CHAPTER 49: HAPPINESS

Ilaria could not contain her excitement after she returned to her chamber. She all but scurried across the threshold, the hem of her gown swishing around her ankles as though even her clothes were eager to share in her joy.

Melyn was untangling the curtains when the door suddenly burst open, catching her off-guard. Her instinct kicked in immediately that she unknowingly fall into a defensive stance with the duster gripped in one hand, like an assassin ready to strike.

"Melyn! Melyn!" Ilaria’s voice rang bright, carrying the kind of unrestrained delight that left no room for restraint. She nearly stumbled over the rug in her haste, pressing both hands to her chest else her heart might leap out. "Mel, you won’t believe it! I’m going to a banquet with my husband!"

Melyn blinked, startled at first by the whirlwind of the princess entrance before the words sank in. She slowly steadied herself. "A banquet?"

"Yes, yes!" Ilaria clasped Melyn’s hands, unable to stand still, prying the duster away as she bounced on her toes. "He actually asked me if I wanted to go. And— And he said I can accompany him. Can you believe it??"

Her excitement bubbled over again that she could not help but twirl on the spot, skirts flaring and laughter spilling into the chamber like sunlight as she unknowingly wrapped herself up in the curtains until she vanished inside a cocoon of velvet, screaming in ecstasy.

Melyn’s eyes widened. "Wait, princess— I just cleaned that—"

But Ilaria was far too consumed in her own world to listen. "Oh, Melyn, it feels so real now—" Her voice floated out, muffled but dreamy, "—to walk by his side, not just here in these halls, but out there where everyone can see..."

Melyn pressed her lips together in a long-suffering sigh, stepping over to the tangled cocoon. She pinched at the curtain, tugging carefully to free the princess. "You’ll suffocate yourself one day," she muttered, catching the unmistakable glow on Ilaria’s bright face when she peeked through the folds.

"Are you truly certain about this?" Melyn asked, easing the fabric from around Ilaria’s shoulders.

"Yes— yes, of course!" Ilaria nodded with such earnestness that the curtain slipped loose again, nearly toppling her. "It’s like he chose me, Melyn, do you understand? He could have gone alone but instead—" she flung her arms wide, nearly tangling herself once more, "—he looked at me and asked if I wanted to go!"

Melyn huffed a quiet laugh under her breath as she freed the princess’ arm. She could not help but wonder: Did Levan really do that? She said, "So the Crown Prince, usually as warm as a glacier, invited you to go to a banquet with him, and now you’re wrapping yourself in curtains to celebrate."

"Yes!" Ilaria agreed without hesitation, grinning so wide her cheeks ached. "Because it means something, doesn’t it? That he wants me there. That he sees me there. I won’t be a shadow, Melyn, I’ll be his wife!"

"What are you even saying? You are his wife."

At last, Melyn managed to unravel the last knot of velvet, pulling Ilaria free from her cocoon. The princess stumbled forward, flushed and breathless, but her joy radiated so dazzlingly that Melyn could only shake her head. It was actually humourous how that deadpanned stone could get a beautiful girl happy like this, she thought to herself.

"You’re hopeless," Melyn commented. She gave the princess a look halfway between bemusement and wonder. "Hopelessly starry-eyed, hopelessly tangled in curtains, and soon hopelessly the talk of the entire court if you go on shining like this."

"Then let them say whatever they like! I’ll finally be by his side, Melyn! Isn’t that worth every whisper?"

Melyn raised a brow as she smoothed out the rumpled folds of Ilaria’s gown. "You’ll make yourself faint from excitement before the banquet even arrives."

"Then I’ll faint into his arms!" Ilaria shot back. "And won’t that be dramatic? The whole court will see how dearly he holds me!"

Melyn scrunched her face, fussing with her hair unamusedly. "Eh, I think that would cause a scene."

"A romantic scene!"

"A chaotic scene," Melyn’s brows went high, a knowing look on her face. "With you sprawled on the floor and His Highness looks ready to exile the entire banquet hall."

Ilaria giggled at the funny imagination, covering her mouth with both hands. "Then it will be memorable."

