CHAPTER 62: THE PRINCE’S CHAMBER

Ilaria’s gaze was so fixed on him that she did not notice Melyn’s wide eyes when the door creaked open. But before she could so much as react to the way her handmaiden was looking at them suspiciously, Levan spoke first.

"Rosenborne," he called.

Melyn snapped out of her thoughts and bowed deeply. "Your Highness."

"Call the Wardens and the Priest of the Maw. Seal the Dawn Gallery with binding rites, iron the doors and glyphs the panes. Nothing breathes in there until the wards hold."

Melyn perked up at the command, her surprise flickering across her face. Why call the priests? She thought the princess was only praying. She had not seen or felt anything suspicious until the crown prince barged in the room just now. Did something happen that she did not notice?

Curious, she lowered her gaze, and when her eyes fell on the princess, she spotted the faint trace of dried tears along her cheeks, making her frown in both wonder and alarm. But alas, she did not comment on it seeing how she was already tucked in the prince’s arms.

"Yes, Your Highness," she replied.

In Noctharis, whenever bad omens appeared, it was imperative for the wardens and priests to intervene immediately. Wards were reinforced with incantations and prayers, binding the affected space so that no lingering ill force could escape.

The containment would hold until the wardens deemed the hall safe, ensuring that whatever presence had been disturbed could not spread beyond its confines and sow further harm. So the fact that the crown prince issued such an order must mean it was something terrible.

Ilaria barely registered the conversation that was going on. She only felt the heat of his arm around her shoulders and the firmness of his hold steadying her. She noticed how Melyn was looking at her, then her husband, and back again, her expression caught somewhere between shock and awe.

Ilaria ducked her head a little.

It was so embarrassing to be seen with her husband like this. Not that she minded, not really. She wanted it too. But with Melyn watching, it felt painfully mortifying. Because they were used to whispering behind his back, trading small complaints and teasing remarks in secret.

And now here she was, caught in the open, unable to hide behind laughter or sly comments with her confidante seeing her so utterly exposed.

Levan spoke again. "Also, have someone retrieve the princess’ bathing necessities. Fresh linens and Hallowbloom petals, make sure they’re from the eastern conservatory."

Melyn nodded. "At once, Your Highness," she said carefully. "Shall I have them sent to the princess’ chamber?"

Levan did not even pause as he adjusted his hold on Ilaria, already steering her toward the corridor. "No. To mine."

Ilaria almost tripped. "Y-yours?"

He did not answer, only gave her a brief, unreadable glance before looking ahead again.

Melyn shifted awkwardly, but she bowed her head nonetheless. "...I’ll see it done."

With that, Levan shifted his hold just enough to guide Ilaria toward the hall, the press of his arm against her shoulders a quiet anchor. She stayed as close as he allowed, still trembling slightly, whispering a tiny, muffled "goodbye" to Melyn over his chest and hoped that the air will carry her silent apology.

Behind them, Melyn could not believe what she just saw. Her eyes darted between them, from Ilaria’s flushed face to Levan’s impassive one. Because first of all, since when? Second of all, why? Did they somehow get into each other’s good terms, or did the princess’ actually managed to charm him with her macaron-level sweetness?

She shook her head and decided not to linger. Hastily, she turned on her heels and proceeded to carry out the prince’s order.

Meanwhile, Ilaria was too stunned to speak. She could still feel the heat climbing her neck. Why not her own chamber? Why not anywhere else? The idea of stepping into his sleeping quarters and bathing there was unthinkable. After all, she only used to linger in his main chamber, where he attended to his documents and guests.

Is he... serious? Did he want to scold me? That’s why he asked me to stay with him?

The sound of their footsteps echoed down the corridor, too loud for her liking. Every few steps, Ilaria stole a sideways glance at him, trying to gauge if he was serious or if he would suddenly come to his senses and send her elsewhere.

But Levan walked on, calm as ever, the faintest crease between his brows the only sign of his thoughts.

She cleared her throat. "You... you meant your bedchamber, right?"

"I did."

"Oh."

There was a beat of silence. Then another.

"Because," she swallowed, "mine is— well, it’s perfectly fine. I promise t-there’s no monster lurking under the bed or anything, I checked."

That earned her a short, almost imperceptible exhale, like he was hiding a laugh but refusing to show it. "You’re not staying there."

Her shoulders slumped as she clamped her lips, startled and embarrassed by the way he worded it out. "You sound very sure about that."

"I am," he said simply.

"...You make it sound like I’m the one possessed."

He glanced down at her then, his eyes cutting sideways. "After what just happened, you want to test that theory?"

Her mouth snapped shut. "...No."

"Good," he said, and that was that—at least for a heartbeat.

