CHAPTER 42: BARE AND BURNING

"T-take it off?"

"Yes."

Ilaria froze, caught between relief and the vertigo of exposure. He looked serious enough to make the world narrow around her; to make the air itself tremble. She curled her toes, trying to fold herself beneath the nightgown like a small, fragile bloom retreating from the sun.

But he held her ankle with quiet insistence, the touch cold and certain, anchoring her in place.

"I-I don’t think that’s necessary..." she whispered, voice fluttering.

"Why?"

"W-why?" Her cheeks burned like lanterns in a dark room. "Because...I-I’ll be exposed!"

"Exposed to what?"

"You!...It’s embarrassing!" She twisted, trying to shield herself, but the air between them seemed to push her back, insistent and intimate. "You’ll see...all of me...!"

He exhaled, a sigh that was neither patience nor frustration, just the weight of inevitability. "This isn’t about vanity or embarrassment. You’re overheating and clothes are making it worse. Remove it, and we can start cooling you properly."

Ilaria’s heart thudded painfully in her chest.

Cooling me? Him...helping me? Alone?

She took a deep swallow, trying to rationalize it. "A-alright...but I can do it myself," she offered, extending a hand, hoping to reclaim some control.

"Can you?" he asked, holding out the cold cloth with the patience of a Saint and the deadpan of a God, knowing she would complain.

And she did. Her hand had only closed around the icy fabric for barely ten seconds before she yanked it back, clutching it as if it had frozen to death.

"T-that’s...n-negative degrees!" She cried out, glaring at him as though he was the one who had thrown her into the snow.

Now the bed is wet. But Levan merely took the cloth from staining the sheets and dipped it back into the ice bucket, snickering quietly under his breath. "...Told you."

She bit her lip, trying to think of another way out. "How about— my maids...they could help me," she suggested.

"You want them to see you like this?" he raised a brow questioningly, and Ilaria wilted.

"O-of course...no..." she whispered meekly. It was not a matter of trust, but the thought of them seeing their lady burning up like a desperate she-wolf was enough to make her freeze in panic.

"Good," he said, his thumb brushed lightly over her ankle like an anchor she could not resist. "Then do it."

Her hands hovered over the fabric of her nightgown. The warmth that is still pooling through her body made every inch of her hyper-aware.

He must be insane. Is this really just cooling? Or am I...imagining everything?

With a shaky breath, she began to slide the gown over her shoulders, each movement painfully slow as if the air itself was conspiring to make her embarrassment worse. Her gaze shot up to his face, praying that he would not look at her the way she feared.

Levan, as usual, betrayed nothing, though the sharp tilt of his brow suggested he was noting everything: her hesitation, the flutter of her eyelashes, the rising colour across her skin. And for that, she found herself withered.

Ah...I can’t do it...

Levan’s focus drifted down for the briefest moment, taking in the way the gown hung halfway on her shoulders, teasingly exposing her collarbone and the rising flush along her chest. He observed the subtle tremor of her fingers and the way she tried to shrink back.

"You’re taking longer than you should," he commented boredly, lifting the gown slightly for emphasis. "It’s only one piece."

Ilaria’s jaw dropped as she pressed her arms against her chest. "It-It’s just one piece?! One piece that holds my dignity!"

Levan nudged his chin towards the bucket beside the bedside table. "The ice already melt, and your temperature is rising again."

She shifted uncomfortably, flustered. "Do you...not consider that maybe I’m like this because of you?"

Levan regarded her for several seconds before speaking in that same judicious, infuriatingly calm tone, "If it makes you feel better, I’ve seen women’s bodies before."

Her jaw dropped even further. "W-what?! T-that was supposed to make me feel better?!"

Levan’s lips twitched at her reaction, though he gave no other sign of amusement. "Yes, so stop pretending this is unusual."

"But...but...it is

unusual...I mean, I—" she fumbled, incapable of forming a coherent protest when he abruptly stand up, cutting her words short.

He sank back down only to slid one knee on the bed and gripped her ankle with that same firm and unyielding hold, easily pulling her by the leg. "Stay still," he commanded.

Ilaria’s eyes widened to saucers when her body move against her will, her fingers digging into the mattress as if that could hold her in place. "W-what are you—?!"

Without a word, Levan’s arm moved around her lower back, lifting her just a little, enough to allow the nightgown to slide down smoothly over her body. Ilaria squeaked, flailing to cover herself like a trapped bird, her face a mix of horror and disbelief. "H-husband! S-stay back! S-stop!"

He ignored the shrieks, moving with controlled motions as if he were simply performing a medical procedure rather than making her melt from embarrassment. "Relax," he said. "You’re not going to fall."

She shrieked, scandalized. "That’s not the issue! I-I rather fall than have you holding me like this!"

Levan stilled once the gown slipped away, keeping her close against him as he discarded the gown carelessly. His grip at her waist tightened, and for a fleeting moment Ilaria feared something about her body had unsettled him because he was staring at her like he had just discovered something strange. But then he looked away, jaw flexing as he exhaled a long, heavy breath.

