The Bride Of The Devil

Lydia Andreyevna sat by the tall window in her room, her book resting gently on her lap. The sky outside was glowing orange—the sun slowly disappearing behind the hills. The air was quiet, and the room smelled like fresh flowers from the vase by her bed.

She was a very beautiful girl. Her hair was golden, soft and long, falling over her shoulders. Her skin was pale like snow, and her eyes were a clear blue, like the ocean she often dreamed about. Right now, she was lost in a story. In her mind, she was on a ship, sailing far away to new lands, the wind in her hair, salt in the air.

Below, in the garden, her cousins were laughing. There were four of them. Little Pyotr, only eleven, was chasing his older brother Mikhail, who had just turned fourteen. The two older girls, Anya and Elena, aged eighteen and nineteen, were picking flowers and talking softly. Lydia smiled a little. She liked watching them. It made her feel less alone.

But then, she saw something that made her heart sink.

A black carriage rolled into the driveway. The horses were large and strong, their hooves loud on the stones. The family crest on the side of the carriage glinted in the last light of the sun.

Her smile faded.

"The devil is back," she whispered to herself.

Her uncle, Lord Alexander Andreyevna, had returned from the sea. He had been gone for months, sailing with their family's ships. The Andreyevnas owned most of the ships in the kingdom of Zolotaria. He always came back with gold and goods—but he also brought tension. Everyone knew when he was in the house.

Dinner was already being prepared. The smell of roasted duck and warm bread filled the halls. The servants moved quickly, laying out the table, pouring drinks, lighting candles.

When Alexander stepped into the house, the mood changed. It always did. His boots echoed on the floors, and even the youngest servant stood straighter when he passed.

At the dinner table, everyone sat quietly at first. Then his children began to speak.

"Papa, how was the sea?" Mikhail asked.

"Did you bring us something?" Anya chimed in, smiling.

He answered them kindly, his deep voice calm and warm. He told stories of storms and faraway lands. He laughed with them and gave each of his children a small gift.

Lydia didn't say a word. She only picked at her food.

Then he turned to her.

"How old are you now?" he asked casually, not even looking her way. "Eighteen? Or something like that?"

Lydia looked up slowly. She knew he remembered. He just liked pretending not to care.

"I'm nineteen," she replied.

He smiled.

"Perfect," he said. "You're of marrying age."

Lydia placed her fork down gently and stood, her voice calm. "Marriage? That wasn't the agreement, Uncle," she said. "You promised that after my parents passed, you would teach me the business. You said I could have the ship they built for me."

He wiped his mouth slowly with a napkin and leaned back in his chair. "There's been a change of plans."

Lydia's voice shook slightly. "What kind of plans?"

He looked at her like she was a child asking too many questions. "You're getting married, Lydia. To a nobleman. A strong match. It will help our family and the business. It's time you contributed something useful."

Lydia stared at him, stunned. Her chest felt tight. "Why?" she whispered. "Why now? My parents never said anything about marriage. They... they wanted me to follow my dreams. They said I could choose my own path."

Alexander scoffed. "Your parents are dead," he said coldly, his voice rising. "And dreams don't keep ships afloat or fill coffers. This isn't about what you want."

She tried to speak again, but he cut her off sharply.

"I am the head of this family now!" he snapped, his hand slamming the table. The plates rattled. "I decide what happens, not some silly girl who reads fairy tales all day!"

Lydia's lips trembled. Her heart was breaking in silence.

"You have no right to question me," he finished, his tone like ice.

She couldn't take it anymore.

Lydia turned and ran out of the room. Her footsteps echoed as she rushed to her bedroom. She threw herself onto her bed, tears streaming down her cheeks. She tried to be quiet, but her sobs came out in sharp, broken sounds.

Back at the table, the cousins sat in silence.

Alexander took a deep breath and then smiled at them. "Go on, finish your dinner," he said softly, as if nothing had happened.

Later that night, Lydia still lay on her bed, her back to the door. Her chest ached from crying.

There was a soft knock. Then the door opened quietly.

It was the head servant, a kind woman named Galina. She had worked for the family since Lydia was a little girl. She wasn't noble, but Lydia trusted her more than anyone.

"Don't cry too much, my darling," Galina whispered, sitting beside her. She gently stroked Lydia's hair. "You know your uncle. He won't change his mind."

Lydia sniffed. "He lied to me... He promised me my ship."

Galina gave a sad smile. "Men like him forget their promises when they see gold."

Lydia turned to face her, her eyes still wet.

"I don't want to marry anyone. Not like this," she whispered.

Galina patted her hand. "Let's not think about that now. Tomorrow, I'll take you with me to the market. A walk might help you feel better."

Lydia nodded slowly. She was too tired to speak.

Galina stayed until Lydia fell asleep, her breathing soft and slow.

And outside, the moon rose over the Andreyevna house.

The devil had returned—and everything was about to change