The silence between them was deafening, yet it carried none of the tension Levan always seed to wear like armour. His hand was steady around hers as he led her back toward the palace, his long strides unhurried, his expression unreadable as ever, so different from that ti when he used to leave her behind.
Ilaria, however, was anything but calm. Every movent sent her nerves into disarray. The way his thumb shifted slightly against her knuckles when his grip adjusted. The faint brush of his calloused fingertips against her palm. Even the heat of his hand was enough to set her heart pounding louder than the crunch of gravel beneath their steps.
She dared not look at him. If she did, she feared she might give herself away entirely. Instead, her eyes stayed low, fixed on the rhythmic sway of their joined hands. Why did sothing so simple feel like the most intimate thing in the world?
She peeked up to look at the back of his head, his posture rigid, as though holding her hand was no different than escorting her like any duty-bound husband should. But for Ilaria, each step forward only tightened the knot in her stomach, the warmth of his grip spreading up her arm like fire.
Ilaria’s nerves were a storm in her chest, so naturally, her mouth tried to do what it always did best — fill the silence.
"D-did you know," she began, her voice too high-pitched, "that veilfish are very sensitive to moonlight? They actually shimr more brightly when it’s a full moon, like a natural lantern. Isn’t that fascinating?"
Levan’s stride did not change, nor did his expression. "No."
Her face crumpled. "N-no? what do you an— it is fascinating, right?"
"It’s a fish."
"Right...but a beautiful fish," she muttered, chewing on her lip. Her palm felt slick inside his, and she wondered if he noticed. "You don’t like veilfish?"
"No."
Ilaria blinked.
Maybe he don’t like animals?
"Well, do you like...macarons, then?" she blurted.
Levan finally turned his head, brows knitting. "What?"
"M-macarons!" she repeated, voice rushing ahead of her thoughts. "The little pastries. They’re sweet and soft, and they lt in your mouth—"
"Oh, that," he looked like he was thinking for a while, then he said. "No, they’re too sweet."
Ilaria almost tripped on her own feet. "Too—! Saints above, how can anyone say that?" she gasped, clutching his hand tighter without realizing. "They’re the most delightful things to ever exist! And—"
Her words tumbled to a halt when he abruptly stopped at the entrance into the palace, causing her to instinctively push herself away else she would collide with him. The lantern above seed to sway by the sheer weight of them. And its golden light spilled over him, catching on the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the calm honey of his eyes.
He glanced down. Their gazes locked.
Ilaria’s breath caught in her throat for the tenth tis tonight. Her cheeks burned so fiercely she thought she might faint right there. The lantern’s glow had softened him, making him look less like the aloof prince she constantly clashed with and more like a version of him who might have fancy her ideas about pastries.
Ilaria felt like crying.
My...why do you have to look so handso?!
Levan did not say anything, but with a subtle shift, he drew her hand closer to himself, tugging her forward, making Ilaria stumbled one step, then another, her violet eyes widening like a doe caught in the streetlight as sge elevated her head to keep the eye contact. She stiffened, her fingers twitching in his grasp, but she did not let go.
Levan watched her reaction cautiously. She always reacted as if he were so beast crouched to devour her, but still, she never pulled away. Her gaze always darted everywhere but him. One mont she would yap about anything, and when he did paid her more than a second attention, she would crumble into this flustered ss.
It made him wonder: what was it that she truly wanted? He had assud it was his attention.
Because why else would she keep slipping into his chambers so often in the single week he had been away? Why else would she sneak into the kitchens to bake macarons, only to leave them on the solarium’s table as though they had appeared by chance? Why else would she sit sulking in the library with her silence louder than words that day?
He tilted his head, studying her with the sa precision he gave to everything else. She would not even look at him properly, except for that ti when she was sulky and glaring at him as though he had trampled her precious macarons. And when he asked, she only dismissed it with that sa pout. It turned out she was far more complicated than he had first assud.
Finally, he asked, "Why are you looking at like that?"
Ilaria’s lips quivered. "L-like what?"
"Like I’m going to devour you or sothing," he deadpanned, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. His thumb shifted against her knuckles as he leaned just close enough that she could feel the whisper of his presence. "You stiffen as if I’ll strike you."
