The Bride Of The Devil-Chapter 41: Winter Promise

The snow outside fell in slow, heavy flakes, coating the palace rooftops in silence. Winter had settled like a thick blanket across the capital—still, cold, and waiting.

In the Emperor’s private study, the fire crackled softly, casting long shadows on the walls. Olga stood by the hearth, her gloved hand stretched forward, offering a sealed letter.

Czar Vladimir took it with a glance, his fingers brushing hers for a second before pulling back.

His brow furrowed. "What is this?"

Olga’s voice didn’t flinch. "It’s time."

She said nothing else.

The Czar stared at her for a moment, searching her unreadable eyes, then slowly tucked the letter into his coat.

Outside the tall window, a raven cawed once and disappeared into the white sky.

---

The glow from the fireplace lit Olga’s chambers in soft gold. She sat on a cushion, spine straight, hands resting neatly on her lap. Her eyes followed the flicker of flames like they were whispering secrets.

The door opened.

The Grand Chamberlain stepped in and bowed, lips thin with impatience.

"Any word from the Grand Duchess?"

Olga didn’t turn to him. She simply replied, "No."

The man scowled. "It’s been a month. We don’t have time to sit and hope."

"She’s not ready yet."

"She might never be. She’s too fragile for this. Too emotional. Too soft. She could ruin everything."

Olga finally turned to look at him.

Her voice remained calm. "You forget... the most dangerous keys are always the quiet ones. The Grand Duchess is the key."

"To what?" he asked, annoyed.

But Olga didn’t answer. Instead, she smiled faintly and turned back to the fire. "Be patient."

The chamberlain frowned, clearly biting back more words. But he knew better than to push her further. With a quiet bow, he stepped back and left the room.

Alone, Olga whispered to herself, "In a little time you’ll get your revenge."

---

The sun had long slipped beneath the horizon. Inside the smaller wing of the palace, Lydia and Ivan lay wrapped in velvet and silence.

A soft orange glow from the oil lamps stretched across the walls of the music room. Outside, the snow fell gently. Inside, it was warm, still, and quiet—like the world had paused just for them.

Lydia rested against Ivan’s bare chest, his hand slowly combing through her hair. Her fingers lightly traced the outline of a scar near his collarbone. Neither of them spoke, but the silence didn’t hurt.

It felt like breathing.

His heart beat steadily beneath her ear. That rhythm, calm and constant, grounded her.

Then suddenly—

Growl.

Her stomach broke the stillness.

Ivan looked down at her, one brow raised in amusement.

"You should get dressed," he said, lips twitching into a smirk.

Lydia blinked, lifting her head. "Why?"

But instead of answering, Ivan was already rising from the chaise, reaching for his shirt.

She sat up, confused, watching him as he pulled the soft black fabric over his head.

"Where are you going?" she asked quietly.

He looked over his shoulder, buttoning his cuffs. "Nowhere," he replied, voice even. "But if you’re hungry, you’re going to need something warmer than that blanket."

A small gasp escaped her lips. "Oh..."

Her cheeks flushed, and she buried her face in her hands.

Ivan turned slightly at the sound, and though his expression didn’t change much, there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes.

She peeked through her fingers.

"You’re... smiling," she whispered.

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You just smiled. Just now. You never smile."

He didn’t deny it. But he didn’t respond either. Instead, he walked over to the chair where her dress lay, picked it up, and held it out to her.

"Come here."

She moved toward him, letting him help her.

As he stood behind her, Ivan lifted the straps gently over her shoulders and began tying the ribbon at her back. But he paused midway. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder—soft and slow. Then another to the base of her neck.

Lydia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

He didn’t speak. His fingers brushed her skin as he tied the last knot. And when she turned around, his eyes softened like the storm in him had gone quiet—just for a moment.

Together, they walked to the music room doors.

But as Ivan reached to open them, Lydia stopped.

She didn’t follow.

He turned to her slowly, sensing her hesitation. "What is it?"

Her voice was low, unsure. "Was it real?"

His eyes narrowed slightly.

