CHAPTER 35: SILENT KILLER

The steady rhythm of approaching boots broke the quiet atmosphere they had build. From the shadowed entrance stepped a tall man dressed in black and silver, his bearing as rigid as the marble columns themselves. His hair, streaked faintly with iron at the temples, was neatly combed back, and his sharp eyes betrayed nothing of warmth.

Ilaria recognized him at once. It was the King’s personal aide. The man who seemed to hover at her father-in-law’s side like an extension of his will every time she saw the King outside the comfort of his chamber. The man’s presence was enough to silence even the most restless hall.

"Your Highness," he bowed respectfully to the both of them before turning to Levan, his voice carrying the weight of order without needing to say more. "His Majesty, the King, requests your presence."

Levan inclined his head, a statue carved of composure. He gave the aide a single nod. "Very well."

His gaze flicked back to Ilaria as he move to stand properly. For the barest instant, the unyielding steel in him seemed tempered. "Stop reading for today," he told her, his tone quiet but firm. "You won’t digest a single word if your mind won’t keep still."

Before she could respond, he had already turned, following the aide with brisk steps, his tall frame disappearing beyond the library’s towering doors, leaving her with nothing but the lingering echo of his voice and the ache of the revelation.

Fiancée...The word rang in her mind again, sharp as a stone against glass. She closed her book and returned to her chamber that day with her heart heavy.

A week passed, and it seemed like Levan had vanished right after the King’s aide called him that day at the library. Ilaria had tried to visit his chamber with sweets only to be met with the Chamberlain’s words of him being absent. She wondered where he had gone.

Perhaps politics demanded his presence again, or perhaps he was meeting with—

She shook her head. Of course he was. House Dorovian was closely tied to the palace; it was only natural for Levan to see Seraphine often. He had said it himself, Seraphine had stood beside him during campaigns. They were probably speaking even now.

The thought gave her no comfort. Some days she wondered what might have been if she had been raised differently; if she had been taught politics and strategy as her sister had rather than embroidery and the art of entertaining guests and...baking. Perhaps then she could stand beside him on campaign too, not merely as a wife left behind.

So she kept to the library, in the same quiet alcove, poring over the history of King Agrathen like a scholar obsessed with knowledge. She had not made it far, but at least she had passed ten pages. That was progress, however small.

From what she gathered, King Agrathen’s brilliance on the battlefield was matched only by his habit of sending endless letters to his commanders. Each letter, in essence, said the same thing: do not lose. The words he spoke was poised, statusque, and tenacious, like he was always so sure of himself.

How fitting. Because King Agrathen sounded suspiciously like her husband — relentless, steadfast, always giving orders as though the world itself had no choice but to follow. Maybe this was where Levan inherited his deadpanned nature. She wondered if the great King had the same stonecold facade too.

Ilaria did not linger for long. She barely made it through another page before stretching her arms and deciding a change of scenery was in order. Trotting off to the kitchens, she was accompanied by Vivienne today. The young girl was still hesitant around her, but at least she no longer bowed her head as though speaking to the princess were a sin in itself.

Today’s dessert was macarons. Her little jar had emptied the other day, so it was time to restock.

Ilaria rolled up her sleeves and began sifting almond flour into the bowl, the fine powder clinging to her fingers like dusted snow. With practiced ease, she whisked the egg whites until they foamed, humming softly under her breath.

"Do you like macarons, Vivi?" she asked, glancing up with a smile as she tilted the bowl to show her the glossy mixture.

Vivienne was startled to be addressed so casually. "Ah— I...I do, Your Highness."

"Then what flavour do you like best?" Ilaria asked, her tone light as she carefully folded the sugar into the meringue.

Vivienne hesitated, fingers knotting in her apron before she murmured, "...Strawberry." Her cheeks coloured faintly, as if embarrassed by the simple answer.

Ilaria’s eyes brightened at once. "That’s my favourite too! Strawberry it is, then! Pink shells with strawberry cream is perfect," she grinned, tapping the whisk against the side of the bowl. "I promise they’ll look as sweet as you."

Vivienne’s lips twitched, an almost-smile crept on her lips before she ducked her head quickly.

Ilaria reached for the jars lined neatly on the shelf, humming as she set out the flavourings. "Strawberry, strawberry..." she murmured, fingers brushing past clay jars until they landed on a particular one.