Then, his gaze flicked toward her, sharper now, cutting through the soft calm she had tried to rebuild. "You’ve done something reckless today. So, forgive me if I prefer to keep you where I can see you for a while."

She blinked. Is that the reason why he wanted her to stay close? It could be. Well, he would not do something without reason. She asked, "...So I’m under watch?"

"You are," he replied without missing a step. "You let the Blithe touch you and that is not something I take lightly."

Ilaria’s breath hitched, shame curling tight in her chest. "I wasn’t thinking—"

"I know." His tone softened, but only barely. "That’s the problem."

He was clearly scolding her, but he did not raise his voice anymore. "So, until I’m certain that darkness hasn’t found another way in, you stay close, understood?"

His words lingered in the air, quiet but absolute. She only managed a faint nod, her gaze fixed on the polished floor as they turned down the corridor that led deeper into the familiar hallway towards his chamber.

The usual rustle of attendants and guards faded until only the soft echo of their footsteps remained. They entered the chamber together, so casually it made her heart leapt. And the further they went, the quieter it became. Past the sofa where she used to linger, the table where he would lounge, and the shelves lined with his collection of wine.

When Levan finally stopped, she realized where they were.

The doors before them were ones she had never been permitted to open. A tall carved door with the crest of Noctharis, and veined with faint traces of gold leaf. She had passed them countless times before, always assuming his private bedchamber would be cold and austere just like the way he was.

But when the doors swung inward, her assumptions faltered.

The room beyond was nothing like the sterile quiet of his study. The air was warm, touched by the faint scent of myrrh and cedarwood. A great window framed the far wall, its sheer curtains stirring in the breeze, letting the light spilled in soft and gold. The bed stood beneath it, broad and draped in deep gray and soft silver, the sheets so smooth they seemed untouched.

And everywhere, there were small traces of him, a discarded cloak slung over a chair, books stacked beside a half-burned candle, a sword resting in its stand near the window, glinting faintly in the light. She caught the faint scent of Hallowbloom incense from the corner.

Ilaria hesitated at the threshold, her fingers brushing the doorframe as if unsure whether she was allowed to step in.

Levan glanced back at her, brow slightly furrowed. "You’re not planning to sleep in the cushion again, are you?"

She jolted, colour rushing to her cheeks. "N-no, I just..." Her eyes darted to the bed, then away. "It’s... it’s... weird..."

"It’s a room, not a sanctum."

"It feels like one," she muttered, still rooted by the door.

Levan exhaled quietly, then reached out, his hand hovering briefly at her back before resting there, light but guiding. "Come in," he said. "It won’t bite."

Her heart fluttered despite herself. The warmth of his palm, the quiet authority in his tone caressing her ears... it all made it harder to think. So she obeyed, stepping over the threshold and feeling the faintest shift in the air as the door closed behind her.

The sound clicked softly, final in its intimacy.

Levan moved further into the room with the kind of quiet ease that made it obvious this space belonged to him. He shrugged off his outer and tossed it neatly over a chair. For once, he did not carry that rigid stillness she always saw when he was in court or study; here, in his own quarters, he seemed a little less crown prince and a little more man.

Ilaria lingered where she stood, uncertain of what to do with her hands. Her gaze followed him, trailing over the familiar and the unfamiliar. Then her eyes scanned the room quietly, taking in its impressive architecture and the way it seemed to have more personality than the owner himself.

But then something else caught her attention.

There were no lanterns nearby. Not even one.

The corners of the room that should have been aglow with the pale shimmer of firelight were instead cast in quiet shadow. And yet, it was not dark. The air did not feel heavy the way it sometimes did in the hallways of Noctharis when a lantern had gone out. It did not press at her chest or whisper through the cracks in the walls.

In her own chamber, she sometimes had to keep four lamps burning day and night just to sleep without feeling watched. Even then, she would still wake with her heart hammering, sensing something hovering just beyond the veil.

But here... here, there was nothing.

The quiet was not suffocating, it was warm. The shadows did not crawl, they rested.

Her fingers relaxed at her sides before she even realized it, the tension that had strung itself through her all morning easing little by little. She looked around again at the heavy curtains and the muted gleam of his sword against the wall.

Maybe that ’thing’ didn’t dare come here.

Maybe it feared him too.

...But why? How?

Levan turned then, glancing at her over his shoulder after noticing the way she stayed unmoving. His gaze was steady, assessing, like he had noticed something in her face. "What?" he asked, his voice roughened with the faintest exhaustion.

Ilaria perked up, startled from her thoughts. "Nothing," she said quickly, shaking her head, though the corners of her lips threatened a small, guilty smile.

"If it’s truly nothing, then stop looking like you’ve wandered into a temple," he murmured, rolling his sleeves up his forearms.

When he finally looked at her, his gaze lingered, long enough to make her forget to breathe. "Come here."