The Bride Of The Devil-Chapter 88: The Decoy And The Lovers

It was a long night. The wind outside howled softly, brushing against the palace walls like whispers of ghosts. Inside the palace, everything was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that made your ears ring. Even the fireplaces burned lower, casting faint orange glows along the cold marble floors. But Ivan couldn’t sleep. He had spent the entire day in his study, pouring over maps, writing and rewriting plans, weighing the risks. His mind was a battlefield. No matter how much he calculated, one thing was clear — if he left alone, Ruslan would stay behind to hurt Lydia. And if she left with him, Ruslan would follow. But following them... that could be useful.

He rubbed his temples in frustration. His head ached. His shoulders were stiff. The scent of ink and wax clung to his sleeves. He needed a way to draw Ruslan far away. A way that wouldn’t put Lydia in danger. A perfect illusion.

Then, just as he stepped out of his study for some air, he paused.

Someone was walking down the stairs.

At first, he almost called out, thinking it was Lydia. But then the woman turned slightly. She was older, but from behind, her figure and hair resembled Lydia’s. The same soft wave. The same posture. Her shawl dragged behind her like a whisper.

That was when the idea struck.

What if they both didn’t leave?

What if it just looked like they did?

A decoy.

He turned sharply and started searching the palace corridors. He passed several young guards and male servants until he found one. Around his height, slim build, sharp nose, quiet eyes. Perfect.

The palace air was heavy with candle smoke and distant echoes. Paintings stared blankly from the walls. Minutes later, both the female and male servants were standing in front of him in his study. They looked nervous. The fire in the hearth crackled softly behind him, throwing flickers of light against the walls.

Ivan leaned forward, fingers laced under his chin.

"By dawn, you will leave the palace," he said. "You will travel in a royal carriage. Guards will follow you. You will act as the Grand Duke and Duchess."

The two of them gasped.

"Your Highness? Why?"

"You don’t need to know why," Ivan said calmly. "You will be well rewarded. Enough gold to start your own life. You will never serve again. But you must follow every instruction exactly."

They nodded, still overwhelmed.

Ivan leaned back, already thinking of the next move. His fingers tapped once against the desk. He stared at the flickering candle beside him, shadows dancing across his face.

---

Meanwhile, Lydia tossed in her bed. The sheets felt too warm. Her chest too heavy. Sleep wouldn’t come. Not even for a second.

The moonlight spilled through the window, pale and cold. The curtains swayed gently, letting in soft bursts of winter air. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Ivan. How strange he had been since their return from the capital. The fear in his eyes. The way he touched her hair that night when he thought she was asleep.

She sighed and turned again. Her heart ached. Was he pushing her away again?

Down the hallway, Ivan walked slowly. It was almost midnight. He was supposed to be resting before leaving at dawn, but he couldn’t.

He needed to see her. Just for a second.

He opened the door gently. The room was dim. He saw her lying down. Her back was to him. He assumed she was asleep.

He stood for a while, just looking at her. Then quietly turned to leave.

Her voice stopped him.

"Ivan? You came."

He turned slowly. His heart clenched.

She sat up a little. Her eyes looked tired, but warm.

"Please don’t go," she said. "Just stay with me. I can’t sleep. Maybe if you stay... I will."

He didn’t answer. He just nodded softly, removed his coat, and walked over.

He laid beside her, his back turned, keeping some space between them. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken things. The only sound was their breathing, slow and uneven.

Minutes passed.

Neither of them slept.

Lydia lay still, watching him. Her eyes softened.

"Sometimes you’re warm," she said quietly. "Sometimes you’re cold. Why won’t you let me in?"

He didn’t respond. He stayed still, pretending to sleep.

She thought he had dozed off. Slowly, she moved closer. She could feel the heat of his body now.

Her fingers reached out on their own. She gently ran them along his arm.

Ivan tensed.

Her breath tickled the back of his neck.

