The Bride Of The Devil-Chapter 60: Journey Through Ice And Longing

The next morning came quietly. It was the break of dawn, the kind of hour when the world still seemed half asleep. The sky was painted in a dull blue, with a pale touch of morning light. Outside, the air was freezing. The trees were bare, their branches stiff with frost, and everything felt quiet and heavy, like the cold had silenced the world.

The carriage stood ready outside, dark and strong, its wheels lightly dusted with snow. The horses snorted softly, their breath visible in the cold air. Guards in thick coats sat tall on their horses, ready to escort the royal carriage. A few servants stood close by, their faces red from the wind.

Ivan stepped out first. He wore a thick, dark gray coat that brushed his boots, with silver buttons that caught the soft light. His leather gloves were black, and a fur-lined cloak hung from his shoulders. His dark hair was combed neatly, and he looked every inch the prince he was—but there was a coldness in his expression that made him seem unreachable.

Lydia came after him. Her dress was a soft pink, thick enough to keep her warm, with a long, flowing skirt that brushed the snow. Over the dress, she wore a blue hooded cape lined with white fur. The blue hood framed her golden hair as it peeked out softly. She had gloves on too, and her cheeks were already turning pink from the cold. Her eyes looked tired and sad.

Katherine and Tatiana stood near the entrance of the palace, watching them in silence. No words were exchanged. The goodbyes were already understood.

Without a word, Lydia and Ivan climbed into the carriage. The door closed, and the carriage slowly began to move.

The ride was painfully quiet. Only the sounds of hooves crunching on snow and the gentle rocking of the carriage filled the silence. Lydia held a book in her gloved hands, but she wasn’t reading it. Every now and then, she looked up at Ivan sadly, hoping he would look back. But he didn’t. His eyes were fixed on the window beside him. Cold, distant.

It reminded her of when they first got married—how he would barely speak to her, how he made her feel invisible. Her heart ached, and she bit her lower lip, trying not to cry again. She looked back down at her book, pretending to read, but her thoughts were far away.

She began to shiver slightly. The cold was getting worse. The farther they rode, the more bitter the wind became. She pulled her cloak tighter, but it wasn’t enough.

Ivan, who hadn’t looked at her once, did so now. When she wasn’t watching, he stole small glances at her. He could see her shivering. He could see how pale she looked, how she kept trying to hide her sadness behind the book.

He tapped on the roof of the carriage. The rider stopped. Ivan called for a servant.

"Get me a blanket," he said flatly. "It’s cold."

The servant nodded quickly, and then looked to Lydia. "Would your Highness like one too?"

Lydia gave a small nod. "Yes, please."

The servant returned a few minutes later with two thick blankets. He handed them in, and then rode off again.

Lydia wrapped hers around her immediately. The warmth was comforting. She noticed Ivan didn’t use his. He just kept staring through the window, as if the world outside was more interesting than anything inside the carriage. He said nothing. Just like before.

Hours passed.

The sky began to darken, the clouds turning a deeper gray. The road became harder to follow. Snow covered the ground, and the wind blew harder.

The carriage came to a slow stop. The rider knocked softly.

"Your Highness," he said, "it’s getting too dark and too cold to continue. The roads are covered in ice. We should rest for the night."

Ivan nodded. "Stop at the nearest town."

They arrived at a small town just a few minutes later. It was simple and quiet, with lights glowing from small windows and smoke curling up from chimneys. People walked by, wrapped in layers, going about their evening routines. Children laughed in the distance. Life continued, even in the cold.

There was only one inn. A servant climbed down and went inside to ask for rooms.

The couple waited inside the carriage.

Eventually, the servant returned.

"I was able to get rooms," he said. Ivan was already stepping out of the carriage.

Then the servant added, "But—"

Ivan turned, his voice cold and firm. "But what?"

The servant hesitated. "Most of the rooms are in poor condition. There’s only one room suitable for the both of you, your Highness. And there are no other inns in this town."

Ivan said nothing. Lydia didn’t either.

Soon, they were in the room. The fireplace had already been lit, and their belongings had been placed neatly inside. The room was warm, but quiet. Only the sound of the fire crackling filled the space.

A few moments later, the innkeeper returned with hot food—stew, bread, and tea. He placed the tray down with a gentle bow and left.

Just like the carriage ride, dinner was silent. The two of them sat at the small table, picking at their food, avoiding each other’s eyes. Ivan didn’t speak. Lydia didn’t try to either. She just wished he would look at her, say something—anything.

After a while, they were both too tired to keep sitting. Ivan changed out of his formal coat, now wearing a plain, soft shirt. He walked to the bed and lay down, resting on his side with his back partly turned to her. But his eyes weren’t closed.

Lydia remained seated, unsure of what to do. Then she stood up slowly. She removed her gloves and placed them gently on the table. Her hands felt stiff from the cold.

Then came the hard part. Her dress.

She couldn’t sleep in it. It was too heavy and tight. But she couldn’t call a maid either. It was past midnight. Everyone was asleep. She turned around and tried to reach the ribbons at the back of her dress. But they were tangled. The corset was too tight. She struggled.

"I... I can’t do this," she whispered to herself, frustrated.

Just when she was about to give up, a warm hand touched her back.

"Stay still," Ivan said softly.

Lydia froze. freёnovelkiss.com

He gently moved her hair over her shoulder, letting the golden strands fall to the front. Then his fingers worked on the ribbons at the back of her dress. Slowly, carefully. He undid the tangled knot, then loosened the corset.

She held her breath.

His fingers brushed against her skin as he helped remove the tight fabric. She could feel every soft touch. Her heart was pounding.

When he was done, he didn’t move away. His hands lingered on her bare back. Slowly, he let his fingers trace her skin, lightly, like he was afraid she might disappear. He could feel the warmth of her, the softness of her body under his touch.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He had promised to stay away. He told himself it was better this way. But the moment his hand touched her skin, his resolve began to break.

Lydia didn’t move. Her eyes were shut. She could feel every emotion in his touch. The longing. The pain. The love he was too afraid to show.

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