Now that they were talking, she found herself not wanting the mont to end. It was not every day that she could draw him out like this; not every day that the crown prince will let himself be anything but distant marble and duty.
"Where were you earlier?" Ilaria asked, her voice soft but curious as she flexed her fingers in his hand, willing the tremor to still.
Levan glanced at her briefly. He said, "Overseeing the sealing rite and discussing the reconstruction with the wardens. There was a matter at the northern wards that required attention."
"Was it dangerous?" she asked, brows knitting.
"Not directly." His tone was calm as he laid out the information, the kind ant to quiet worry before it could bloom. "The ward has weakened since last night’s disturbance. So we’ll need to reinforce it before the next tide."
Ilaria’s gaze lowered for a mont, her smile fading slightly. She knew enough to understand the weight of his words. Back then, her father had stepped foot to that sa place to purify what the priests called the ’first bloom of Blithe,’ and even then, the corruption had already begun to crawl through the soil.
She thought it would only show improvent after that day, but it seed like even the patron of the White Dragon at that ti could not wholly diminish the force of the corruption. He might have managed to held it at bay for a while, but that was that.
"That sounds bad..." she murmured, concern flickering on her face.
He did not deny it. "It is," Levan agreed quietly. "The seal’s holding for now, but sothing beneath it keeps stirring. For now, the wardens still can’t trace the root."
The way he said it told her he had been thinking about it far longer than he admitted. Ilaria looked down at their joined hands, her thumb brushing faintly against his knuckles. She wished, not for the first ti, that she could do sothing to ease what he carried.
The Blithe was no simple sickness or curse; it was a wound upon the land itself, an echo that fed on life and faith alike. Even the scholars in the Caelwyn could only trace fragnts of its nature, so said it was born from the remnants of old divine wars, others that it was the shadow of sothing never ant to exist.
"Have the Caelwyn healers and the priests from the Order of The Temple been any help?" she asked hopefully, lifting her gaze to him. "Last I heard, they were studying the residual traces from the first seal."
Levan nodded. "They’ve done what they can," he said. "Their rites have slowed the spread along the lower valley, but there are still areas they can’t touch. It seed like the Blithe resists ordinary purification as though it knows what we’re trying to do."
She blinked, horrified. "It knows?"
"Not in the way we do," he clarified, his tone thoughtful. "But it responds and shifts like a living thing learning to avoid the light."
That quieted her. The air between them felt heavier now, filled with things she did not know how to na.
Levan’s gaze softened, sensing her worry. "But as long as the wards hold, it will not reach the heartlands," he said quietly.
Then, almost as an afterthought, he carefully drew her closer, his hand sliding lightly up against her arm as he guide her to sit beside him on the wide sill. Only when she settled did he let go, realizing just how he had made her stand for too long.
She blinked at the gesture, surprised, but she obeyed without a word.
For a mont, he watched the light settle on her hair, warm and faintly golden. Then he spoke steadily, the way one might speak to soone fragile they did not want to frighten.
"Don’t imrse yourself over things that will only trouble you," he reminded. "It isn’t your concern to carry."
Ilaria hesitated, but then she nodded faintly, though her heart ached at the calm finality in his voice — not because he sounded resigned, but because it felt like he had already learned to bear it alone.
Oh, how she wished there was sothing she could do.
She had seen that sa quiet strength in him before, the way he spoke of duty like it was air and sothing he had long since accepted would never leave him. It was not pride that kept him standing. It was habit, the kind that ca from carrying the weight of things too heavy for one person to bear.
And she, sitting beside him, felt painfully small in comparison.
The world he spoke of — the wards, the Blithe, the corruption spreading through the land — all of it sounded so far away from her reach, yet she was a part of it now. His wife. The daughter of the White Dragon’s royals. And still... she could not do anything but sit here and listen.
Her fingers fidgeted in her lap restlessly. If she could not fight, could not ward, could not command armies like he could... then what could she do?
