The Bride Of The Devil-Chapter 65: When The Devil Comes Knocking

The dinner table at the Andreyevna mansion was peaceful. The warm lights above gave the dining room a gentle glow as the family sat together—Alexander at the head of the table, with his sons Pyotr and Mikhail, and his daughters Anya and Elena seated beside him. The food was simple but comforting. Roasted duck, boiled potatoes, cabbage soup, and warm bread filled the table. Soft chatter floated between the girls, giggling about nothing in particular.

But the peace didn’t last long.

"Papa," Pyotr suddenly spoke, cutting into the quiet. His eyes were hopeful, shining with excitement. "I heard Lydia is in the capital. At the palace! Can we go see her?"

Elena quickly nudged him under the table and gave him a sharp look, as if warning him to stay quiet. But it was too late.

Alexander’s spoon clattered into his bowl.

"I’ve told you already," he said sternly. "We will do no such thing."

"But why?" Pyotr’s voice cracked a little. He was still so young, barely fifteen. "She’s our cousin. She’s like our sister. Why can’t we—"

"I am the head of this house!" Alexander snapped, his voice sharp like a whip. His hand slammed the table, and all the children flinched. "You do not question my orders!"

Pyotr looked like he was about to cry. His lower lip trembled as he looked down at his plate. Anya reached across the table and gently placed a hand on his arm.

But before anyone could speak again, a loud sound echoed from outside—the sound of hooves. A horse had just stopped at the gate.

Alexander stood up slowly. His face turned pale, like all the blood had drained from it. The children looked around in confusion.

Then the front doors flew open.

There he was.

The scarred man.

General Ruslan Zaitsev of the Eastern Venograd army.

His face was cold, his eyes filled with fury. A long scar ran across his cheek, and he looked like he had just stepped out of a battlefield. His coat was covered in snow, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

Alexander froze.

"Children, to your rooms. Now!" he shouted.

"Father?" Elena asked, confused, standing halfway out of her chair.

"I said now! Do as I say!" he yelled, panic rising in his voice.

The children didn’t argue. They ran up the stairs quickly, their footsteps echoing. Except Elena. She stopped and hid behind one of the pillars of the staircase, just out of sight, her breath caught in her throat.

Alexander tried to steady himself.

Alexander’s eyes narrowed the moment he saw him. His jaw tightened as he stepped forward, voice low but laced with anger.

"I thought I warned you never to set foot in my house again, General Zaitsev," he said sharply. Then, after a tense pause, he added, "If you have something to say, we’ll talk—in my study."

But Ruslan didn’t wait.

He stormed forward, grabbed Alexander by the collar, and slammed him hard against the wall.

"You must think you’re smart," Ruslan growled. "You really must think you can double-cross me."

Alexander gasped. "What—what are you talking about?!"

Ruslan threw him across the room like a rag doll. Alexander crashed into a small table, sending plates and glasses shattering across the floor.

"You thought marrying your niece to the Grand Duke would scare me off?" Ruslan said, marching toward him again. "You think I’ll back away from our deal because of that?"

Alexander coughed, struggling to stand. "I—I don’t understand—"

Ruslan grabbed him by the throat this time. His fingers dug into his neck.

"I’ve been planning my revenge for eight years," he hissed. "Eight long years. And you just gave me the perfect way in."

He let go of Alexander suddenly, letting him collapse to the floor.

Alexander lay there, gasping for breath. "What revenge? What do you want from me?"

Ruslan didn’t answer. He turned to leave, but paused at the door.

"Oh, and our deal?" he said, his voice calm now, but colder than ever. "It’s off."

Alexander looked up slowly, still wheezing.

"Wait until the royal family learns that their precious in-laws," Ruslan said with a smirk, "have been secretly shipping weapons to Venograd spies. That you’ve been sneaking soldiers into Zolotaria for years."

Elena, hidden behind the pillar, covered her mouth in shock. Her heart was racing. She had heard everything.

Alexander went completely pale. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe properly.

And just like that, Ruslan was gone. He stepped into the night, leaving the front doors wide open behind him.

---

Outside, deep in the snowy courtyard of the palace, Ivan was practicing alone. The night was bitter cold. Snow fell in slow flakes, landing on his dark coat and melting into his skin. But he didn’t care. Not about the cold. Not about the time. Not about anything.

His sword slashed through the air again and again. Each swing was sharp and full of anger. He wasn’t just training—he was fighting something inside him. Something he couldn’t see but couldn’t escape either.

A short distance away, Leonid sat on a stone bench, wrapped in a thick shawl. He was small and shivering, but his eyes never left his brother. Even though he was tired, he stayed there, watching.

Eventually, his head drooped, and he dozed off without realizing it.

When Ivan finally stopped, panting, he turned and saw him—Leonid, asleep in the cold.

He frowned.

He walked over, crouched, and gently tapped his shoulder.

Leonid stirred. "Brother?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Ivan’s voice was cold. "Are you trying to freeze to death out here?"

Leonid gave a tired giggle. "No. I was just watching you. You’re so strong."

Ivan looked away, his jaw tight.

Leonid looked up at him. "Brother, can you teach me to fight?"

"No," Ivan said firmly. "I won’t."

Leonid looked down, disappointed. "Oh... okay. I just wanted to be like you."

"That’s not what I meant," Ivan sighed. He looked down at his little brother. "I mean, you’re still young. You don’t need to touch a sword right now."

Leonid looked up again. "So... you’ll teach me when I’m older?"

Ivan paused. Then nodded. "When you’re of age. I promise."

Leonid smiled. "Okay. Promise."

They were silent for a while. Only the sound of the wind blowing through the courtyard.

Then Leonid broke the silence.

"You don’t have to worry, brother. I’m not afraid of you."

Ivan didn’t reply.

"I know people say things about you," Leonid continued. "Mother says I should stay away. So do the others. But I won’t."

Ivan turned his back, not wanting his brother to see his face.

"You’re not a monster," Leonid said softly. "You’re my brother. You’re a good person."

"I won’t forget what you did that day," Leonid added. "You saved me. You’re my hero."

Then Leonid stood and ran back inside, calling, "Goodnight, brother! I hope you come for breakfast tomorrow!"

Ivan stayed silent, still staring at the snow.

But a small smile appeared on his lips.

---

Meanwhile, in the grand chamber she had been given, Lydia sat in front of the fireplace. Her long hair was damp from her bath. She had eaten dinner earlier but barely touched her food. Her stomach was tight with nerves.

She stared at the flames dancing in the hearth, her thoughts heavy.

She kept replaying everything in her head—how broken Ivan looked earlier. How he had screamed. How helpless she had felt. How badly she had wanted to hold him.

And then Olga’s words came back to her.

Was Ivan truly dangerous? Had he really tried to hurt his own brother? Was Olga trying to protect him—or just trying to control him?

Lydia didn’t know what to think anymore. Her heart hurt just remembering the fear and sadness in Ivan’s eyes.

She leaned back in the chair, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

Then a thought struck her.

Irina.

Her godmother.

If anyone could tell her the truth about the royal family—about Ivan—it would be Irina. She had known them all for years.

Lydia wiped her eyes and nodded to herself.

Tomorrow, she would go visit her.

She had to know the truth.

No more lies. No more secrets.

She needed answers.

And only Irina could give them to her.

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