CHAPTER 38: TOGETHER

"..."

The expression on the prince’s face was priceless. Levan had built a reputation on being unflappable. That is — until now. His brain short-circuited, his eyes studying her like a general assessing an unpredictable battlefield. The corner of his mouth twitched, just enough to betray the faintest hint of incredulity.

He had endured enough foolishness from others to remain unshaken, but this wife of his...she had just upended his carefully maintained calm with a single, impossible sentence. And for once, he had no immediate retort, no deadpan quip to hide behind, only the rare, fleeting vulnerability of someone momentarily caught off guard.

"You said what?" His tone was calm, but every inch of him radiated annoyance. The quiet fury underneath made it clear he was simmering.

Ilaria instantly regretted opening her mouth. Heat rushed to her face as she pressed her hands over it. "N-no! I didn’t mean it! I swear, I didn’t—" Her words tumbled out faster than her thoughts.

Levan’s gaze sharpened, his shoulders stiff. He looked at her as though she had committed some grave offense. "If you’re trying to irritate me with flattery, stop. It won’t work."

"I-I’m not!" Ilaria’s eyes darted everywhere but his. "It’s...it’s not like that, I m-misspoke, just— just ignore me!"

"I’m not going to ignore you," he said flatly. "You need to stop saying nonsense where others might overhear."

Ilaria gulped.

Others? He means him, right? Yes, he means him! Oh, what do I do?!

She fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot, her panic barely contained as she tried and spectacularly failed to regain any semblance of composure. Her fingers clutched at the skirts of her dress, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice just to escape this embarrassment, her heart hammering like a frantic drum.

However, just as she gathered herself to flee, Levan’s hand moved with startling precision. Without hesitation, he reached forward and slid his palm on the side of her neck, resting just below her ear. The touch was feather-light, almost indiscernible, yet it sent an electric shiver cascading down her spine.

Her breath hitched, caught somewhere between shock and something far deeper, leaving her rooted in place. Her skin was pale under the evening light, but the warmth of her shyness made her flush instantly, creeping across her cheeks and the sensitive slope of her neck.

What?!

Why he suddenly...?!

I-is he not angry anymore...?

"...Burning like hell...what in the world have you been doing?" He murmured under his breath, his voice flat yet analytical, like a doctor inspecting a patient. He looked angry, but when he spoke, there was no trace of wrath in it, only the energy of a father wanting to reprimand his stubborn child.

Ilaria’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly as she felt the heat radiating from him; the strength and firmness of his palm when he moved to cup the side of her face. She had never been this close to him, never felt the brush of his skin on hers in such an intimate, commanding way. Maybe it was not even meant to be intimate, but what else was she supposed to think?

Levan’s thumb traced lightly along her jaw, tilting her head so he could study her better, causing her to squeak.

"You," he clicked his tongue. "Just what have you been up to? You’re burning up, and for what? Some nonsense confession that you can’t even own properly?" His tone was scolding, yet there was a weight to it that made her catch her breath.

Ilaria’s hands instinctively came up to his wrist, wanting nothing but to push his hand away, but then she hesitated, frozen by the way his palm held her cheek so attentively as if she was some fragile porcelain. Her heartbeat raced, each thump loud in her ears, and her lips trembled under the soft press of his thumb.

Oh...this is bad...

"You’re reckless." She heard him say. The heat in his voice from earlier disappearing into something almost soft as he continue to mutter, "...completely, bloody reckless..."

Ilaria felt herself soften under his touch, the sulky, defiant edge within her slowly dissolving beneath the unexpected gentleness. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she swallowed hard, the heat rising in her face now fully visible, glowing softly in the evening light.

Unpremeditatedly, she leaned into his palm, seeking permission she knew she would not receive. But surprisingly, he did not pull away, and that small tolerance emboldened her further. She shifted a bit, letting her fingers slide from his wrist to entwine with the back of his hand, holding on with quiet insistence.

She subconsciously nuzzled into his palm, her lips tugging into a tiny pout amidst her flushed face. "You’re...really cold to me, you know?" she murmured. "You’re mad at me all the time..."