The thought lingered, fragile but persistent until it caught onto sothing, a mory of her father’s lessons, her sister’s voice, her mother’s encouragent, whispering about the old ways of communion. The kind of things the priests never spoke of in temples.
"...Maybe there is sothing I can do," she murmured, almost to herself.
When Levan’s eyes flicked toward her, she looked back at him, her voice soft and uncertain. "Back then, my father and my sister had spoke of things that weren’t human. The priests warned us never to answer if we heard them, but they still did, sotis to understand, sotis to help. So maybe if I—"
Levan straightened slightly, his expression unreadable. "You would speak to it?"
Her fingers tightened over the hem of her skirt, her voice trembling just a little as she nodded. "It already spoke to once, didn’t it? Maybe if it happens again, I could—"
"—No." His interruption was quiet but firm enough to cut through the air between them. His gaze held hers steadily. "You won’t answer it. Ever again. It already happened once, you should focus on avoiding it instead."
She blinked, startled by the sudden edge in his voice. But beneath it, there was no anger, only sothing heavy.
Levan drew in a breath and lowered his tone, turning to her slightly. "You might carry the blood of the White Dragon, but that doesn’t make you immune to what it is. The Blithe isn’t sothing that can be reasoned with. It takes the shape of what you fear then eats through it until nothing’s left."
He paused, studying her small, uncertain hands against her lap. It suddenly felt horrible to deny her but he do not want to risk her doing sothing reckless just to be helpful. "...You’ve been sheltered from these things, Aria. And that’s good. Keep it that way."
She did not answer imdiately, just looked up at him, eyes shining with a quiet sort of defiance that only made her seem fragile. "...I only thought, if it could speak to , maybe I could understand it better."
Levan’s gaze did not waver. "That’s the thing, you’re not ant to understand it," he said unyieldingly as he reached for her arm and tentatively turned it over, subtly reminding her of the dark veins earlier. "You’re ant to stay untouched by it, especially now that you’ve been afflicted."
The silence that followed was fragile, tender and heavy all at once. The way he looked at her then, she could tell it was not just about duty. He was not warning her as a prince, but as soone who feared what might happen if she ever tried.
Ilaria’s throat tightened. She turned her face away, guilt creeping in at the edges of her heart. "I just wanted to help you..." she said dejectedly. "You always look like you’re carrying everything alone. And I thought... if I could do even a little—"
"You shouldn’t have thought like that," he interrupted again.
And the words made her falter. He exhaled slowly, as though steadying sothing inside himself. He lifted his hand higher and brushed his fingers lightly against her hair, resting the heel of his palm against her head to maneuver her to look at him.
"I don’t want you near things like that again," he said, his voice quiet but firm, every syllable deliberate.
Levan’s gaze lingered on her. His eyes traced the faint lines of worry that marred her soft expression, the downturned corner of her lips, the way her lashes trembled like she was still trying to find a reason to protest.
He kept brushing her hair, his fingers moving with quiet precision, careful as though she might break beneath his touch. The gesture was almost absentminded, yet there was focus in it; a wordless way of making sure she would listen to him properly.
"Your sister wouldn’t like it either, you know that. She’s spent her life protecting you and you’d try to speak to sothing that were bound to corruption?" His thumb brushed lightly against her temple, almost in reproach, but softened by fondness. "You’re far too brave for your own good."
Ilaria blinked, her cheeks warming at the mix of worry and quiet amusent in his voice.
He sighed then, eyes still on her. "If anything ever happens, you call for ," he said, more gently this ti, his hand fall lower and cupped warmly against the side of her neck, making sure that she was looking up at him before saying — with the kind of voice that almost sounded like temptation. "That’s not a request, Aria."
The way he said her na made her breath catch. And in that mont, she could not tell which unsettled her more: the quiet command in his tone, or the way her heart seed to answer it without question.
She nodded faintly despite herself. "...Alright," she whispered, though a part of her still wanted to argue that she could be more than sothing to be guarded. But when she felt the light squeeze of his fingers against her neck, the words died quietly on her tongue.
Reviews
All reviews (0)