It was the chocolate powder the kitchens has restocked for her, making her purse her lips in wonder, but only for a beat as curiosity pricked at her.

What if...

"Strawberry for you," she said, glancing back at Vivienne with a reassuring smile. Then she set down another bowl beside the one already on the table. "And maybe...chocolate for me."

She began separating the mixture with brisk little motions, pouring some into the second bowl before adding the familiar chocolate powder. At least that way, Vivienne’s batch stayed untouched, while her own could be experimented on.

She had never made chocolate macarons before because strawberry had always been her weakness, and she saw no reason to change that. But maybe she could do exception today.

Let’s see how this new ingredient performs.

She sifted the chocolate powder into the glossy meringue, watching the pale white swirl slowly transform into a deep, velvety brown. The smell was richer and heavier than the bright sweetness of strawberry, and it made her wrinkle her nose before laughing at herself.

Vivienne, standing a little awkwardly at her side, passed her the piping bag when asked, and together they squeezed neat circles onto the tray — Ilaria with the chocolate, and Vivienne with the strawberry pink.

"Not too close," Ilaria reminded lightly as she nudged Vivienne’s hand away from crowding the rows. The maid quickly adjusted.

Soon, the trays were ready, gleaming rows of strawberry pink on one side and chocolate brown on the other. Vivienne slid the tray into the oven, the heat blooming across both their faces.

"Now we wait," Ilaria declared, dusting her hands against her apron with a faint grin. She leaned lightly on the counter, proud of their work. "If they don’t collapse in there, we’ll have a proper feast after."

Vivienne glanced at the oven, then back at her. Melyn has told her that the princess adore baking, but she did not expect she was this passionate. "...Do they collapse often, Your Highness?"

Ilaria laughed softly. "Only when I get too excited and open the door before they’re ready. I’ve ruined more than one tray that way."

The maid’s lips curved despite herself. "Then perhaps...I should stand guard in case you’re tempted."

"You dare doubt my restraint?" Ilaria gasped, hand over her chest in mock offense before breaking into a grin once again.

Time slipped by with their easy banter, and soon the scent of sugar and chocolate filled the kitchen. When the time was up, Vivienne carefully pulled the trays free, steam curling in the air, and the shells had risen perfectly, causing both of them to stare in fascination.

Together, they worked on the finishing touches. Ilaria piping cream into the chocolate ones, while Vivienne sandwiching the pink shells with steady hands.

"See?" Ilaria said, holding one up proudly. "Not a collapse in sight."

She carefully set aside her empty glass jar, filling it with the chocolate macarons one by one, humming to herself as though she was arranging treasures. Beside it, she pulled another jar forward and began tucking the strawberry ones inside, her expression soft with satisfaction.

When she turned, Vivienne was already shaking her head, hands half-raised. "I can’t possibly accept this—"

"You can and you will," Ilaria cut in, her tone playful yet resolute. She nudged the strawberry-filled jar toward her, eyes bright with anticipation that anyone would feel guilty to refuse. "You’ve been working so hard, and I refuse to eat all of these by myself. That would be a tragedy."

Vivienne hesitated. Her gaze flicked between the jar and the princess, cheeks faintly pink, mirroring the colour of the macarons.

"Go on, Vivi," Ilaria pressed gently, her smile softening. "Even loyal soldiers deserve their reward, and yours happens to be sweet."

Slowly, almost reverently, Vivienne accepted the jar as if it were some rare relic she had no right to touch. The princess was far too kind for a world that was not built to spare souls like hers.

In that moment, Vivienne swore silently that she would never betray her. No matter the order, no matter the cost, she would sooner break herself than see harm come to the princess who trusted so easily.

"Thank you, Your Highness. I-I’ll treasure it," Vivienne murmured, bowing her head meekly.

"You’re welcome~" Ilaria sing-song, before turning back to admire her own jar of sweets. The chocolate macarons gleamed temptingly against the glass, and she plucked one out with the delight of a child sneaking candy, taking a bite.

The shell cracked delicately under her teeth, giving way to the rich, velvety chocolate ganache within. Her eyes widened. "Saints—" she gasped softly, covering her mouth as though someone might accuse her of indecency for enjoying it so much. "This...is delicious!"

She quickly popped the rest into her mouth, savouring the deep sweetness that lingered on her tongue, a richness unlike her usual strawberry, completely heedless of the hidden danger folded into the batter.