The Bride Of The Devil-Chapter 24: Whispers in the Dark

The queen had tasked me to spy on the Grand Duke, Ivan Romanov. So far... this is the only thing I know about him.

Lydia stared at the ceiling, her fingers curling into the blanket. Sleep wouldn’t come. Her mind was loud—too loud.

She turned to her side and sighed. "How am I supposed to spy on someone who barely speaks?" she muttered to herself.

Still, she remembered what she’d promised herself. If she ever noticed something about him, anything at all... she’d write it down.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her arms as the night breeze tickled her skin. Then she threw the blanket off and slipped out of bed.

With a quiet flick, she lit the small lamp on her writing table. Its soft golden light filled the room. She pulled open her drawer and brought out her diary—a simple leather-bound book with no name.

Flipping to the first page, her eyes landed on the words she’d written on her first day in the palace.

He killed many at the age of sixteen.

He is cruel.

He is a monster.

He’s the devil.

Her chest tightened as she read it again. It felt so wrong now—like a lie written by someone else. With a frown, she tore the page out and crumpled it, throwing it aside. It bounced once on the floor.

She opened to a new page and dipped her pen into the ink.

His eyes look sad.

He looks in pain.

I want to know more about him.

I want to talk to him.

I don’t know what happened, but... I don’t believe he’s a monster.

If only he would let me get close to him.

She paused, biting her lower lip, before adding:

The only thing I know about him is the food he loved as a boy. Boiled sweet potatoes.

At least it’s something.

Maybe I’m making progress...

She didn’t even know when her eyes closed. The book lay open on her chest, her pen still in hand, the lamp flickering softly beside her.

---

Katherine tiptoed into the room hours later, noticing the soft light glowing under the door. "She must have forgotten to put it out," she whispered.

As she moved closer to the bed, she smiled. Lydia lay sleeping peacefully, the diary tucked against her chest like a treasured secret.

Katherine reached out carefully to take it, but Lydia stirred. Her hand tightened around the book.

"What is it?" Lydia mumbled, still half-asleep.

"Shh, it’s just me," Katherine said. "I saw your light was still on, so I came to check on you."

Lydia yawned. "Oh... sorry. I was reading."

"I can see that," Katherine chuckled. "Didn’t mean to wake you."

"It’s fine..." Lydia held the book close. "It’s my diary."

Katherine’s brows lifted slightly, but she nodded. "Alright then, Your Highness. I’ll let you rest." freeweɓnovel.cøm

As the door closed behind her, Lydia sat up again, rubbing her eyes. But sleep still refused to return. Her thoughts drifted, uninvited.

She tossed. Turned. Huffed. Then finally sat up with a sigh.

"I need some air," she muttered.

Pulling a shawl over her shoulders, she quietly slipped out of her room and walked through the palace’s dark halls. Her steps echoed faintly. The night was heavy, still.

She paused in front of a familiar door.

Ivan’s.

Her fingers hovered near the handle.

What am I doing? she scolded herself. It’s the middle of the night. Why am I here?

She stepped back... then forward again.

Maybe he has a fever, she reasoned. He was hurt... I just want to check.

She slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Darkness.

Only the moonlight seeping in from the window gave the room shape.

He was lying on the bed, still and quiet. But even from here, she could see his brows furrowed in sleep. His body twitched slightly, like he was fighting something in his dreams.

Then he groaned.

"No... stop..."

Lydia’s eyes widened. She took a cautious step forward.

Suddenly, he bolted upright with a gasp, eyes wild. Before she could speak, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, tight—painfully tight.

"Ivan!" she gasped. "It’s me—Lydia!"

His breathing was fast. Chest rising and falling. Eyes scanning her like she was a threat... then slowly recognizing her face.

He let go.

"I didn’t mean to scare you," she whispered. "You were having a nightmare..."

He said nothing. Just looked away.

"Are you alright, Your Highness?"

Still nothing.

She knelt beside the bed, concern etched on her face. "I... I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I’m fine," he said, voice low and hoarse. "You can go."

She slowly stood, turning toward the door. But then his voice came again.

"Wait... could you... light the lamp?"

She looked back.

"I... can’t sleep in the dark."

She gave a soft nod, heart tugging.

She lit the lamp on his table. The warm glow washed over his pale face.

"There," she said gently. "Sleep well."

She walked out quietly, but her thoughts didn’t rest.

He always has nightmares. What does he see? What’s chasing him in the dark?

---

The next morning...

Lydia rose early and bathed. Her mind was still on Ivan. She dressed quickly, grabbed her medicine box, and headed straight to his chambers.

"Good morning, Your Highness," she greeted, entering his room.

He was already sitting on the bed, shirtless, his wound exposed.

"I came to change your dressing."

He nodded without a word.

She sat beside him and began cleaning the wound gently.

"I’m sorry about last night," she said softly. "I didn’t mean to wake you."

He didn’t respond.

She continued, hands working gently, eyes focused.

"I forgot something," she said suddenly, standing. "One of the ointments—I’ll be back!"

He watched her rush out of the room.

When she returned, breathless, her cheeks were flushed.

"Ugh, I’m so clumsy," she said, half-laughing. "I placed it right next to my mirror and still—"

He wasn’t listening.

All he could hear was her breathing.

His eyes locked on her lips as they moved. Then her neck... her chest. The way it rose and fell with every breath.

Why can’t I think?

The pounding in his chest grew louder than her voice.

"I’m done," she finally said with a soft smile, turning to pack up.

Before she could move away, his hand shot out and pulled her back.

"Ah!" she gasped, stumbling as the tray clattered to the floor.

She looked up, stunned, her face inches from his.

"Ivan—"

"What have you done to me?" he whispered, voice rough, eyes dark.

Her breath hitched. The space between them was charged—electric.

"Your Highness—"

But neither moved.

His hand was still on her arm, his eyes flicking to her lips again.

The lamp flickered.

And for the first time, she didn’t pull away.