CHAPTER 53: FRAGILE MORNING

Ilaria stirred beneath the soft folds of her blankets, the morning light spilling across her chamber like a gentle accusation. The first thought that came to her mind, as it always was, drifted to the little ritual that had become her quiet joy.

Every morning, she would visit the kitchen and bake a warm bun from the dough that was left overnight and present it to him as a show of a wife’s care. But today...today she lingered in her bed, the comfort of the linens tempting her to stay, to hide from the shadow of last night.

She had not prepared anything the night before, and she did not want to see him yet, not after being left behind; not after the ache that had clawed at her chest like a living thing. And yet, even as she sulked, consideration pricked at her heart.

What if he noticed her absence? What if he wondered why she had stopped her little visits? If he cared, even a fraction, it would be odd for her to vanish.

With a reluctant sigh, she drew herself upright. Perhaps it was better to keep the routine, she decided, whether he cared or not was another matter...or was it not? She did not know. Ilaria pouted at the thought and followed her maids to the antechamber for a morning bath.

Once she was dressed into a simple white gown, Ilaria padded softly to the kitchen. She rolled up her sleeves and began from scratch, letting the familiar rhythm of mixing and kneading guide her thoughts away from the lingering sorrow. The dough was pliant and warm beneath her fingers, and as she shaped each bun, a small sense of calm crept in.

By the time the buns had browned and steamed gently from the hearth, she carefully wrapped one in a clean cloth, holding the little warm bundle like she was proud of her work. A sheepish, small smile tugged at her lips, because doing something she loved, something so ordinary, had eased the weight in her chest even if only a little.

Cradling the bun as if it was a fragile treasure, she set out toward his chamber, her heartbeat thrumming louder with both anticipation and the memory of last night’s disappointment. And yet, the simple act of carrying that warmth in her hands gave her courage to stand at the door and offer her morning greeting anyway.

But before she could so much as greet the guards at their posts, the chamber doors opened with such suddenness that the warm bun almost slipped from her hands. She caught it just in time, her heart leaping into her throat as her husband stepped out.

Levan’s eyes landed on her immediately, the gentle morning light catching the tension in his expression. For a brief second, she thought he would reach out to her or something...but then his gaze drifted to the bun in her hands, his voice was low and hurried, almost apologetic as he spoke, "Not now."

The words felt more to himself than to her, his gaze flicking away as if trying to contain something urgent. Her shoulders slumped at the immediate rejection, a pang of worry and confusion stabbing through her. Not now? Why not now? She had not even said anything yet!

She stepped slightly forward, her eyes flicking to his suspiciously calm face. And the look in Levan’s eyes made her clench her fists impulsively. Maybe something had happened...something serious, she feared.

"Husband, what’s wrong?" She asked, but he only turned, ignoring her entirely and addressed the guards with brisk authority.

"I will be away today. Make sure no one comes near my chamber." The words landed heavy and cold, and he did not glance back at her when he finally took his first step away.

She swallowed hard. Her concern only deepened as she thought to herself, Is he...hurt? Angry? Or is it...something worse?

He may appear calm to anyone, but it was not hard to notice the barest hint of hurt in his demeanour after spending so much of her time admiring him whenever she got the chance.

Despite the circumstances, she found herself hurriedly following him, her footsteps were quick, trying not to lose him in the vast hallway. "Husband...what— what’s wrong? Did something happen?" Her voice wavered, almost pleading.

He did not answer immediately, his pace unrelenting. She kept up, the unease coiling tighter with every step. "...Please tell me. Is it dangerous? A-are you hurt?"

At that, he stopped so abruptly that she nearly collided with him. His eyes, dark and flaring with something she had rarely seen pinned her in place. "I said— not now!" His voice cracked sharper than she expected, reverberating against the stone walls.

Ilaria’s stomach lurched and she shrank instinctively, the warmth of the bun pressing into her palms as if it could shield her from the sudden intensity radiating from him. Her throat constricted to the point that she dared not speak, realizing with a sinking heart that her persistent questions had disturbed him.

"...I’m...sorry," she whispered hastily, her voice trembling so faintly that it felt almost soundless by the silence of the hallway. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat refusing to move and her eyes flicked downward, unable to meet his burning one.

The sight of him, so strong yet visibly burdened, made her own chest tighten further. She wanted to reach out and steady him as he seemed to carry the entire world upon his shoulders, but fear held her frozen. It felt almost foolish, how despite his anger all she could think about was what had caused it and how to chase it away.

And Levan...His gaze softened just a fraction at her apology, but the tension in his jaw and the rigid set of his shoulders reminded her that he was carrying something far heavier than mere irritation. His chest rose and fell with slow, controlled breaths, like he was bracing himself against a storm.

He suddenly felt oddly stupid, like her presence alone had quietly rewritten the rules of his world. He did not know when it began, but simply being near her made him stumble into uncharted territory — feeling, of all things, and worse, grappling with notions that had no place in his vocabulary: regret and guilt.

Especially when she looked at him with that quiet sadness. This sight before him specifically. It was as if the universe itself had tilted, forcing him to reckon with emotions he had always thought were beyond him that whatever anger he was feeling at the moment dissipated as he took in the pitiful sight of his wife.

His hand twitched once at his side, as if some small muscle finally remembered how a touch should begin, but in the end, he did not reach her. He looked at the warm bun, at the way her fingers clenched the cloth as though it were the only thing keeping her from falling apart, and guilt, as much as he does not want to acknowledge it, swelled in his chest.

Perhaps because he knew she had come all this way carrying it just for him, every careful step meant to bring comfort, and yet here he was, unable to receive even the smallest gift without faltering. If he was a better husband, he would have hugged her and apologize and shove that bun down his throat already, but that was everything he could never be.

At this point, he should have dismissed her, but he found himself unable to speak the words that he knew would tear at her heart and deepen the sadness etched across her face. So instead he said,

"Stay in my chamber. Wait there, or don’t, it’s up to you. I’ll be—" he caught himself, and for the barest second his jaw loosened as he looked down at the bun again. "I’ll be back. I’ll eat it later."

Ilaria’s dejected and hurt expression crumpled at the equivocation, startled at the sudden order. He said he would not be back and that no one shall approach his chamber while he was away, so why...

Levan gave her one look that tried, and failed, to be gentle. "Don’t follow," he ordered. "There are things I must settle. If you want to talk to me, I’ll make the time, but not now." He turned before she could answer, the movement precise and final.

She watched him walk away, back straight like an arrow, and felt the corridor closing around her. With a slow, reluctant breath, she turned away, her steps silent and careful, almost as if she feared breaking the fragile air around her and entered the familiar chamber of his.

The faint warmth of the room and the soft silence did little to ease the hollow in her chest. And yet, as he had ordered, she waited with her heart tethered to a promise she did not fully understand.