CHAPTER 89: TO KEEP YOU SAFE

The camp had quieted under the deepening evening, the warded circles glowing faintly like golden embers beneath the moonlight. After the brief inspection, everyone had returned to the camp. Inside, Ilaria knelt beside one of the younger knights, gently pressing a hand on his arm. The cut was not severe, but it still made him flinch.

"There," she said softly, letting the trails of light to heal the wound. "Easy now. Just breathe, you’ll get yourself in more trouble if you move too much."

The knight’s eyes met hers, gratitude mingled with awe. "Princess... thank you, really, but you don’t have to do this. I can— I can take care of it myself—"

"It’s alright," she shushed him with a raise of her finger, smiling brightly. "It’s better to get yourself heal quickly than need to wait for the stitches to heal itself. You’ve faced far worse than a scrape, haven’t you?"

He nodded, managing a small smile, flustered by the princess’ gentle words. "Yes... but still."

Ilaria gave him an encouraging nod before helping him to sit upright. "Rest here. You’ll heal faster with the quiet."

Once he was settled, she stood, brushing dust from her hands and returning to the tent she shared with Levan. The knight’s eyes followed her, unable to look away. There was something about the way she moved with quiet purpose, the soft determination in her hands, and the warmth she carried even in the chill of the camp.

He thought of all they had endured over the past two days, the relentless journey, the near brush with the beasts, the weight of fear that clung to every soldier. And yet here she was, still tending to them, still offering care when it might have been easier to retreat to comfort. Every day, no matter how harsh it is, she did this. Not because she had to, but because she chose to.

He felt a strange mix of awe and gratitude. It was one thing to serve a princess; it was another entirely to witness her humanity, her kindness, and the courage that seemed to radiate from her even in the darkest moments.

As Ilaria made her way inside the closed tent, the faint warmth of a small lantern flickered across the neatly arranged supplies. There were ean water, herbs, linens, and even a soft blanket tucked carefully to her side of the bed. Levan had seen to it that, even here, she had all she needed.

She unfastened her cloak, draping it on the chair then fussed over her hair, untangling it gently and smoothing the strands. She straightened the blanket she would sleep on, adjusting the folds with care and checked the small satchel where she kept her personal things, a mirror, comb, and a few keepsakes from home.

Ilaria hummed softly to herself, brushing the last stray hair from her face and allowed herself a small sigh of relief. For a moment, she felt like herself again, not a princess in a war-torn world, but simply a woman tending to those around her, keeping what she could safe and sound.

They’re all the same,

she thought.

The knights back in Caelwyn had refused her help too, only for her to end up insisting them anyway. Sitting on the edge of the cot, she brushed her hair with meticulous care, the rhythmic motion soothing after the day’s chaos. Each strand fell into place as though she were putting the world back in order, one lock at a time.

When the flap of the tent rustled, she immediately looked up, startled and delighted to see Levan stepping in. The weight of his gaze settling over her like a warm cloak.

"Oh, husband~" she breathed, letting her brush rest mid-stroke as a flutter of affection warmed her chest.

"Hey," he said softly upon hearing her bright voice, scanning her from head to toe as he moved closer. "Two days on the road. Hours in the saddle, and you haven’t even rested properly. Aren’t you tired? Why are you still up?"

"Maybe I’m a little tired," she admitted cheekily. "But that doesn’t mean I want to sleep every time I got the chance and lose the opportunity to see you."

"Tch," he could not help but scoff, but the smile on the corner of his lips betrayed the warm he was feeling inside. He lowered himself slightly, standing just in front of her, so close she could feel the warmth radiating from him as he reached for the comb she was holding. "Let me help you."

Ilaria tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes, and as he guided the comb through her hair, she let herself lean a little too close. Her feet swayed, brushing against his legs, and on impulse she wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him just a touch tighter than necessary.

A flicker of surprise passed through Levan’s calm exterior as he raised a brow. "You’re insatiable, you know that?" he murmured softly, almost melting, as he continued brushing her hair with slow, careful strokes.

Ilaria let out a little laugh, leaning into the comb. "Because you need warmth~" she teased.

Levan’s lips twitched into a faint, fond smile. "Perhaps. But I’m curious, what have you been up to all this time, hm?" he asked, his tone gentle but inquisitive, guiding the comb through the tangles with care.

She straightened slightly, puffing out her chest just a little and launched into a lively recounting of the day’s events. Levan listened, letting her words tumble out as he continued to fuss with her hair, smiling quietly at her excitement.

"So you’ve been busy," he commented when she was done with her rant.

"No, not really," Ilaria said, waving a hand dramatically. "Well... maybe a little. I helped sir Calen with his wound though he made the funniest face! And then sir Maelon insisted he didn’t need help, but I made him sit anyway—"

Levan raised a brow, amused. "You forced him?"

"Of course! He almost kicked me!" she laughed, eyes sparkling. "And then sir Alonzo kept forgetting which lines of the ward were done, so I had to remind him—"

"You mean you spent the whole day bossing knights around."

"Huh? No! Not bossing! I’m just encouraging... very sternly, yes, but still encouraging!"

Levan brushed a stray lock behind her ear, nodding in amusement. "Stern encouragement from a princess. Dangerous combination."

