Ivan sat alone in his study, the fire in the hearth crackling quietly, but its warmth couldn’t reach the cold sinking into his chest.
His elbows rested on the desk, fingers rubbing slow circles against his temples. The candlelight flickered softly above the untouched parchnt in front of him.
He had been thinking for hours. Turning the sa thought over and over again.
How do I stop him?
He couldn’t leave. Not now. Ruslan was close — too close. He could be hiding anywhere, watching anyone. A ssenger wouldn’t make it two steps out of the palace without being caught and killed. Ruslan had too many eyes. Too many hands.
He glanced at the window, then the small birdcage in the corner. A faint idea sparked in his mind.
Ruslan was a good shot. One of the best.
But he wasn’t perfect.
Ivan stood from his desk slowly and walked to the cage. There were five birds — strong ones. Trained. He opened the door gently and stroked one of them with care.
"If I send one," he whispered to himself, "he’ll shoot it down."
But what if he sent more?
If he sent several birds at once, on the sa path, then maybe... just maybe... one would survive.
Ruslan’s hands were quick, yes. But Ivan knew his own mind was quicker.
He sat down again and quickly wrote a short ssage:
"Ruslan is alive. I need your help."
He folded it carefully and wrote sothing else — sothing hidden — using vinegar. The words would only appear when the paper was gently heated.
"Help find his weakness."
This was ant only for one man. General Nikolai.
He folded the ssage and attached it to one bird.
The others — four of them — he sent out with sa notes. Just enough weight to feel real. Just enough to fool anyone who got curious.
He handed the birds to his most trusted guards.
"All at once," he ordered. "Sa direction. No mistakes."
The guards nodded.
They moved to the balcony and, on his signal, opened their hands.
The birds flew.
One after the other, wings flapping fast and strong into the cold sky.
Ivan stood still, watching.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t blink.
---
A few miles outside the palace, Ruslan was crouched in the shadows of a snowy pine tree, his rifle aid and ready. Beside him, Anatoly stood silently, watching the sky.
The mont the first bird appeared, Ruslan fired. The shot rang out sharp and clean.
The bird dropped.
Another ca. Another shot. Then another bird.
He cursed.
Then a third bird flew out, and a fourth.
He fired again — hit one — missed the next.
He fired a fifth ti — missed.
He narrowed his eyes and lowered the gun.
One bird had gotten away.
Ruslan stood slowly, his eyes following the tiny shape disappearing into the pale clouds.
He gave a slow, sharp smile.
"Still smart after all," he muttered.
Anatoly bent down and picked up one of the fallen birds. He removed the note and handed it to Ruslan.
Ruslan read it, his brow furrowing. It was vague — too vague. There was no na, no address. Nothing useful. Just informing soone that Ruslan was alive. He couldn’t see the hidden ssage.
Anatoly looked up at him. "What is it, sire?"
Ruslan didn’t answer imdiately. He just kept staring at the sky.
"He thinks he’s clever," Ruslan finally said. "But he forgets... that bird will return."
He looked down at the bird in his hand.
"And when it does," he added coldly, "I can still kill it. And get the ssage before you do. So all your efforts are for nothing. Dear Prince Ivan."
---
Back inside the palace, the fire had burned lower in Ivan’s study. The ssage was gone. The birds had flown. There was nothing else to do but wait.
Ivan leaned back in his chair, exhausted.
The clock ticked loudly on the wall. The silence was heavy.
There was a knock.
He didn’t answer.
The door creaked open anyway.
Lydia stepped in quietly, holding a small tray of food. She had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, her cheeks still soft with the flush of evening.
Ivan didn’t look up.
"Leave," he said sharply.
She paused, surprised by the coldness in his voice. But she didn’t back away.
"I noticed you haven’t eaten all day," she said softly. "So I brought you sothing."
"I’m not hungry."
"Still," she whispered, walking to the desk, "I’ll leave it here."
She placed the tray gently on the corner of the table.
He still hadn’t looked at her.
She turned to leave, but sothing in her heart made her stop at the door. She looked back at him.
"You know him," she said.
Ivan’s head lifted slowly.
She t his eyes.
"The man who killed my parents," Lydia said, her voice steady but low. "You know him. Don’t you?"
Ivan stayed quiet.
She stepped forward again, speaking gently.
"That’s why you’re doing this. All of this. You’re trying to protect ."
He stared at her for a long mont. Then finally, he nodded.
"Yes," he said. "His na is Ruslan Zaitsev. Soone I used to know... soone I should have killed years ago."
Lydia’s breath caught in her throat.
She had guessed it... but hearing it confird sent a wave of cold through her chest.
Her lips parted. "Why didn’t you?"
Ivan looked away. His voice cracked slightly when he spoke.
"I was young. Foolish. I thought there was still sothing good in him."
He clenched his fists. "But there wasn’t. And now... he’s haunting us both."
Lydia stepped forward again, her voice trembling now.
"Do you think he’ll co again?"
"I know he will," Ivan said. "He’s playing a ga. And he always finishes what he starts."
She lowered her gaze. Her voice was almost a whisper.
"And what will you do if he cos for ?"
Ivan’s answer ca instantly. He looked her dead in the eyes.
"I’ll kill him."
There was silence again.
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