved on instinct. She spotted a heavy vase on the table near the fireplace. It was one of the few strong things she could find. Her fingers wrapped around it tightly, knuckles pale.

She picked it up with both hands and quickly hid behind the door. Every sound felt louder now—her breathing, her heartbeat, the creak of the floor.

Anatoly opened the door slowly. His boots stepped inside. The room looked empty. Shadows danced across the walls.

Then—

CRASH!

The vase smashed against his head. He stumbled, groaned, and dropped to the floor. Blood trickled down his temple.

Lydia stood over him, breathing heavily, her hands shaking. She didn’t know whether to scream or cry. Her heart pounded so loudly it filled her ears.

At that same moment, Boris reached the hallway. He froze when he saw the dead guard outside her chambers. Cold dread filled his chest.

His worst fears churned in his chest. He pushed the door open to find...

Lydia.

Standing. Shaking. Alive.

Over the body of the unconscious assassin. Her eyes met his, full of silent terror.

---

Now.

Lydia sat alone in the palace library by the large arched window. Outside, the snow fell steadily, layering the world in white. But inside her heart, nothing felt calm. Her eyes were tired. Her guilt heavier than ever. She felt like she was losing herself slowly. The weight of what had happened sat like ice in her chest.

The silence of the library was broken by the creak of the door. She didn’t turn around. She knew who it was. She always knew his steps.

Ivan.

His steps were quiet, but steady. He walked toward her with calm urgency. The room felt warmer just from his presence.

"I’ve been looking for you," he said gently. "You weren’t in your chambers." His voice was soft but firm, as if he was afraid she might disappear.

She turned slightly to him, forcing a faint smile. "I needed some air," she whispered. Her voice cracked at the edges.

He walked closer, bending down to her level. He cupped her face carefully, looking deep into her eyes. His thumb brushed her cheek slowly, as if trying to erase the sadness.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of worry. He searched her eyes, needing to hear the truth even if she couldn’t speak it.

She wanted to say yes. But no sound came out. Her lips parted, then closed again.

Her lips trembled. Her chest felt heavy. Then tears slipped down her cheeks. Warm. Silent. Unstoppable.

He wiped them slowly with his thumb. His touch lingered, as if hoping it could soothe more than just tears.

"You don’t have to tell me now," he said softly. "If it hurts too much, you don’t have to say anything. I’m here. I’m not leaving." His words were a blanket wrapping around her soul.

His words shattered her last bit of control. The wall she had built cracked.

She hugged him tightly. "I want to tell you," she whispered against his chest. "Everything. But I’m scared. Scared you’ll hate me. Scared I’ll lose you." Her fingers gripped the fabric of his coat like she was holding on for dear life.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. A slow, tender kiss that said he wasn’t going anywhere.

"I’m scared too," he admitted. "Sometimes I wake up in fear, thinking you’ll be gone. But I trust you. And I love you." His voice trembled slightly.

She sobbed harder. Not because of the fear, but because of the comfort.

"You don’t have to carry everything alone," he said. "Whatever it is, we’ll face it together." His hand gently rubbed her back.

He kissed her nose, then her cheeks. Soft and patient. Each kiss quieted her storm.

Then he kissed her lips.

She kissed him back, deeply. Slowly. With everything she had. With everything she had left.

His hands moved down gently, exploring her legs, then her thighs. She gasped softly into his mouth. He held her like she was something precious, something breakable. Like she mattered.

As they kissed, his hand slipped between her legs, his fingers teasing her gently. She moaned quietly, pressing herself closer. Her breath hitched again.

His touch was warm and slow, every movement full of care. Her breath hitched as he explored her, his fingers brushing just the right spot, drawing soft gasps from her lips. Her skin felt like fire beneath his hands, her body arching toward him with every touch. His lips never left her skin for long, trailing down her jaw, across her neck, until she was burning everywhere. Her knees weakened under him.

He kissed her neck, making her skin burn under his lips. Then he whispered against her skin, "It’s too cold here. I want to show you something."

He led her by the hand to the far end of the library. There, behind the shelves, he pushed open a hidden door. A small room waited behind it—warm, dim, and private.

A bed sat against the far wall, low and simple, covered with soft blankets and deep red sheets. A lamp flickered on the table beside it, casting a golden glow across the room. The walls were lined with old books, and it smelled faintly of cedarwood and ink. It felt like a forgotten place made just for them.

She looked around. "Where are we?"

"A secret," he said, smiling.

Then he kissed her again. This time with more hunger.

Her hands moved to his coat, undoing the buttons. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she didn’t stop. She could feel his body heat pressing closer. With each layer she removed, her own heartbeat quickened. She wanted to feel all of him—no walls, no fear, just him.

He helped her out of her dress, his fingers slow and careful. The fabric slipped over her skin and floated to the floor like a whisper.

The corset followed, loosened gently by his hands. She stood there bare, her breath rising and falling in the dim glow. Her skin glowed in the amber light.

He looked at her like she was a miracle. His eyes darkened with longing, but also something tender. Reverent.

He kissed her collarbone, down her neck, then lower to her chest. She tilted her head back, breathing heavily as his mouth worshipped her body. His lips brushed over her skin, warm and soft, while his hands slid up her waist and around her back.

She undid his shirt, her fingers trembling as she pushed it off him. She touched his chest, then his shoulders, before pulling him closer again.

His skin was hot beneath her palms, his breath rough against her ear. Her hands roamed slowly over his body, feeling the shape of him—the strength, the tension, the softness hidden beneath it all.

Their mouths met again. Hot. Desperate.

He kissed her down her stomach, then lower between her legs. She cried out, her hands clenching the sheets below. He gently laid her back on the bed, kissing her thighs open as he knelt between them.

He made love to her with his mouth until she was shaking. His name left her lips in broken gasps. Her hands tangled in his hair, her legs trembling around his shoulders. He didn’t rush her. He stayed there, patient and loving, until she broke apart in his arms.

Then he came up, kissed her lips again, and entered her slowly.

She gasped, wrapping her arms tightly around his back. Her eyes fluttered closed. Her legs wrapped around him as he moved inside her, filling her deeply.

The bed creaked gently beneath them as they found a slow, steady rhythm. His hands cupped her face as he kissed her again and again, whispering her name like a vow between breaths.

He moved inside her slowly, deeply. Like they had all the time in the world. Like she was the only thing that mattered.

"I love you," he whispered again and again.

She moaned his name, her legs curling around his waist. Her body clung to him, desperate for him. For his warmth. His love.

He held her close, never letting go. His hands never left her skin. His lips found hers every time she gasped. And with each thrust, he reminded her—without words—that she wasn’t alone anymore.

Their bodies moved together, their breaths ragged, their hearts pounding as one.

Every kiss. Every touch. Every moan. It felt like they were falling into each other.

The guilt in Lydia’s chest faded away. In that moment, there was only him.

Only Ivan.

And the warmth of their love in the coldness of