CHAPTER 82: TO DESERVE YOU

Levan gave her a once-over, not with hunger but with a soldier’s precision of ensuring she was whole. The innocence radiating off her was disarming, almost out of place after the night they’d had. He realized, belatedly, that she was still clutching the towel too loosely.

Without a word, he reached forward to adjust it, his knuckles brushing nothing but the fabric. When he drew back, his gaze never lingered. He only lowered his eyes, reminding himself to look anywhere but her skin. He did not know if she would even allow him to sleep beside her.

He said, "It’s the northern region. The temperature drops even lower when the night falls."

She tilted her head, confused. "...?"

"Wool won’t be enough to cover you from the cold, so the fastest way to keep your body from freezing..." He paused, as if testing the words before saying them aloud. "...is to share body heat."

Ilaria blinked once. Then twice. "...Oh." Her towel slipped a little, and she clutched it tighter. "You mean...?"

Levan nodded. "Yes," he said simply, moving to the table at the corner of the tent. "Exactly what you think I mean."

He grabbed the leather flask, uncorked it, and poured a small stream of water over a spare cloth. In quick, efficient motions, he wiped the blood and grime from his own arms and chest. The motion was brisk but careful, muscles flexing under the effort, the cool water chasing away the heat of battle.

When he was satisfied, he gave the cloth a final wring, tucked it aside, and finally walked toward the bed to tug at the blanket, but the quiet rustle behind him made him pause.

Because in the purest, most curious tone, Ilaria just had to ask, "So... does that mean you’ve also slept naked with Captain Harken when it was cold?"

Silence.

Levan’s spine went rigid. For a second, he did not even breathe. Then, slowly, he turned his head just enough to look over his shoulder, bewildered.

"...What?"

Ilaria blinked at him, all wide eyes and innocent confusion, clutching her towel as if she had genuinely asked a reasonable question. "Because... if that’s the way to keep warm, then surely—"

"Aria." The way he said her name was not sharp this time, just weighted. A warning wrapped in fatigue.

She stiffened.

Levan’s shoulders rose and fell with a slow, strained breath. He rubbed the back of his neck, as if physically restraining the urge to lecture her again. "You truly have no sense of timing."

"...I was just asking."

"Don’t," he said. "Not now."

"...You’re angry again."

"I’m tired," he corrected, looking at her wearily. "And you’re impossible."

Silence fell again, but only heavy with the quietness of the tent and the whisper of their breaths. He stepped forward, his shadow swallowing hers as he bent down. Before she could flinch away, his arms came around her and lifted her with ease, the towel shifting against her skin.

Her fingers clutched instinctively at his shoulder. "Huh—?"

"Don’t move," he warned. His steps were unhurried yet purposeful as he walked towards the cot. He lowered her carefully, one arm supporting her back until she met the soft linen sheets.

He reached for the small pillow he had packed on instinct, a foolish decision then, but now it felt necessary, and gave it a quick shake to fluff it before tucking it beneath her head. He pulled the blanket up her collarbone. When he was done, he pressed his palm against the mattress beside her head, leaning in a little.

The motion caged her in. Not threatening, but close enough that she could feel the heat of him and smell the intoxicating scent that always made her mind spiral. His other hand rested by her waist before it slowly slide down her hip, steadying himself as he studied her face.

She stared up at him, heart thudding hard enough that she swore he could hear it.

"I wasn’t joking earlier. It’ll be cold tonight, and I don’t want you to catch a fever tomorrow," he repeated, eyes lowered as he squeezed her briefly, making her jolt. It almost felt like he was really touching her instead of the blanket.

She practically melted under his gaze, gulping. "...You’re still mad."

"Maybe," he said, brushing a stray lock of her hair away from her face with the back of his knuckles. "But not enough to let you freeze."

Levan finally shifted, the cot dipping under his weight as he slid beneath the wool blanket beside her. The space was small, forcing her to curl instinctively toward him until his arm came around her, drawing her against the solid warmth of his chest while being attentive to her wound.

The tent was quiet now, save for the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Levan tugged the blanket higher, tucking it around her shoulders before settling her more firmly against him. They fit together naturally, her body drawn to his warmth, their legs brushing beneath the blanket as if they had always belonged that way.

Ilaria went still at the closeness, his arm draped heavy around her waist, his leg moved to tangled hers beneath the blanket. The heat of him seeped through, chasing away the chill, leaving her flustered in a way she could not quite name.

Her fingers fidgeted against the fabric, unsure what to do with themselves, until she gave up and simply let herself breathe. Her head bumped against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat loud in the quiet. For a long moment, that was all there was, warmth and the faint scent of earth clinging to him.

Then, his chin dipped slightly, his breath stirring her hair. "Your heart," he murmured, voice rough from fatigue. "It’s racing."

Ilaria’s breath caught, her cheeks warming. She clutched the blanket closer, hoping he could not feel how her pulse stuttered beneath his arm as well.

"...Are you scared?" he asked softly.

She hesitated, the word sitting fragile on her tongue before she swallowed it down. "N-not anymore," she whispered at last. "You’re just... really warm..."

Levan made a quiet sound of acknowledgment and drew her a little nearer, his hand finding the curve of her shoulder in a slow, absent motion. The kind of touch that said more than words ever could, making Ilaria’s eyes fluttered shut, both in embarrassment and relief.

