CHAPTER 84: ASSERTING CONTROL

Levan did not move. The world around him seemed to shrink until all that remained was the pulse at his throat and the echo of a scream that refused to fade. Images of the beast unfurled behind his eyes, vivid and merciless.

He knew every detail by heart now — the shape of its claws, the sound of its breath, the flicker of something human that should not have been there.

No one truly knew where such creatures came from. To most, they were nothing but nightmares that slipped through the cracks of the world, the remnants of the old corruption, the filth left behind after The Great War millennia ago. When men and dragons forged their union, those things had been buried, sealed away beyond reach.

And yet, somehow, they had returned.

It should not have been possible. And yet with the Blithe spreading again, perhaps it was only a matter of time before the boundaries thinned. Still, the truth was a secret, one that not even the scholars nor the Council dared to speak aloud. A truth that devoured whoever tried to reach it.

Levan exhaled slowly. It was a horror as much as it was a burden, one he had carried long before he ever took her hand. And he would not, could not, let that weight fall upon Ilaria’s shoulders no matter what.

Even so, he could feel the familiar weight of responsibility settle across his chest and the fresh, sharper weight of guilt beneath it. Telling her would only burden her. But not telling her felt like a betrayal. So he simply stayed still and let both truths press against him.

A small tug at his sleeve broke the loop. Ilaria’s voice nudged him back to the present. "Husband... Are you okay?"

He looked down at her, at the tiny crease between her brows and the way worry softened her whole face. Of course she would look like that. Of course his soft-hearted wife, who found light in the smallest things and warmth in the coldest places, would meet his silence not with fear but with concern.

For a moment, the answer rose to his lips, heavy and bitter, but he swallowed it down before it could escape. Because what good would it do to let her carry the truth? What good would it do to dim those eyes that had only ever looked at him with trust?

He blinked once, pulling himself back into the moment. "I’m fine," he said quietly, his voice steadier than he felt. His hand came to rest over hers on his sleeve. "Just thinking about your question earlier."

Her brows lifted slightly, eyes searching his face with that disarming kind of honesty that always seemed to reach straight through him. She did not say anything. But then, as if the silence itself bothered her, Ilaria lifted her hand and brushed her fingers against his cheek, cupping his face with such tender care that made him froze.

"You have that gloomy look again..." she murmured, looking at him as if she could gauge the worries away and return like a sunshine that she was. Her thumb lingered against his skin, tracing the faint line of his jaw. "Like... something’s bothering you."

Levan could only stare at her then. There was nothing grand in her words, nothing poetic, just simple concern and soft gestures that undid him more than any wound could. How could he possibly resist her when she was being this caring?

He caught her wrist gently, hesitated only for a moment before turning his head and pressing his lips to the heel of her palm. His breath was warm against her skin, a wordless way of telling her to stop worrying and thinking so much. He did it not only to calm her, but to calm himself too.

When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle enough that it felt like the air between them held it close. "They’re remnants from the war that should’ve never been," he said slowly, choosing each word with care. "They’re creatures twisted by what’s left of the old magic, things that don’t belong to this world anymore."

He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand as if the movement could soften the weight of his words. "Most people think they’re born from the corruption itself, drawn to wherever it still lingers. The beasts don’t reason. They don’t think. They only follow hunger."

Ilaria’s eyes stayed on him, wide and steady, her breath catching a little at the quiet gravity of his tone. "But it isn’t just corruption anymore. Because it seems the Blithe’s reach has begun to twist even them, and things that were already wrong are becoming worse."

"Perhaps that’s why they’ve been... different lately," he sighed. "They’re no less feral, but they’re becoming more deliberate, as if something out there is teaching them how to hunt. And that’s what making them even more dangerous."

Ilaria was listening so intently that it almost made him falter. Perhaps she would be delighted to hear him speaking more to ease the curiosity that was running rampant in her head. But he only forced a faint smile, gentle but unconvincing, and brushed his thumb over her knuckles in a slow, grounding motion.

"That’s all you need to know," he said quietly, his voice softening at the edges as he watched the disappointment settling in her eyes. He felt bad, but he did not take his words back, only said, "The rest isn’t something I want you to carry."

Ilaria remained silent for as the words seemed to settle between them, soft but immovable, like the hush that came before rain. She dropped her gaze to their hands, her lashes fluttering once before stilling.