She leaned a little closer, brushing her hand against his side. "Well, someone has to keep you all in line. I can’t have the kingdom falling apart while you’re off being heroic."

"And here I thought you were just charming the knights."

"Charming them is part of it!" she laughed. "But mostly— oh, you should’ve seen the fire earlier, and the way—"

Levan simply let her ramble, his fingers moving slowly and carefully through her hair, steady, grounding, as if nothing else in the world mattered but the sound of her voice.

Levan held the comb in her hair a moment longer than needed, letting her finish rambling without interruption. When Ilaria finally leaned back slightly, letting out a content sigh.

"Thank you, husband," she chimed, taking the comb back and shoving it into her satchel. "I swear, I don’t know why I even brought all these herbs and bandages, it’s like— oh! And the cloth! I forgot to— ugh, why does one tent always feel so small when you have so much stuff—"

Her voice trailed off as she fumbled with straps and pouches, muttering to herself.

Levan watched her, fingers lingering in the air for a moment before dropping to his sides. She moved with quiet purpose now, fussing with her satchel, checking straps and pockets as though making sure every little thing was in its place. The tent hummed softly with the lanterns’ warmth, her movements almost hypnotic in their simplicity.

He allowed himself a small, fond smile, tracing the way the lantern light caught her hair, the curve of her shoulders as she bent over her belongings and how her hair cascade over her delicate face. It was the kind of domesticity that made the world outside fade to distant shadow.

And yet, as he observed her, that smile slowly dimmed. He felt the weight of what lay beyond the tent, the patrols that awaited him, the dark stretches of the Expanse where danger lingered like smoke. He hated leaving her here, even within the safe circle. His instincts screamed to keep her close, to shield her from everything, to never let her stray even a step beyond the ward.

But she was here, lively and bright, tending to her little tasks with a grace that made him ache. And though the thought of leaving filled him with quiet dread, he knew he had no choice. The Expanse demanded vigilance, and he would be its sentinel.

He traced the problem in his mind with careful precision. Leaving her inside the camp; inside the wards, was the safest. The Expanse would not breach that circle. But then... after what happened last night, he could not shake the thought that it might happen again.

However, bringing her out, even for a short patrol, would be reckless. Too many unknowns. The Expanse was patient, but it did not forget. Its reach and memory was infinite.

Levan’s chest tightened at the thought of leaving her. The night beyond the wards was alive with things he could not yet name, and she belonged nowhere near it.

There was a way. He could keep her close, tethered by what only married couples shared: a bond that was more than warmth, more than proximity. A protection that could reach across distance, even here.

But the knowledge of it weighed on him. He could bind her, shield her, hold her in ways she might never fully understand... yet it was not just his choice. It had to be hers to accept. And the thought of her eyes widening in shock, or worse, refusal, made his jaw tighten.

They were married, yes, but marriage alone did not make this right. Would she want to be tied to him in this way? Would she trust him enough to let him take that step?

His fingers flexed as he watched her fuss with her satchel, radiant and oblivious to the storm just beyond their tent. He thought about how she should have stayed in the palace, safe from all this, but he immediately scolded himself.

Stupid.

He did not want to argue with her, did not want to risk that bright, stubborn heart of hers cracking into tears again. He already let that happen the other night.

"I’ll be leaving for patrol soon," he said instead, voice low in the tent. His eyes flicked toward her and saw how her lips pressed together, brows knitting ever so slightly, the subtle crease of worry that always made him feel like the worse man in the world.

"I—" she started, then hesitated, looking up at him with a softness that made his stomach twist. "I... want to follow."

"No," he said immediately, the word firmer than he intended, and he needed to look away just to avoid watching at the disappointment etched on her face.

"But you said I’d be safer with you," she murmured, almost pleading.

Levan ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. "I do mean that, but this is different. I don’t just want you safe in the tent. I want you safe from everything out there. And I..."

He looked at her, hesitated for a moment before faltering. "...I don’t want to force you into anything you wouldn’t choose for yourself."

Ilaria, confused, set her satchel gently on the cot and slowly rose to her feet. "Wait... what do you mean?"

Levan did not answer at first. His eyes lingered on the tent floor, shadows playing faintly over his face as if the words themselves weighed too much to say.

Cautiously, she stepped closer. "Husband?" she prompted, her voice soft, almost afraid to break the stillness. Her fingers brushed against his hand, hesitant at first, then firmer when he did not pull away.

Levan thought about keeping his distance at first, but the warmth of her touch disarmed him, and so he had no choice but to let her stay. "Hm?"

She tilted her head, brows furrowed. "I’m very terrible at riddles. Last time, my sister scolded me for not being able to solve a simple tricky question," she said, trying to smile even as confusion flickered in her eyes. "And now your words are starting to sound like one."

A small, rueful breath escaped him. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to confuse you," he admitted softly. "It’s just... if I said it plainly, you might hate me for it."

"I wouldn’t hate anyone," she shook her head glancing down at her hand before back up to him. "Least of all you. It’s not like what you’re thinking is terrible."

Not terrible, huh?

Something in his chest gave way at that. Some restraint he had been holding too tightly. His thumb brushed over her knuckles as he finally looked at her fully, the flicker of his pupils catching light like molten gold.

"Then..." he reluctantly began, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked straight into her eyes, "if I wanted to touch you, would you allow me to?"