The excitement did not remain hers alone for long. By the time Melyn had ushered her out of the curtains, Ilaria’s delight had already spilled over into the chamber like spilled perfume. Sweet and lingering, and impossible to hide. The other maids soon gathered, drawn by her brightness as her words tumbling over themselves in breathless rushes.

"I will be attending a banquet with my husband next week and I need to look the best!"

Their surprise melted into smiles, and before long the room hummed with the quiet bustle of preparation. Lists were hastily scribbled, footsteps hurried down the corridors to find the seamstress, and fabrics were discussed. A trunk was unearthed from storage, the lid creaking open to reveal silks and ribbons long folded away.

Ilaria sat amidst it all, glowing as she watched her world come alive around her. The laughter, the quickened pace of hands, the sudden urgency of a week’s time...It all felt like the court itself was conspiring to make this dream of hers real.

After the flurry of fittings and fabrics, Ilaria at last found herself back at her writing desk, quill poised above fresh parchment. The chamber had calmed though the faint echoes of laughter and hurried footsteps from the maids still lingered in the hall. She bent closer, tongue caught between her teeth in concentration as she penned her reply to her sister, Serenya’s latest letter.

Her heart spilled easily into the page as she narrated the days events. Every detail of her joy, from the way Levan had asked her, to the preparations that seemed too grand for her to deserve. The ink smudged faintly where her hand brushed against it, evidence of her eagerness to tell it all before the feelings dimmed even a little.

"I shall be attending a banquet with my husband next week. I promise to tell you all about it! Noctharis banquets are quite unlike those back home, and I’m certain there will be many fascinating things to share."

She paused, quill hovering as her eyes skimmed over the page, weighing its length. Then a sudden thought lit her expression. "Oh!" She bent closer, ink catching the curve of her hurried script as she added,

"Yesterday, I asked the kitchens to make Caelwyn’s Heartbread stew. It doesn’t taste the same, but it nearly brought me to tears that I could almost taste home again! I don’t know when I’ll return home, but you must promise me it will be waiting the moment I step through our doors."

She smiled as she penned the final line, the one she never failed to add at the close of every letter for her sister,

"Take care of yourself, Serenya. Don’t burn yourself out before I visit. With love, your sister, Aria."

She held the page a moment longer, her fingers brushing the inked lines as if she could reach through to her sister herself. A pang of longing stirred in her chest, but it was gone as quickly as it came, chased away by her buoyant anticipation of the days ahead.

With the ink barely dry, Ilaria sanded the page, folded it with care, and pressed her seal upon it. Normally, such letters would be passed to a scribe or bundled among the day’s correspondence, but she never liked the thought of her words to Serenya buried in piles of parchment.

So instead, as she always did, she rose to deliver it herself. Handing it to the palace messenger felt almost as important as writing it, because only then did she trust that her love had begun its journey home.

The halls were busy this morning, servants rushing to and fro, guards shifting between posts. She held the letter to her chest and murmured a quiet prayer in hopes that the letter will be passed with ease and the journey be immaculate until it reached the receiver’s ends.

As she rounded a corner, two guards hurried past, nearly colliding with her, making her halt with a gasp at the suddeness.

"Saints—" one guard began, eyes widening as he realised whom he had nearly startled.

"—forgive us, princess!" Both intoned together, dropping into synchronized bows.

"It’s quite all right," Ilaria replied with a soft smile, lifting a hand to ease their alarm.

They straightened at her reassurance, inclining their heads once more with crisp formality.

"If you’ll excuse us, Your Highness," the taller one said, and they fell back into step, falling away down the corridor with quick, purposeful strides.

Their voices drifted back as they walked, but the last bits of their conversation was not deaf to her ears. "...Notify the General to muster the guards. Prince Neven will be arriving within days. His summons came directly from the King."

Ilaria slowed, blinking after them.

The First Prince. Husband’s brother...

Their words lingered in the air, weighted with an undercurrent Ilaria could not quite place. Had he been away all this time? Now that she thought of it, she had scarcely glimpsed him since the early months of her marriage, and even then, only on rare occasions.

But the thought slipped away just as quickly as it came. She still has a letter to send and a banquet to look forward to. There are more important matters to care. She tightened her grip and continued her walk, heart lifting again with each step toward the messenger’s chamber.

Somewhere behind her, the palace stirred with preparations she did not yet understand, but for now she carried only her joy.