Ivan's eyes would not leave the letter. His hands trembled as he held it, the words burning into his mind. He could not tell if he was imagining it, if grief and longing had finally broken him. But the ink was real. The handwriting was hers. Lydia's.
For a long moment, he could not breathe. The letters blurred through the tears filling his eyes. He blinked, and they only fell harder. The page shook in his grip.
He pressed it against his chest, his body curling over as sobs tore out of him. His voice broke in a whisper.
"Lydia… oh God… Lydia."
He didn't wait even a second. He stood so quickly his chair scraped loudly against the floor. His hands scrambled for his coat, pulling it on with urgency. His mind had only one thought: go to her.
He rushed out of the study. His footsteps thundered across the marble floor.
"Your Highness," the servant called after him, his voice filled with confusion. "Where are you going?"