Her heart skipped a beat, heat rushing hotter than ever through her veins.

After a moment, he finally looked back, expression carefully neutral again, as if nothing had transpired. He spotted a small decorative pillow resting on the bed beside them and picked it up, pushing it on top of her.

"Here," he ushered. "Hug it."

For a heartbeat, Ilaria went still before clutching the pillow to her chest with a startled squeak. Heat rushed to her ears, burning hotter than ever.

Levan gave an approval hum at the sight before turning his attention back to the bucket. "Be cooperative and I’ll finish quickly."

She nuzzled the pillow, too shy and flustered to respond.

He just made me hold a pillow to cover myself and I’m melting like a fool...

Without wasting any more time, Levan dipped the cloth into the icy water again, wringing it tightly before draping it over her shoulder. His movements were tentative like earlier, gliding the chilled fabric along her skin, tracing her collarbone, the curve of her arms and down to her waist.

But there was a bigger problem.

"Ah..." Ilaria could not help herself. The cold touch made her shiver, but the sound that escaped her — half gasp, half moan — sounded almost like...something else entirely.

At first, Levan ignored it, knowing that the chill must have felt biting on her scorched skin. But after a series of lewd sounds coming from her mouth, he paused his motion, exasperated. "Do not make that sound," he warned, the edge of frustration unmistakable.

Ilaria’s eyes went wide at the realization. She bit down hard on the pillow she clutched to muffle herself. How could she not? Even through the cold fabric, she could still feel his warm hand moving over her skin, it was methodical and almost clinical, but there was a presence to it that made her heart race faster.

She dared to peek up at him from behind the pillow, watching the golden eyes that always unnerved her. The way he kept his eyes focused as if he had done this before, the tension in his broad shoulders, the faint twitch of his lips as he wrung the next cloth...she felt herself utterly captivated.

...He looks so commanding...and I’m supposed to be annoyed, but I can’t stop staring...

Her grip on the pillow hardened as she buried half of her face in it, her mind racing, caught between bashfulness, longing, and an undeniable flutter of something perilously close to desire.

Levan’s hand moved further, lifting her leg gently but firmly so he could reach beneath her thigh with the cold cloth. Ilaria went rigid, a sharp intake of breath escaping her when the icy fabric brushed against her sensitive skin. Because if he moved lower...

She reacted swiftly, clasping her thighs together, speaking with frantic yet barely audible voice. "I-I’m not...I’m not burning...there...!"

Levan’s gaze veered down, unamused but assessing. "Is that so?" His thumb pressed lightly against the inside of her thigh, just enough to test, not to push. "You’re trembling here."

Ilaria stiffened further, pressing her legs harder while trying to pry his hand away. "I-I...I’m fine! Really!" she protested.

At the unmistakable persistence, he let her have her way. He removed his hand from her inner thighs and adjusted the cold cloth against the upper part of her thigh instead. "You’re hotter than before. The herbs aren’t enough, are they?"

She shook her head. Why does he have to sound so unaffected while doing this? She pressed her face into the pillow again, muffling tiny, pitiful noises that he probably would not hear if it was not only them in the room. "...It was enough...I’m just embarrassed, that’s all..."

Levan did not spare her another glance as he continue to wipe down her feet. Silence settled in the room once more until Ilaria broke it again.

"...When you said you’ve seen women’s bodies before..." She began hesitantly. "...Who were you talking about?"

Levan did not look up, his focus still on the cold cloth as he moved it carefully over her knees and said, "It’s not important."

"I-it is important!" she insisted quietly. "You just said it, so I need to know!"

His eyes flicked toward her briefly, like he was weighing whether to humour her. "Why do you want to know?"

Ilaria’s heart stuttered. "Because...I’m...I’m your...wife?"

"Your point being?"

"My point is..." she faltered, her throat working in a nervous swallow. No matter how she tried to mask it, the edge of jealousy was palpable in her tone. "I’m curious...about who you’ve been with..."

He did not answer right away. The cloth brushed along her calf, and then the other, before he spoke again, "...You’re imagining things."

She did not say anything further after that, thinking that she would only irritate him if she pester anymore, and it did not go unnoticed by him. Although with half her face covered, he could still see the dejected look on her face.

Levan exhaled slowly, a controlled breath, then angled his head so that his gaze was fixed on hers. "...Fine." His voice was flat, but the words struck like a hammer. "It was a dead woman. There, you have my word."

At that, Ilaria snapped her gaze back to him, shocked, clearly did not expect him to say that. "A...dead woman?"

He simply nodded, as if that ended the conversation. "Yes. Now, stay still."

Her mind spun, utterly dumbfounded as she stared up at him. A dead woman...?? The words echoed in her head, twisting with questions she did not dare voice aloud.

Her fingers twitched around the pillow and her lips parted, wanting to ask why, how, who, but no sound came. She could only watch him, trying to decipher that unreadable expression yet somehow holding secrets.

And in that charged silence, she sensed that what he was not saying might matter far more than what he had just revealed.