He stopped talking once her tears fell.
Raising his voice had been uncalled for, but he could not help himself. The sight of the blackness crawling beneath her skin had clawed sothing primal out of him. It was like fear and anger knotted into one. Now, with her shoulders trembling and her head bowed, the weight of his tone hung between them like smoke.
He exhaled slowly, the edge leaving his voice despite the overwhelming tension. His fingers that were still curled around her wrist loosened when he noticed how red the skin had turned beneath his hold. There was a shallow mark, blooming faintly where his fingers had pressed too hard.
Levan’s expression flickered, his frustration giving way to sothing guilty, so he turned her wrist over in his palm as his touch gentled. The pads of his fingers brushed over the tender spot, tracing it to erase the painful sensation she might be feeling.
Her pulse fluttered beneath his thumb, quick and uneven, and for a mont he only looked at it, feeling it stutter against his skin.
"Why are you crying now?" He asked, and though the words were firm, the sound of them ca out quieter than he ant, almost like a sigh, only worn and heavy.
Ilaria shook her head, her breath catching as she dragged her trembling hand across her face. The gesture sared the wetness but did little to hide it. She did not even know what foolish impulse had made her open herself to sothing she should have feared.
Usually, she was careful. She had never been one to chase what frightened her. Yet in that mont, alone with the quiet and the rain, sothing in her had reached out before her mind could stop it. Maybe it was the need to understand. Maybe it was the ache of too many unanswered questions.
Now, with his hand still holding hers, all she could think was how wrong she had been. The mory of the voice still clung to her skin, and guilt pressed hard against her chest.
"I don’t know why I did it," she whispered, shaking her head again, her voice breaking on the edges. "I just wanted to know why it kept calling ."
Levan’s eyes map the darkness that blooms beneath Ilaria’s skin, an inked network creeping from wrist to elbow. This is the hollowed fingers of the Blithe’s taking, the veinwork that no common fever makes. This is not a bruise that will fade with sleep. It is a ledger of ownership.
They could barely make out what kind of entity the Blithe truly was. All they knew was that it was sothing ancient, parasitic, and half-rembered in the oldest of records. Even the priests who studied its nature spoke only in cautions and fragnts. And now hiswife was already marked by it.
His chest tightens until breath becos a narrow thing. The room contracted to the span between her and him that every detail seed to sharpen — the tremor in her hands, the way she presses the heel of her palm against her breast, the faint scent of rosemary from the bath clinging to her hair.
He counts the marks the way other n count wounds after a battle. Each darkened line is a promise broken and a secret unpaid.
Suddenly, the bowl on the windowsill cracked with a sharp sound. The dark water spilled across the floor, and the shadows scread. The sound was not heard so much as felt, only a rattle through the bones before it went silent, leaving only the stillness of the chamber.
Levan’s gaze stayed fixed on the spreading water and the faint smoke curling where it touched the light.
Then, he pulled her by the elbow, dragging Ilaria gently but firmly up with him as he took a step back. "Don’t touch the floor," he said quickly, like an instinct born of years of dealing with corruption and warding.
He gave a slow once-over of her trembling form, exhaling through his nose. This would not do. If she allowed herself to falter now, the darkness would only burrow deeper, using every quiver of her mind as leverage. So he did what he thought the only thing that could ease her mind.
He drew her closer and wrapped his arms around her. The heat of his chest and the steady thrum of his heartbeat beca a tether against the chaos clawing at her mind. Her hair brushed against his jaw, and he tilted his head slightly, letting it rest against her temple.
"I told you before not to parade your fear in the open," he murmured, the words were almost a growl, not angry, but more like he was frustrated and disappointed in her impulse rather than her character.
Ilaria was shocked to the core. Even in this state, she did not expect him to do sothing so tender. Is he doing this by his own will?
"I’m not mad at you," he said before she could ask, knowing how ’important’ that notion was to her as he had seen how she reacted when he was angry before.
"I’m only disappointed that you would let it reach you so freely. You’ve seen what it can do. You knew the severity of what it leaves behind. Many do not survive when touched and you should have known better."
He ran a thumb along her jaw, lifting her head so that she was looking up at him properly. "Can you draw it out?" he asked tentatively. "You’re from Caelwyn, that blood in you can fight this at least a little."
Ilaria could not speak for a mont. She was still looking at him like she was not sure how to behave.