Minutes passed like that, tender and unhurried. His breathing evened, and she thought he had fallen asleep. But then his voice came again, low and rough, the kind of tone that slipped past armour and went straight to the heart.

"...I shouldn’t have said those things earlier."

Her eyes opened slowly, her head still resting against his chest. She knew what he meant, but still she asked, "...What things?"

"That you were a liability" He paused, thumb brushing an idle circle against her arm as though the words themselves weighed him down. "You weren’t. I was just... afraid. Too much fear makes a man cruel, but that doesn’t justify what I had done."

She shifted slightly, enough to look up at him. He did the same, adjusting his head to look down at her, his eyes half-lidded, the lines of exhaustion softened by something almost tender.

"I’m sorry, Aria," he said, and Ilaria had never known a man could mean a word so completely, as though his whole heart and soul bowed beneath it.

"You already said that..."

"Then I’ll say it again," Levan whispered. "Not because you need to hear it, but because I need to remind myself I never want to give you a reason to cry again."

Ilaria felt the lump forming in her throat. "I w-was in the wrong too."

"No, you weren’t." He shook his head before she could say more. "Had I been paying more attention... had I looked at you instead of everything else, you would’ve been safe," he said softly, but the words carried a weight that nearly hurt to hear.

"So the fault is mine, Aria. It always is when it comes to you."

She sniffled quietly, her eyes were glassy with something between sorrow and tenderness.

"I keep thinking if I control everything, no one gets hurt." He admitted, his voice almost breaking into a whisper. "But you still got hurt anyway..."

Ilaria could only look at him then, heart clenching tightly that if she spoke, she thought she might burst. Levan’s gaze lingered on the faint flush on her cheeks, on the dried traces of tears near her lashes, and something inside him broke quietly.

His hand moved from her arm to her jaw, his fingers tracing along her cheekbone, then up into her hair. It was not new. Levan had always had this quiet habit of reaching for her face ever since, as if the simple act of touching her grounded him.

Every brush of his fingers carried something unspoken, whether apology, or care, or restraint. And this time was no different. The touch was featherlight and reverent, as though he feared she might fade if he held her too tightly.

"I don’t want you to look at me like that again," he murmured, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. "Like you’re bracing for me to be cruel. I hate that I made you feel that way."

Ilaria shook her head slowly. "But you didn’t mean to... I was being foolish as well."

"I did," he said. "And it’s entirely on me." He swallowed hard, the movement visible even in the dim light. "So if I ever start acting like that again... if I start treating you like you’re a burden, I want you to curse at me."

Her eyes widened. "...!"

The look on her face startled him. Ah, he almost forgot.

"Alright... sorry," he conceded. "Maybe not curse. Your mouth’s too sweet for that." His hand slid back to her waist beneath the blanket. "But be mad at me. I can take it."

She blinked up at him, stunned by how easily he said it, how a man carved from steel could sound so achingly gentle when he meant it. Something in his gaze wavered, the kind of softness that stripped away every wall he had ever built, leaving only the raw truth of him.

For a moment, the air between them felt fragile, suspended, like even a breath too loud would shatter it; and when he finally leaned in, the world seemed to still, his breath ghosting over hers, warmth meeting warmth, two heartbeats caught in the same trembling silence.

"I’m not a man who knows how to be gentle at all. Most of the time, I’m still learning what it means to deserve the things I’m trying to protect," he admitted, eyes searching hers. "But I want to do better. For you."

Neither of them say a word after that. His words lingered in the small space between them. Ilaria’s eyes fluttered shut as his breath brushed her lips, warm and steady, the nearness of him both soothing and dizzying.

When she opened them again, Levan was still watching her, like he was trying to memorize the shape of her face and the gentleness she offered him despite everything. His thumb traced one last slow line along her jaw before he dipped his head, pressing his forehead to hers.

The gesture was not demanding, only grounding, like a silent promise that he meant every word he just said. His voice came low, almost lost in the hush between the rustle of sheets. "You make it... very hard to keep my distance, you know that?"

Ilaria’s fingers curled in his chest, and before she could restrain herself, the words slipped out, "Then don’t be away from me..."

That drew the softest breath from him yet, the sound of a man giving in not to desire, but to the quiet ache of fondness. For a fleeting second, Levan thought of closing the distance, not out of impulse, but because everything in him longed to seal the endearment he felt into something real.

His gaze lingered on her lips, on the warmth blooming between them and the closeness that had nothing to do with the cold. But he stopped himself, the restraint almost painful, and instead, he leaned in to press his lips gently against her forehead, a touch that spoke of reverence, of apology, and of all the things words could never carry.

"Sleep," he murmured into her hair, hugging her close. "Before I forget I’m supposed to let you."

And though his kiss had been chaste, it left her heart thrumming as if he had set something far deeper alight. Ilaria stilled beneath his embrace, eyes wide, the faintest tremor running through her as warmth bloomed beneath her skin. She could not even breathe at the simple thought, and now Levan had kissed her.

Not out of duty, not by accident, but because he wanted to. The realization struck her harder than any storm ever could. Her face flushed hot, her fingers curled against his chest, and before he could see the foolish smile tugging at her lips, she buried her face against him, hiding in the solid warmth of his shoulder.

Levan’s arm tightened in response, wordless but sure, as if he understood. And for the first time that night, she fell quiet, not because she had nothing to say, but because her heart was too full to speak.