Her breath hitched again, eyes snapping up to his. "Y-you wouldn’t!"
"That’s right, I wouldn’t," he nodded. "But you look at as if I might. As if I’m dangerous simply for standing near you."
He leaned his head lower, his voice dropping gravelly. "...Am I?"
Ilaria’s throat bobbed, words fumbling out before her mind could stop them. "Y-yes— I an— you are! But not— not in the bad way! You’re d-dangerous because you’re— you’re too handso, and too close, and I don’t know what to do with that!"
Her violet eyes widened at her own outburst, hands clamping over her mouth as if she could stuff the words back in. And Levan stared. Just...stared. Suddenly, she was complinting him again. His jaw flexed, his expression unreadable but undeniably deadpan. Internally, though, his thoughts were a simple, resounding: What the hell is wrong with her?
Before she could scramble for another excuse, another word, a shadow moved from the hedges.
"Your Highness."
Both their heads turned at once, just in ti for Leroy, clad in dark uniform and blades strapped at his hips, to step out of the shadows. His posture was impeccable, and from the looks of rare urgency on his face, Levan’s cold presence resurface again. Leroy, however, faltered when his eyes landed on the princess.
It happened imdiately. His composure cracked. His steps halted, and his icy-blue eyes widening before he stiffened again. "P—Princess!" He exclaid, bowing low, voice tight with formality.
Ilaria blinked at the intruder.
Who...? And why does he look at like that?
The poor boy looked as though the moon had descended from the heavens and was standing before him in silk slippers. His cheeks coloured as he straightened, his jaw tightening to hide it but to no avail. "Forgive ...I did not expect to see such a beautiful creature right in front of my eyes—"
Levan’s face darkened instantly, making Leroy cut his own words and coughed, eyes averted. The air between them shifted from charged warmth to a suffocating chill. He moved half a step, placing himself between Ilaria and Leroy. This boy really had the tendency to say whatever he wants.
"Report," he ordered flatly, his tone making it clear: eyes on , not her.
"Yes, Your Highness!" Leroy replied quickly, snapping back to form, though not without stealing quick, guilty glances at Ilaria, who tilted her head in confusion. "Captain Harken has relayed a ssage for you."
Levan blink slowed upon hearing the ntion of the Captain. For a mont, his gaze flicked back to Ilaria who is still flushed, still looking at him as if he were the only anchor in the world. His hand lingered around hers, warm and steady, and for the briefest second, it almost seed like he would ignore the intrusion and walk her back himself.
But the mont shattered as quickly as it ca. His expression hardened again, walls sliding firmly back into place. Without another word, he gestured to one of the guards stationed by the palace doors. "Escort the princess inside," he commanded coolly.
Ilaria’s heart sank a little, her hand slipping reluctantly from his. The rare warmth between them had dissolved into duty once more. She lowered her lashes, muttering under her breath as she followed the guard, "Always duty first...never ."
Ilaria returned to her chamber with steps that felt lighter than air. As soon as the door shut behind her, she pressed her back to it, her trembling hand clutched against her skirts.
Her cheeks were still afla, hotter than they had any right to be. Saints above, what was wrong with her? Every ti she blinked, she saw it again. She saw his hand covering hers, firm and unyielding, grounding her in that infuriating, intoxicating way that made her knees feel weak. It was like he had singlehandedly took over her mind and took a turn for the worst.
She flopped onto her bed, rolling onto her side as if she could bury the mory into her pillow. But instead, it replayed over and over, his thumb brushing her cheek, the way his voice had dipped low when he scolded her. Warmth coiled deep in her belly at the re thought, leaving her restless and breathless.
Her toes curled beneath the sheets. She could not rest. She could not think. It was as though her body was buzzing, every nerve alight, demanding sothing she did not even know how to na. Even the chambermaids concerned voice were muffled into her ears that she felt guilty for dismissing them.
Desperate for distraction, she squeezed her eyes shut.
Sweets. That’s it. Sweets always make everything better. Maybe if I eat sothing sugary, it’ll cancel out...whatever this is.
So she sat up, clutching at the bedsheets and fanning her still flushed face with her hand. "Yes...sugar fixes everything. My macarons..."
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