Ivan didn't realize how hard he was gripping her until he reached her chambers. His arms shook slightly as he laid Lydia gently on her bed. She looked too still, too pale, and his bloodied hands trembled as they pulled back from her.
His heart pounded in his chest, deafening in his ears. His face was still splattered with the blood of the man he'd killed, and his palms, sticky and red, hovered in the air like he didn't know what to do with them.
The servants in the room stared in silence, unsure of what they had just witnessed. Their gazes flicked between Lydia's still body and the Grand Duke who stood over her like a lost child.
