Chapter 60: Journey Through Ice And Longing
The next morning came quietly. It was the break of dawn, the kind of hour when the world still seemed half asleep. The sky was painted in a dull blue, with a pale touch of morning light. Outside, the air was freezing. The trees were bare, their branches stiff with frost, and everything felt quiet and heavy, like the cold had silenced the world.
The carriage stood ready outside, dark and strong, its wheels lightly dusted with snow. The horses snorted softly, their breath visible in the cold air. Guards in thick coats sat tall on their horses, ready to escort the royal carriage. A few servants stood close by, their faces red from the wind.
Ivan stepped out first. He wore a thick, dark gray coat that brushed his boots, with silver buttons that caught the soft light. His leather gloves were black, and a fur-lined cloak hung from his shoulders. His dark hair was combed neatly, and he looked every inch the prince he was—but there was a coldness in his expression that made him seem unreachable.
Lydia came after him. Her dress was a soft pink, thick enough to keep her warm, with a long, flowing skirt that brushed the snow. Over the dress, she wore a blue hooded cape lined with white fur. The blue hood framed her golden hair as it peeked out softly. She had gloves on too, and her cheeks were already turning pink from the cold. Her eyes looked tired and sad.
Katherine and Tatiana stood near the entrance of the palace, watching them in silence. No words were exchanged. The goodbyes were already understood.
Without a word, Lydia and Ivan climbed into the carriage. The door closed, and the carriage slowly began to move.
The ride was painfully quiet. Only the sounds of hooves crunching on snow and the gentle rocking of the carriage filled the silence. Lydia held a book in her gloved hands, but she wasn’t reading it. Every now and then, she looked up at Ivan sadly, hoping he would look back. But he didn’t. His eyes were fixed on the window beside him. Cold, distant.
It reminded her of when they first got married—how he would barely speak to her, how he made her feel invisible. Her heart ached, and she bit her lower lip, trying not to cry again. She looked back down at her book, pretending to read, but her thoughts were far away.
She began to shiver slightly. The cold was getting worse. The farther they rode, the more bitter the wind became. She pulled her cloak tighter, but it wasn’t enough.
Ivan, who hadn’t looked at her once, did so now. When she wasn’t watching, he stole small glances at her. He could see her shivering. He could see how pale she looked, how she kept trying to hide her sadness behind the book.
He tapped on the roof of the carriage. The rider stopped. Ivan called for a servant.