CHAPTER 50: THE DANCE THAT NEVER CAME

The week had passed in a blur of silks and whispers, and before Ilaria could quite believe it, the day had arrived. Her chamber was alive with rustling fabric and the hushed coordination of hands, the air was scented faintly with oils and pressed flowers.

She sat before the mirror, heart fluttering faster than the seamstress’ needle as they pinned the last touches to her gown. Every time she thought to sit still, her reflection betrayed her. Melyn was not here today, so she could not flaunt her anticipation carelessly.

By the time the final ribbon was tied, Ilaria rose to her feet, smoothing her skirts with trembling hands. She drew a long breath, but it was no use, the excitement swelled in her chest like a song she could not contain.

She decided to go for a soft look, choosing a gown of pale pastels that shifted between blush pink and silvery blue, its layers of tulle and delicate embellishments giving her the air of a dream. The fitted bodice curved into a gentle sweetheart shape, veiled by sheer, billowing sleeves that brushed against her arms like whispers of silk.

"It’s so beautiful...I feel like I’m wearing a cloud," Ilaria breathed, turning side by side before the mirror with wide, eager eyes. "Do you think it’s too much? Or not enough?"

The seamstress chuckled softly, adjusting the fall of the sleeve with expert fingers. "I think it’s just enough, Your Highness. It is subtle but still radiant. You look like the epitome of dawn breaking after a long night."

Ilaria’s cheeks warmed. "Then it’s perfect!" She chimed and twirled around until she was facing the seamstress. "I want to look gentle, not like I’m trying to demand the whole hall’s attention. Just enough that when people see me, they’ll know I’m happy with my husband."

The seamstress’ eyes gentled at the words, before she carefully caressed the strands of her hair. It felt like she was listening to a mistress marrying the love of her life for the first time. "I think everyone will know that without a single word spoken, princess."

Ilaria’s lips curved into a smile that threatened to spill laughter. She clasped the seamstress’ hands. "Thank you for the dress..." she said earnestly, her voice softer now. "I know it’s your hands that made every stitch so careful, and your heart that shaped it into something this beautiful. It feels like a gift, not just a gown."

The seamstress gaped, her hands slowed, startled by such genuine words coming from the princess’ mouth. For a moment she had to lower her gaze, overwhelmed, for no royal had ever spoken to her so before, nor were they expected to. After all, it was her duty to sew, nothing more. And yet, gratitude welled in her chest all the same.

"It is my honour to serve you, Your Highness," she said, grateful. "I only wished to make something worthy of you, but if you are pleased, then I could ask for nothing more."

Ilaria’s grin lingered as her gaze returned to the mirror. For a heartbeat she almost did not recognize herself, caught by the glow that happiness had painted across her reflection. She did not wish to sound vain, yet in that instant, with joy shining so openly from within, she felt like she might as well be the most beautiful woman in the world.

Upon remembering something, she reached for a small velvet box that had been tucked safely away among her things. Her fingers lingered on its lid before she opened it, revealing a necklace her mother had pressed into her hands years ago. A simple chain, fine as spun light, bearing a pendant of opal framed in silver.

Her expression softened. She could still remember her mother’s voice as she fastened it around a much younger Ilaria’s neck: ’Whenever you feel uncertain, Aria, wear this. It will remind you of where you come from, and of how deeply you are loved.’

She slipped it on with her heart full. The opal rested warm against her collarbone. She fussed over the clasp, adjusting it to make sure it sat perfectly. Then, at last, she sat by the doorway, hands folded neatly over her lap, afraid to crease the fabric of her gown.

The pocket watch on the table became her only anchor as her gaze flicked to it again and again, each tick a reminder that the moment she has been waiting for was drawing closer.

As she waited, her lips moved soundlessly, whispering the familiar counts of the waltz. One, two, three. One, two, three. She could almost feel the warmth of a guiding hand at her back, the sure strength of a partner leading her across the marble floor. Dancing had always been the heart of any grand banquet, but for her, it was something more.

