The Bride Of The Devil-Chapter 77: The Devil Is Watching Pt2

The carriage continued moving slowly through the thick snow. The sky was growing darker, and the wind was colder now. Snowflakes fell heavier and faster, covering the road like a white blanket. The horses were tired, and the guards and servants were wrapped tightly in their cloaks, trying to keep warm as they rode in front and behind the carriage. The wheels creaked softly under the weight, and the trees lining the road swayed gently in the wind, their bare branches coated with frost.

Inside the carriage, Ivan sat completely still. He hadn’t moved in a while. His eyes stayed fixed on Lydia, who was still fast asleep beside him.

Her face was calm now. Peaceful. She had cried herself into that sleep, and even though he hated that she had cried at all, a part of him was relieved she could finally rest.

He watched her chest rise and fall gently, like the quiet rhythm of a sleeping child. Her hands were tucked under the blanket he had pulled over her earlier. She looked so fragile like this. So small. But at the same time, she carried a pain bigger than any wound he could see. A pain she wore like invisible armor, always there—always silent.

Ivan’s heart was heavy.

He wanted to protect her. To keep her warm. Safe. But it wasn’t that simple. Not with someone following them. Not with a past that refused to die. Not with ghosts still breathing down their necks.

A knock came at the window.

Ivan turned his head quickly and opened it.

It was one of the guards. The same one he had instructed earlier.

"Your Highness," the guard said in a low voice, "I’ve been watching all this time. I haven’t seen anyone following us. Nothing strange at all."

Ivan nodded slowly. "Alright. You may go."

The window shut again with a soft thud.

But Ivan didn’t feel calm. He knew better. He knew that whoever was following them was skilled. Smart. They wouldn’t let themselves be seen easily. No, they were patient. Calculated. The kind of enemy that waited until you let your guard down.

He’s playing games, Ivan thought to himself.

And then, a colder thought came.

I have to kill him. Whoever he is. If I want Lydia to be free... I have to find him and end it.

He didn’t say it out loud. But the weight of that decision pressed heavily on his chest.

Another knock came.

It was the coachman this time.

He opened the window again.

"Your Highness," the man said, "it’s getting late. The horses are tired and the snow is only getting worse. There’s a town just ahead. I suggest we stop there for the night."

Ivan looked at the sky. It was almost completely dark now. The snow was falling faster. The clouds above were thick and heavy, like a storm waiting to settle in.

"Alright," he said. "Find a place to stop."

The coachman nodded and rode ahead.

It took a little while, but finally, the carriage came to a stop in front of a small inn. It wasn’t fancy, but it looked warm. Smoke was coming from the chimney, and a soft yellow light glowed through the windows. The snow on the roof had piled high, and icicles hung from the edge like tiny glass daggers.

Inside the carriage, Lydia was still asleep.

Ivan looked at her for a long moment. He didn’t want to wake her. She had barely slept for days. But she couldn’t stay in the cold carriage all night.

A servant came and knocked lightly on the door.

"Your Highness," the man said quietly, "the rooms are ready."

Ivan reached out gently and touched Lydia’s shoulder.

She stirred slowly, her lashes fluttering as she opened her eyes.

"We’ve stopped for the night," he said softly. "We’re at an inn. It’s alright."

She didn’t speak. She just looked at him for a second and gave a small nod.

Ivan wanted to carry her, but she shifted and sat up on her own. Her body looked tired, like it was dragging her soul along with it. Her movements were slow, like her bones ached from more than just the cold.

They entered the inn. The innkeeper gave a deep bow and showed them to their rooms.

The warmth of the fire in the hallway made the place feel a little more comfortable, but Lydia didn’t say a word. She walked slowly to her room, her steps heavy. She didn’t even look around. Not at the tapestries. Not at the hearth. Not even at him.

Ivan stood watching her go in.

His chest hurt as he saw her shoulders slump. She looked like someone who had no energy left—not even to cry anymore. No fight left in her. Just quiet, hollow silence.

He wanted to follow her. To stay by her side. To hold her and tell her everything would be fine.

But he couldn’t.

Not yet.

Not until he found the man who had done this to her.

Ivan turned and walked into his own room, which was just opposite hers.

He didn’t sit down. He didn’t take off his coat. He didn’t rest.

Instead, he picked up his sword from the table where it was kept by his servants, and strapped it to his belt.

Then he left.

He walked outside into the snow.

The wind hit him sharply, but he didn’t flinch. It bit into his skin like small needles, but the cold didn’t matter anymore.

His eyes scanned the area around the inn. No one was there. No shadows. No movement.

But he didn’t stop looking.

He moved through the narrow alley beside the inn, his boots crunching in the snow. Every few steps, he paused and looked around. The town was quiet, too quiet. Only the creak of a swinging sign and the distant bark of a dog in the night.

Then—he saw it.

A footprint.

Fresh.

Not just any footprint.

The same kind from the lake.

He crouched down and studied it. His heart began to race.

He followed the trail carefully, step by step.

It led him down a quiet path and stopped by a wall near the edge of town. There was nothing else around.

But Ivan could feel it.

He wasn’t alone.

His hand gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

"I know you’re there," he said calmly. "Come out."

There was silence for a moment.

Then, slowly, from the shadows behind the wall, a figure stepped out.

Ivan’s eyes widened.

He knew him.

Ruslan.

He looked exactly as he remembered. His black hair. His cruel smile. His eyes—cold and mocking.

"Hello, Prince Ivan," Ruslan said with a grin. "It’s been a long time. Years, I believe. But here we are again. How nice."

Ivan didn’t move. His jaw clenched tightly. His hands stayed near his sword.

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