Then she whispered, as if confessing to the dark,

"I wish you knew how much I want you."

She leaned forward and kissed the back of his neck. Softly. Gently. Like she was afraid it would wake him.

But it did more than wake him.

It shattered him.

In one swift motion, Ivan turned to face her. Her eyes widened in surprise.

He didn’t say anything. He just reached out, pinned her gently on the bed close, kissed her.

Hungrily.

Lydia gasped, then melted into him.

He paused for a moment, his lips barely touching hers. "Lydia... if we don’t stop now, I’ll lose it."

Her hand held his collar tightly. "Then lose it," she whispered. "Just for tonight. Don’t think. Just feel."

That was all he needed.

Ivan kissed her again, slower this time, as if trying to memorize the taste of her. Their mouths moved in sync, hungry yet hesitant, tasting, breathing, yearning. His hands cupped her cheeks, then slowly slid down to her neck, brushing her skin like it was made of silk.

Lydia’s fingers found the buttons of his shirt. One by one, she undid them, her hands shaking slightly. Ivan watched her with dark eyes, his chest rising and falling. When she finished, he pulled it off and tossed it aside. Then his hands went to her waist, slowly lifting her nightgown over her head. She raised her arms, letting him undress her, her breath catching in her throat as her skin met the cool air.

He looked at her for a long time.

Not with lust.

But with something deeper.

His fingers traced the lines of her collarbone, then moved to her chest. He bent his head and kissed her there—softly at first, right above her heart. Then lower. His lips brushed over the curve of her breast, his breath warm against her skin. Lydia gasped when he kissed her nipple, gently sucking it into his mouth, his tongue circling slowly.

Her back arched off the bed.

"Ivan..." she whispered, her fingers tangling in his hair.

He moved to the other side, giving it the same attention, making her writhe beneath him. Then he kissed lower—her ribs, her belly, the soft dip just above her hip.

Lydia’s hands were everywhere. On his shoulders, his back, his arms. She pulled him up and kissed him deeply, her legs wrapping around his hips as if she couldn’t bear to let him go.

He groaned softly into her mouth, losing himself in the warmth of her body. He ran his hands along her thighs, spreading them slowly, reverently. Then he lowered himself between her legs and kissed her inner thigh. She gasped again, trembling.

"Tell me if it’s too much," he whispered against her skin.

"It’s not," she said, breathless. "It’s not enough."

He smiled softly, and kissed her again. Then he rose, looking into her eyes as he aligned himself with her. For a moment, he paused, his breath shaking.

"Lydia," he whispered, "if I do this... I won’t be able to stop."

She cupped his face, eyes burning into his. "Then don’t."

And he didn’t.

He entered her slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully inside. Lydia gasped, her nails digging into his back. He held still for a moment, just to feel her. Just to feel them—together, complete.

Then he began to move.

Rhythmically. Tenderly. With growing need.

Her legs tightened around him, pulling him closer. Their bodies met again and again, a rising wave neither of them could control. Ivan kissed her lips, her jaw, her neck—every part of her he could reach. His hands roamed her body, claiming her, worshipping her.

She met him with the same fire. Her moans filled the room like music. Every time he went deeper, she whispered his name like it was sacred.

He buried his face in her neck. "You feel like home," he murmured, breathless.

Her eyes filled with tears. She held him tighter. "Then stay."

They moved together, faster now, caught in the storm. The heat, the pressure, the love — it was too much. Too beautiful. Too raw.

And when they finally came undone, it was in each other’s arms, mouths locked, hearts racing.

And in that moment, they weren’t broken.

They were whole.

---

Afterward, they stayed tangled in each other’s arms. Her head rested against his chest. His hand stroked her hair slowly.

She looked up at him.

"Will you ever let me all the way in, Ivan?"

He didn’t answer.

He kissed her forehead instead.

A soft, lingering kiss.

As if to say he wanted to.

But couldn’t promise.

Not yet.

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