Her father’s laughter stirred in her memory, the way he would sweep her off her little feet in Caelwyn’s great hall, his voice rich and steady as he counted with her, spinning her until the world blurred. She still remembered the music from those days. They are distant now, yet they are still etched into her heart as though it were the most cherished memento she had ever known.

Tonight, she told herself, it would be different. Tonight, she would dance again, not as a little girl in her father’s arms anymore, but as a wife, standing beside the man she loved.

"Smile gracefully, don’t trip," she murmured to herself, gripping her fists in determination as she quietly encouraged herself. She checked her reflection once more while smoothing her skirts and adjusting her hair until every strand was where it ought to be.

Thus time slipped by like silk unwinding. She checked the watch again. Five minutes. Ten. Thirty. And she thought that perhaps her husband was delayed or she had just been too excited and got ready earlier than she was supposed to. So she rose, paced a little, then sat again, her shoulders beginning to ache beneath the gown’s weight.

But still, with a smile, she waited.

Her heart leapt at every passing footstep, only to sink again when it faded. The thrill frayed thread by thread until weariness shadowed her eyes. By the third hour, she was slumped against her chair, skirts pooling heavy around her. The necklace pressed heavily at her collarbone, no longer warm, as though it had tired of waiting.

Just a little longer. She reminded herself.

But when the candle on her desk burned nearly halfway down, resolve tugged her to her feet. Perhaps he thought she would meet him in his chamber instead. During the family dinner last time, he had not come to fetch her either.

Maybe he forgot.

Gathering her skirts, she stepped into the corridor. Each stride carried a nervous flutter of relief.

Yes, he must be waiting there.

At the familiar threshold, she greeted the guards with her usual radiant smile. "Good evening."

One of the guards straightened at once, his composure faltering just slightly as his gaze caught on her. The pale shimmer of her gown, the shone of her platinum blonde hair, and the soft glow of her smile made him hesitate before remembering himself. He dipped into a swift bow. "Good evening, Your Highness."

Her smile brightened as she asked gently, the hopeful radiance in her eyes was unmistakable. "Is Prince Levan inside?"

The guard bowed respectfully. And the moment he opened his mouth, Ilaria thought the world had shattered.

"The prince is not present at the moment, princess. His Highness was summoned to a banquet and departed several hours ago."

Huh...?

The words struck like ice.

For a moment, she could not move. It was like every cell in her body had numbed as she quietly hope that she had heard it wrong. But the schooled expressions on the guards’ faces betrayed nothing. The hallway felt even more empty, and when she stared at the carved doors where her husband usually reside, she was suddenly aware that...there was really no one here.

Several hours ago. The phrase echoed mercilessly, each repetition driving deeper until her breath faltered. Her delicate gown seemed to drag at her shoulders. Even the opal at her throat that once promised warmth, now felt cold against her skin, as if it refused to cradle her in the love and comfort it had always carried.

Not wanting to falter before the Obsidian Guards, Ilaria forced her lips to curve though they trembled, and lowered her gaze briskly before the sting could betray her.

"I see. Thank you," she murmured, swallowing down the ache that clawed at her chest. With a careful hand, she adjusted a loose strand of hair that framed her face, letting it fall just enough to shield the corner of her eyes that had started burning.

She gathered her skirts once more and turned quickly. Each step down the corridor echoed sharp and hollow, her silks whispering not with grace now but with scorn. It was as if even her gown was mocking her for believing that he would be there waiting.

The moment she was out of their sights, her chin trembled despite her efforts to steady it, teeth catching her lower lip to keep it still as her vision blurred. She pressed the heel of her palms to her eyes and let out a shaky breath, swallowing the lump in her throat.

She did not want to react childishly, but her voice cracked before she could hold herself back. "...He said I could come..."

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A/N: Hi everyone! Okay...confession time: I accidentally set the access fee for Tier 2 higher than I intended 😅. It was the recommended price but honestly, I wouldn’t recommend you to buy it haha. Unfortunately, I can only change the fee next month, but I promise I won’t follow it blindly next time!

Anyway, thank you so much for your support! I had so much fun writing these Chapters, and I hope you enjoy every moment too! ❤️