She looked down. "What happened between us... was it real?"

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off with another soft question.

"Was it a mistake?"

A pause.

"Or just a moment of weakness?"

Ivan stared at her, eyes darkening with something deep—pain, maybe. Or guilt.

"Don’t lie," she whispered. "Just tell me."

He hesitated.

Truth roared in his chest. It was a mistake. Not because he didn’t love her—but because he would destroy her if he stayed. Because everything he touched turned to ash. And she... she was too soft, too bright.

But she was looking at him with those eyes. Eyes that trusted him. That wanted him.

He couldn’t break her.

So he lied.

"No."

She let out a trembling breath.

"Then..." her voice cracked, "don’t leave me again."

"I won’t," he said, voice quiet.

Her face relaxed into a soft, hopeful smile. She believed him. She wanted to believe him so badly.

Ivan looked at her for a long moment, brushing his thumb across the back of her hand. Then he pulled her forward, the door shutting behind them as they disappeared into the warmth.

But even as he held her hand, something cold pressed against his ribs.

Fear.

He had said he wouldn’t leave.

But inside, the shadows whispered that he already had.

---

The wind outside howled gently, brushing snowflakes against the windows of the carriage. The world was white, silent, and still, as if time itself had stopped. Inside the carriage, a soft warmth glowed from the lantern hanging above.

A beautiful young woman, no older than twenty-four, sat gracefully by the window. Her long, golden blonde hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, glowing like sunlight even in the dim light. She wore a thick winter cloak, lined with white fur, and in her gloved hands was an old leather-bound book she had been quietly reading since the journey began.

Beside her sat her maid, a young girl named Yelena, whose cheeks were red from the cold. She had been glancing at her lady nervously for the past hour, her fingers tightening around the folds of her cloak.

"My lady..." Yelena spoke softly, finally breaking the silence. "Aren’t you scared?"

The noblewoman turned her head, her blue eyes calm and thoughtful. "Scared?" she repeated gently. "Why would I be scared?"

Yelena looked down at her hands, hesitant. "But, my lady... the Grand Duke. They say he’s a devil. That he lives in a dark castle, all alone. That no one who goes there ever returns the same."

The noblewoman didn’t answer right away. She closed the book slowly, resting it on her lap. Her eyes drifted toward the frosted glass of the carriage window, watching as the snow danced in the air like falling stars.

"Don’t believe everything you hear, Yelena," she said at last, her voice soft but steady. "Not all stories are true. Some are made to scare children. Others are just twisted over time."

"But still..." Yelena looked up, worry still clouding her face. "What if they’re not all lies? What if he really is... dangerous?"

The woman turned her head and smiled, a faint smile filled with a strange mix of sadness and warmth. "The Grand Duke is not a monster, Yelena. He’s just... broken."

Yelena blinked, confused. "Do you... do you know him personally, my lady?"

The woman nodded slowly. "Yes. I do."

Yelena’s eyes widened a little. "But how?"

She looked down at the book in her hands again, brushing her fingers across the old pages. "He was my friend," she said quietly. "A long time ago."

She didn’t say anything more, and for a while, the carriage was quiet again. Only the sounds of the horse’s hooves crunching the snow and the distant howling wind could be heard.

Yelena wanted to ask more—she wanted to know how her lady had come to know a man so feared by many. But before she could speak, the carriage slowed to a stop.

The rider called from outside. "We’ll stop here for the night, my lady. The snow’s gotten heavier. We can’t go any further till morning."

The noblewoman nodded, adjusting her cloak. She looked outside, where the snow was falling in thick, silent layers, turning the road ahead into a white blur.

"Very well," she said calmly. "Let’s rest here."

Yelena helped her out of the carriage, and together they stepped into the soft, falling snow. The cold kissed their cheeks, but the lady didn’t flinch. Her eyes looked ahead—not at the storm, but at the distant memory of a man who once held her heart.

A man the world called a devil...

But she knew better.

He wasn’t a devil.

He was just a man who had forgotten how to smile.

---

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