"I’m not mad," he said, looking at her disapprovingly. There it goes again. That damned pout of hers. "You’re supposed to be careful. Not whatever this is."

...Is he really not?

She tilted her head, the soft sway of her hair brushing against his hand as she looked at him pleadingly, asking softly with wide eyes and pitiful furrow of her brows, "...Are you not concerned?"

"About what?"

Ilaria’s lips trembled a little. She looked almost too tender to be in the open space of the garden. "About...me? If...if something happens to me? What if I...die?"

Levan’s shoulders sagged ever so slightly, though he made no move to remove the hand she clutched so tightly. Of course, she would ask something like that. "Then protocol would be followed. The court physician summoned. You would not die."

Her jaw dropped, utterly flabbergasted at his unruffled and clinical answer. "W-what? That’s...That’s it?"

"Yes." His words were steady, but his gaze lingered on the way her fingertips pressed into his palm, each subtle movement sending a strange sensation through him. "You’re safe as long as you follow the rules, so don’t make stupid mistakes."

Ilaria’s cheeks flamed even brighter, the heat pooling low in her belly refusing to subside. She pressed her forehead against his palm again, muttering in a pout, "So...you’re not worried about me at all..."

Levan’s brow furrowed at the way she nuzzled his hand, like a cat seeking warmth and attention. His jaw ticked, and his fingers twitched slightly as he felt her lips brush against his skin, her breath uneven and shaky. Judging by her obliviousness, she had no idea what she was doing.

"...Worrying doesn’t solve anything. You’ll live as long as you stop being incautious," he said simply, though his gaze softened imperceptibly before he looked away, as if realising he was doing something stupid.

He let his eyes drift briefly to the fading light of the sky. "And for the record," he added, his tone sharper now, a hint of resignation beneath the poise, "you should not be wandering about at this hour. Noctharis isn’t safe after dark, you know it."

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he withdrew his hand from her face, careful not to pull away too quickly. His thumb brushed once over the delicate curve of her cheek, squeezing lightly, almost absentmindedly, as if checking her temperature and scolding her at the same time.

The contact lingered just long enough for Ilaria to feel it, leaving her head spinning with warmth and a faint, unspoken longing.

"Return inside," Levan spoke again, his voice carrying the quiet command that brooked no argument.

He stepped down from the gazebo, each movement calculated, the epitome of princely composure despite the deadpan expression he wore. Ilaria shifted uneasily, every nerve alive with the lingering heat and tingling from whatever it is that was messing with her system.

I must be really losing my mind...

Gathering her gown in her hands, she was about to follow him down when she noticed the same hand that had held her cheek extended towards her.

For a moment, time seemed to slow. The evening breeze stirred through the garden, teasing the dark fringes of his hair so that they fell in soft disarray across his brow. Handsome in that effortless, unthinking way of his, he seemed carved from quiet dusk itself.

Then his golden eyes found hers...serene and unshaken, yet brimming with an unspoken depth that made her want to crumble. Because in their calm, she saw again the very thing that had unraveled her heart eight years ago, the steady light that had first taught her what it meant to love.

Her breath quickened. "Husband...are you trying to kill me?" she whispered, her pulse racing with the dangerous mix of panic and longing.

Levan gave no sigh, no rebuke at her nonsense. He only said, "Let’s go back."

Ilaria’s trembling hand rose hesitantly, pressing against his for some tether in the storm of sensations swirling inside her. Levan’s fingers closed over hers with quiet certainty, firm and grounding, yet gentle enough to make her knees weaken.

Without a word, he guided her down the steps of the gazebo, their hands still clasped even after her feet already touched the ground. Each careful step mirrored the steady beat of his presence beside her, a peaceful anchor in the tempest of her thoughts and emotions.

She kept her gaze lowered as she followed him. And in that quiet, rare shared moment, the evening air seemed to hold its breath around them, the garden’s last light glinting across them as she looked down at their joined hands, melting at how perfect the moment was.