The Bride Of The Devil-Chapter 42: Love That Could Burn

Lydia and Ivan walked side by side from the lounge to the dining hall, their hands gently clasped together. Her hands were small in his but she didn’t mind. She could feel the warmth of his fingers against hers, and it made her heart beat faster. She glanced at him shyly, still trying to believe everything that had just happened. It felt too good to be real.

Just as they were about to enter the dining room, they ran into Katherine. She was standing near the door and looked startled to see them holding hands. Her eyes widened slightly as confusion flickered across her face.

"I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Your Highness," she said, her voice directed at Lydia.

Lydia blinked, surprised. "Why?"

Katherine hesitated for a second. "It’s nothing really. It’s just that... you haven’t eaten all day, and then you disappeared. I was wondering if you were okay."

Lydia gave her a small smile. "I’m fine. And yes, I’m hungry."

"Dinner is ready. It’s being set in the dining hall," Katherine said, stepping aside.

"Thanks," Lydia replied softly.

Without another word, she and Ivan walked into the dining room. Ivan said nothing. His expression changed for a moment—just briefly. Lydia caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. Was it hate? Fear? Or something she couldn’t quite understand?

Katherine watched them from the door. Her hands were clenched at her sides, and her face showed a mix of fear and worry.

The dining room felt different tonight. It was quiet, warm, and for once, peaceful. Lydia sat close to Ivan. He took his usual seat at the head of the table. She sat beside him, constantly glancing at his face like it was all still a dream. It was hard to believe he was here, sitting beside her, after all the coldness before.

She kept staring, scared that if she blinked, he might disappear.

Ivan noticed her struggling to cut a piece of duck. Silently, he reached out, took her fork and knife, and gently helped her cut it into small pieces. His fingers brushed against hers. She felt a tingle run through her.

The silence between them was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It felt like both of them were searching for the right words.

Finally, Lydia spoke.

"Do you... miss your mother?" she asked quietly, not looking directly at him.

He paused.

His hand stopped midair with a forkful of duck. For a long second, he said nothing. Then finally, he answered.

"Yes."

Lydia smiled a little. "I miss mine too. My mother... and my father. Every day."

Ivan turned to look at her.

Then he said something unexpected. "You remind me of her."

Lydia blinked. "Your mother? Really? How?" she asked, then added playfully, "Is it because I’m beautiful? I saw her painting. She was beautiful."

Ivan looked at her and gave a small, dry chuckle. "No. Not because of that."

Lydia tilted her head. "Then why?"

He looked into her eyes and said, "Because you’re foolish. Just like her."

Lydia’s smile faded. She looked hurt. Confused.

Ivan continued. "You are both naive. Both pushovers. Too kind for your own good. Always believing people were good. Always giving, always kind, even when they didn’t deserve it."

Lydia looked down. Her eyes were beginning to fill with tears.

But then he added, in a softer voice, "She was also brave. Gentle. Loving. She had a warm heart. She smiled even when she was in pain. She lit up every room she entered. Just like you."

She looked up at him again.

"You two are like the sun. Warm and full of light."

Lydia’s eyes shone with tears, but now she was smiling. A genuine, soft smile.

They finished dinner slowly. Words weren’t needed anymore.

When they left the dining hall, Lydia kept glancing at Ivan, her fingers nervously playing with the edge of her dress. She wanted to say something. She wanted to ask him to come to her room.

Just as she opened her mouth to speak, a man rushed in.

He bowed deeply. "Your Highnesses."

Then he turned to Ivan, his face pale with fear. "Your Highness, it’s urgent."

Ivan turned serious and nodded. He looked at Lydia.

"Get some rest," he said.

She nodded quietly, hiding her disappointment. She stood there for a moment as he walked away, hoping he would turn back. He didn’t.

Back in her room, she sat on the edge of her bed. The door opened suddenly. She turned around quickly, expecting to see him.

But it was only her maids. They had come to help her prepare for her bath.

She sighed, her heart sinking again.

She said nothing during the bath. The warm water did little to comfort her.

Then the door creaked open again. Her heart jumped. Was it him?

No. It was Katherine.

She motioned for the maids to leave. They bowed and exited quietly.

"Why are you here?" Lydia asked, still in the tub.

"I wanted to talk. Alone," Katherine said.

Lydia smiled, a little shy. "Katherine... I think Ivan is letting me into his heart. I’m so happy. He said I reminded him of his mother. We even made lo—"

Katherine suddenly stopped washing her and spoke sharply. "I’m going to give you advice. Stay away from him. That’s the only way both of you can stay safe."

Lydia looked confused. "Why should I stay away from him?"

"He’s a monster. And you are naive. You don’t know what you’re getting into. You can’t be together. If you try, you’ll get burnt."

Lydia stood up, angry. "You don’t get to tell me that. I love him. And maybe... maybe he will love me too. I don’t care if I get burnt alive. I will keep loving him."

Katherine tried again. "Your Highness, please—"

"No! Know your place," Lydia snapped. "You are my servant. Not my mother. You have no right."

Katherine said nothing. She looked sad.

Lydia grabbed a towel and stormed into her room. Katherine followed, still worried.

She saw Lydia struggling to dry her hair and get dressed. Quietly, she helped her into a nightgown and gently dried her long hair.

"I know you don’t understand now," she said softly. "But one day, you will. I just want what’s best for you. For both of you."

Then she left.

Lydia sat alone, lost in her thoughts.

After a while, she opened her drawer and pulled out her diary. She started writing everything that happened today. The music note. Ivan showing up. Their kiss. Him saying she reminded him of his mother. Katherine’s warning.

She wrote in big bold letters: Ivan is not a monster. He is just broken. I will love him with everything I have.

She looked at the door.

She whispered to herself, "He’s not coming."

She was about to write more.

Then—the door opened.

It was Ivan.

She gasped, threw the diary back into the drawer, and ran to him. She hugged him tightly.

"I thought you wouldn’t come," she cried. "I thought you were going to avoid me again. I can’t live without you."

He gently pulled her closer. "I won’t leave you."

He wiped her tears with his thumb. Then kissed her.

Their kiss was deep and slow. His lips moved gently over hers, tasting her, feeling every breath. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.

He stopped for a moment and looked into her eyes.

Then he removed his shirt and lifted her gently, carrying her to the bed. He placed her down softly, like she was made of glass.

He kissed her again.

First her lips, then her chin, then her cheeks. He kissed the tip of her nose, her eyelids, then behind her ears.

Lydia gasped, her hands running over his chest, his back, his shoulders, his soft hair.

His lips trailed down her neck, then her collarbone, then lower to her chest. He kissed the tops of her breasts gently, with love and longing. His hands moved to her waist, her thighs. Her fingers gripped his back tightly.

They didn’t make love that night.

But they shared a closeness deeper than words.

---

The next morning, they were still in each other’s arms. Wrapped close, skin against skin, hearts beating together.

Ivan was asleep. But in his dream, he was a child again.

He was four years old, lying on the floor. His little hand was bleeding from the broken vase. He cried and cried, and no one came.

Then she came. His mother.

She ran to him. "What happened?" she cried, hugging him.

She cleaned his wounds and wrapped them gently.

"I kept the cake for you. Why didn’t you wait? I made it for you. You were sleeping, so I left to get water. Why didn’t you wait?"

She was crying, sobbing, holding him close. "You are precious to me. I can’t stand seeing you in pain."

He remembered her love.

He woke up.

Lydia was in his arms.

And he felt it again. That warmth. That love.

Even if he wanted to, he could never let her go.

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