"I see," she murmured at last. The corners of her mouth curved into a bright smile. "I suppose I’ve been asking too much."

"You haven’t," he shook his head almost immediately, shifting her so that she tucked neatly beside him. "You just care too much."

A soft laugh escaped her, barely more than a breath. "Is that even possible?"

He looked at her then. The morning light spilling through the tent’s opening had caught in her hair, threading gold through silver, the kind of sight that always made him wonder how she could be so radiant.

And though she was trying to seem composed, he could see the faint shadow in her eyes. It was not hard to tell that she was still wondering, and that she was probably thinking if she was being a bother for asking such a question.

Honestly, her pretty little head could get a little too imaginative sometimes.

"Yes, it’s possible because it’s you." He reached out and brushed his fingers through her hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. "And you’re not wrong to ask. I just wish I had better answers to give you."

She leaned her head into his palm before he could pull it away, her lips jutted out into a stubborn pout. Even if she understood what he meant, that he did not want her to worry, she still whispered, softly but with a trace of protest, "You say that like everything can be solved just by not thinking about it."

"Not everything," he admitted, "but some things don’t deserve space in your mind, Aria. Especially the ones that were meant to trouble people like me, not you."

She tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing. "...And now you make it sound as if worry is something I can choose to stop."

He smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth quirking as his thumb swept idly along her jaw. "You can’t. But you can trust me to do the worrying for you."

Her lips parted to argue, but he was already tracing the side of her neck with the back of his fingers, slow and thoughtful, almost absentminded in its tenderness. The touch was neither harsh nor meant to silence, but it carried a quiet authority that made her breath hitch.

His hand drifted upward, his fingers sliding into her hair until his palm rested against the back of her neck, firm but still gentle, like a wordless reminder for her to listen carefully.

"I know you," he said softly. "Once you start thinking, you won’t stop until you’ve torn the whole matter apart and put it back together twice. You’ll twist yourself up over every what-if, and you don’t need to."

"I just—"

"I know," he said again, cutting her off gently. "You want to understand. You always do." His hand slide down only to settle against her collarbone, the edge of his thumb resting over her heartbeat. "But understanding everything doesn’t always mean peace. Sometimes it only makes it harder to breathe."

Ilaria went still at that. He wasn not wrong, he never was. But still she searched his face, and his eyes had softened just enough that she could feel how much he meant it every word he said and that he was really expecting her to listen to him well.

That was enough to make her falter. To make her heart give in before her thoughts could catch up.

Her shoulders sank, the last bit of defiance melting away. "Then what should I do?" she asked.

Levan’s gaze dropped briefly, first to the way her lips parted around the question, then back up to her eyes. "You can start," he said, "by staying right here. By breathing. By not thinking about the beasts, or the Blithe, or the things I didn’t tell you."

He leaned in, just close enough that his breath brushed her temple. That made her pulse fluttered in an instant. Every word seemed to hum against her skin, sinking deeper than reason should allow.

"Think about the morning instead," he went on, his voice dropping lower and rougher, the faintest hint of a smile ghosting across his lips. "About breakfast. About your dress. About how your hair’s a mess because you fell asleep before drying it."

At the mention, she tried to glare, to at least salvage a bit of dignity, but the moment she met his gaze, it was over. Her cheeks bloomed pink as embarrassment cloud her heart. And it was just then that she realized that he had not ordered her to stop thinking, he had simply made her want to.

She could barely gather herself to speak again before his fingers slid to the back of her neck again, tracing the delicate curve there, not in restraint, but in something far more deliberate. Her breath faltered. The soft protest that rose in her throat dissolved the moment his eyes caught hers.

There was warmth there, yes, but there was also something else beneath it: a glint of intent and patience stretched thin. He tilted his head then, his nose brushing the edge of her cheek, making the space between them narrowing until she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her, catching her off-guard.

"H-husband..." she breathed, her eyes threatening to close themselves in response to his closeness.

He only hummed in response, the sound deep and velvety in his chest. "That’s better," he said, his lips hovering just close enough to make her forget every question she meant to ask.

She exhaled, her thoughts dissolving into the warmth of his breath against her skin as she heard him say, "No more questions, Aria."