His eyes softened then, though the weight behind them never left. "I can shield you from the worst, but you have to try. Even a fraction of control is better than letting it burrow in deeper. Have you tried healing yourself before?"
Ilaria sniffled once, the tears no longer stinging her eyes as she nodded slowly.
"Then start sowhere," he urged gently. "Even a little light pushed back against the dark can change everything."
Ilaria swallowed, unsure if she wanted to try fearing nothing would change. "Will it work?" she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the quiet storm in the room.
"It will," he said slowly, "but you have to understand sothing first. There’s a difference between a wound that can be seen and a wound that lives in the mind."
He brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "The Caelwyn healers, your sister, and the priests can nd the body. A physical wound inflicted by the Blithe can be tended and soothed easily by your people. You’ve seen it yourself. And if you try, you can do that too."
He sighed, looking at her like he was trying to find another way. "But an emotional wound is different. When it tainted the mind, that is not sothing a poultice or a potion can touch. The light in you can fight it, yes, but it requires more than just magic. It requires will."
He watched how her brows furrowed in sadness, like she was really regretting what she just did. He ran his thumb across it to ease her tension, saying, "Even then, it is a struggle. Years might pass before the dark is fully pushed back. Sotis, it never truly leaves. But it can be held at bay, so you must decide, in each mont that it does not own you."
He held her gaze then, and in the shadowed depths of his golden eyes, she could see a flicker of warning and an attempt at patience, the heavy weight of responsibility he carried for her. The darkness that had been clawing at her skin began to soothe, softened by the safety of his arms around her.
For a brief, precious mont, she felt grounded, as though the Blithe’s reach had been stalled by his presence.
But then her gaze fell to her forearms again, and the weight of reality struck her anew. Her hands trembled as they hovered over the darkened veins snaking beneath her skin. Each shadowed line was a whisper of the entity she had dared to face, a reminder that it had left its mark, and that mark could twist and claw at her at any mont.
The comfort she had felt was fleeting when the fear surged back, sharper this ti.
Levan noticed the shift in her focus, so he tightened his arms around her slightly, a gentle but firm squeeze that pulled her attention back to him. His voice, calm yet edged with authority, imdiately cut through her spiraling thoughts.
"Still scared?" he asked.
Ilaria’s lips trembled, her eyes wide and honest, and she did not even try to lie. "...Yes," she nodded pitifully.
"Then we start slowly," Levan loosened his hold just enough to take a small step back, leaving a sliver of space between them. Not far, just enough to watch her clearly without crowding her. His hands lingered lightly at her forearms, steadying her.
Ilaria drew a shaky breath, closing her eyes for a brief second to gather herself. Then, with slow, deliberate focus, she pressed her palms over the darkened veins that snaked along her arms as white glow shimred across her skin. She willed it gently, encouraging the light to push back against the creeping darkness.
The shadows writhed beneath her skin at first, as if resisting, but gradually, the blackness began to soften, curling back like smoke fading at dawn, causing her breath to hitch as she silently reminded herself not to panic.
Levan’s eyes never left her. He did not speak, nor did he rush her. Minutes passed in careful silence, the only sound was her quiet, uneven breaths. Only when the darkened veins were gone did she finally exhaled.
Ilaria felt relieved at the sight, though she could not muster herself to cheer. Before she could so much as say anything, however, Levan shifted slightly and drew her back in. His hands ca up and adjusted the veil draped over her shoulders, settling it with gentle precision.
For a heartbeat, she braced herself, expecting the familiar reprimand and the reminder to return to her chamber and rest. Perhaps he would even call lyn to escort her back as the handmaiden was probably still waiting outside too.
But he did not say what she expected. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close until the side of her face was squeezed against his chest as they began to walk towards the door.
"Let’s go back," he said.
Ilaria blinked like he had just announced the impossible. She could feel him loosening his grip just enough so that she could move her head to look at him, "...Go where?’
"My chamber," he answered, almost too naturally as he looked down at her. And he... he gave her a small, fleeting smile, the kind that barely touched his lips but held a quiet promise. "Don’t go anywhere else. Stay with today."
Ilaria almost halted in disbelief. He was... smiling? It barely lingered, gone before she could fully take it in, but it was enough to make her heart tremble.
She had thought he would be angry because he was disappointed, but this... this warmth left her genuinely stunned, unsure how to feel, and yet unwilling to look away.
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