The Bride Of The Devil-Chapter 72: The Silent Offering

The carriage moved slowly through the quiet morning streets of the capital, heading towards the road that led back to Svetlana. It was still very early. The sun had only just begun to rise, casting a soft pale light on the cobbled roads. Stalls were just opening. Some shopkeepers yawned as they lifted their shutters. A few carts passed, carrying bread or hay. But mostly, the streets were empty.

Inside the carriage, everything was still.

Lydia sat with her hands on her lap, her fingers twisting the fabric of her gown. Her eyes stared at nothing. She looked calm on the outside, but her mind was far from quiet. Thoughts kept swirling in her head, each one crashing into the next like waves.

She kept thinking about Ivan’s face when Vladimir apologized. The anger in his voice. The pain in his eyes. And then Olga. Her soft smile. Her calm threat. You will keep your promise, right? I expect a report by month end.

The words rang over and over again in Lydia’s ears. Her chest felt tight.

And then there was Irina. That brief moment in the corridor days before—her cold voice, her warning. You don’t know what you’re doing. Be careful who you trust.

Lydia’s fingers curled tighter into her lap.

What was she going to do? If she kept her promise to Olga, she would betray Ivan. If she didn’t, she would break her word and risk everything. Could she even escape all this? Run far away?

She had no money. No friends she could trust. No place to go. She felt trapped. Like a bird in a golden cage, dressed in silk but still chained. frёeweɓηovel_coɱ

Across from her, Ivan sat in silence.

He had noticed something was wrong the moment they left the palace. Lydia hadn’t said a word. Not even when he helped her into the carriage. Her face was pale. Her eyes looked distant, lost in a world of her own. He wanted to ask what was wrong. He wanted to tell her that if something was bothering her, she could tell him. That he would listen.

But the words didn’t come.

His jaw was tight. His hands stayed on his knees, unmoving. He could only guess. The only explanation he could think of was the Queen. Maybe Olga had said something again. Maybe she had scared her.

His chest burned with the thought.

But still, he said nothing. He looked out the window, pretending not to notice the way her eyes kept filling with tears and never letting them fall.

Their carriage kept moving. It passed groups of people. Some looked up. And when they saw the royal crest on the carriage, they began to whisper. Ivan noticed them. He saw the way their eyes narrowed, their mouths moved quickly. Some pointed. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he didn’t need to. He had heard it all before. The rumors. The fear. The hate.

He turned his face away from the window, trying to block them out.

But as he did, he noticed something.

Lydia was still looking out.

She wasn’t looking at the people. She wasn’t paying them any attention. Her gaze was fixed on something else entirely. Her eyes were wide, glassy. Full of a sadness so deep, it made his heart twist.

He followed her gaze.

And then he saw it.

The Andreyevna estate.

It stood tall in the distance, surrounded by its white stone fence and tall trees. The gate was shut, but the home behind it was still the same. Stately. Beautiful. Familiar.

Lydia didn’t blink. She didn’t move. Her face was full of longing. Like a child staring at the house she once lived in but could never return to.

Ivan’s chest tightened. Her eyes were fixed on it.

He saw the way her hand moved slightly, like she was reaching out to something invisible. Like she wanted to hold on to something she knew she couldn’t touch anymore.

He remembered the last time he had gone there. He remembered her cousin Pyotr’s face when he told him their father had forbidden any of them from writing or visiting her. He remembered the guilt and sadness in the boy’s voice

She must have felt so alone.

She must have missed them more than she ever admitted.

Without thinking twice, Ivan raised his hand and knocked twice on the roof of the carriage.

The carriage slowed.

"Take us to the Andreyevna estate," he said through the small window to the coachman.

Lydia blinked. Her eyes shifted quickly from the window to Ivan. For a second, she thought she had heard him wrong.

"What?" she whispered.

He didn’t answer her. He kept his eyes forward.

But she could feel the change.

She looked again outside the window. The carriage was turning, slowly moving away from the road to Svetlana and toward the estate she had longed for.

Her lips parted, and her voice cracked as she said softly, "Thank you."

He didn’t look at her. He just gave a small nod and turned his face away.

But when he glanced back, she was still looking through the window — only now she was smiling. A real smile. Gentle and warm. Her eyes sparkled with something he hadn’t seen in a long time.

She looked happy.

Not polite. Not guarded.

Genuinely happy.

And somehow, that made the whole morning worth it.

The carriage moved closer to the tall iron gates of the Andreyevna estate. The snow crunched softly beneath the wheels. The house stood like a quiet memory, untouched by the noise of the palace, wrapped in the soft white blanket of winter.

From a distance, hidden between trees and shadows, a man sat still on his horse.

Ruslan.

He had been following the carriage since it left the palace. Always from a distance. Never close enough to be noticed.

But when he saw the carriage change its path and head toward the Andreyevna estate, he didn’t follow. He simply stopped.

His eyes narrowed as he watched them disappear behind the trees and gates.

He stayed there, quiet, breathing slowly, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.

The cold wind blew through the trees, brushing past him like a whisper.

He said nothing. He just watched.

And waited.

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