The carriage came to a slow halt before the towering gates of the Grand Duke's estate. As soon as it did, Ivan reached for his silver mask without a word and fastened it over his face. Lydia's chest tightened at the sight. That mask—it was like watching a wall slam shut between them.
She said nothing, simply stepped down and walked beside him. Despite being his wife now, she felt no closer to him than a stranger on the street.
As the heavy doors opened and they entered the main hall, Lydia's eyes darted around. Servants who had been bustling about suddenly froze, then scattered like frightened birds. Those who stayed behind bowed deeply, keeping their eyes low—so low they seemed afraid to breathe in his presence.
One of them, a woman in her fifties, remained standing stiffly near the stairway.
"This is the new Grand Duchess," Ivan said coldly, not even sparing Lydia a glance. "Inform her of her duties."
The woman bowed. "Yes, Your Highness."
Lydia instinctively took a step to follow him, but he stopped her with a sharp glance.
"You'll be taken to your quarters. Do not follow me."
And just like that, he was gone.
The hall fell into a tense silence. Only after his footsteps disappeared down the corridor did the servants breathe again.
The older woman turned to her. "I am Katherine, Your Highness," she said with a composed tone. "Please follow me."
Katherine began to lead her through the palace, pointing out rooms and giving short explanations of their history—how this wing was built after the war, how the Grand Duke's ancestors once hosted royal banquets here. Lydia listened, though her mind was elsewhere.
Then, with a small smile, she asked, "And where is the Grand Duke's room?"
Katherine slowed, clearly surprised. "His Highness' chambers?" she repeated as if unsure she'd heard right. "They're down that hall. But no one goes there, Your Highness. He prefers privacy."
Lydia still smiled. "I'd just like to know, that's all."
Katherine didn't respond. She simply gestured toward a hallway lined with darker wood and fewer lights, and Lydia made note of it.
Eventually, Katherine led her to her own quarters—beautiful and spacious, with polished floors, high ceilings, and grand windows draped in velvet. But it felt cold. Distant. Like a room meant to be admired, not lived in. There was no warmth here, no welcome. Just formality.
"It's quite far from his," Lydia murmured.
Katherine gave a neutral nod. "Yes, Your Highness. Now, I will send in the maids assigned to you."
Soon after, two young maids entered. They bowed low, avoiding her eyes. Lydia greeted them with a warm smile, but one of them visibly flinched. The other gripped her hands together tightly.
"Are you… afraid of me?" Lydia asked, puzzled. "Did I do something wrong?"
They looked at each other, confused. "No, Your Highness," one said quickly.
They helped her with her bath in silence. Then they dressed her in a deep maroon gown and brushed her long hair carefully. Still, the air was tense. Heavy.
After a while, Lydia asked gently, "You may leave. I'd like to be alone for a moment."
The two maids bowed and stepped out. As the door closed behind them, Lydia sat before her vanity, staring at her reflection. Her new life was beginning to feel like a gilded cage.
Outside the bath chamber, the two maids huddled together.
"Poor thing," one whispered. "She must have been bewitched by the devil."
"No," the other murmured. "It's a forced marriage. That poor girl doesn't even know she's married to the devil himself."
Later that evening, Katherine returned to fetch her for dinner. The dining hall was enormous, its long table stretching so far she felt like a dot in the middle of it. Dishes were laid out before her, but she was alone.
"His Highness doesn't dine here?" she asked.
Katherine shook her head. "His Highness prefers his meals in private… or during formal meetings."
Lydia nodded slowly, her appetite fading. She picked at her food in silence, her thoughts loud.
That night, she laid on the large bed in her cold, echoing chambers. The silence was unbearable. Ivan never came. Not that she expected him to. But it still stung.
---
The Next Morning
The sun poured in through the tall windows. Lydia opened her eyes slowly, then sighed. Ivan had meant what he said—this marriage meant nothing to him.
Her maids bathed and dressed her in a sky-blue gown. Again, they said little. Again, she ate alone.
Later, restless and tired of the silence, Lydia wandered the halls in search of something to lift her spirits. She remembered seeing a door marked Library on the tour.
When she opened it, her eyes widened. Shelves climbed from floor to ceiling, filled with books of all kinds. There were old maps, celestial globes, even locked glass cases with manuscripts. For the first time since her arrival, her heart lifted.
She wandered among the shelves, smiling as her fingers brushed the spines. A book on pirates and the sea caught her eye, and she chuckled.
She climbed a small ladder to reach a rolled map from a high shelf—but the ladder wobbled, and before she could steady herself, she slipped.
Her heart leapt.
But before she could hit the ground, strong arms caught her. Her breath hitched as she looked up and saw the black mask.
Ivan.
She could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. "Th-thank y—"
"Leave."
The word was sharp and cold. He let go of her as if she burned him and walked past without another glance.
Lydia stood frozen. Her chest ached, but not from the fall.
Later, she wandered into the palace orchard, a quiet place filled with sweet blossoms and sunlight. There, she sat with her pirate book. She even managed to smile.
But then her thoughts drifted back to the Queen's warning. Spy on him. Find out his weakness.
She didn't even know him. How could she spy on someone who barely spoke to her?
Still… maybe she could write down anything odd. If there was anything at all.
She made a mental note to begin a diary.
On her way back to her quarters, she took a wrong turn and ended up in an unfamiliar part of the palace. The walls here were bare. No guards. No paintings. The hallway was colder, and the light dimmer.
She stumbled upon a heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor. It looked untouched for years, dust lingering around the frame. Something about it pulled at her curiosity.
But just as she reached for the handle, a hand gripped her wrist tightly.
"Didn't I tell you to stay away from here?"
Ivan.
His voice was sharper than she'd ever heard it. His mask was still on, but his grip was ice.
"I-I got lost. I was just—"
"I don't care," he snapped. "If I ever see you near here again, I will kill you."
And with that, he shoved her aside.
Her heart pounded, but this time it wasn't fear—it was fury. Her vision blurred as hot tears stung her eyes. She spun around and shouted, "What did I do to you?! Why are you treating me like this?"
Ivan froze.
"No one has ever—"
"I'm not no one!" she yelled, fists clenched. "If you don't want me here, just say so! But stop shouting at me like I'm nothing. I'm a person too!"
She wrenched her wrist from his grip and stormed off, muttering under her breath, "What a heartless person…"
Ivan remained in the hallway, silent. Staring after her.
For the first time in years… someone had yelled at him.