CHAPTER 63: IS THIS NORMAL?

"Come here."

To her ears, it sounded like a tempting invitation that was enough to make her want to forget all senses and fall into his arms. He sounded like he always was, just not quite a command, but more like a pull she could not resist.

Ilaria hesitated, her pulse a nervous flutter in her throat as she carefully stepped closer, her slippers whispering against the marble. When she stopped before him, he reached up and, with surprising gentleness, brushed his fingers along the edge of her veil, making her freeze where she stood.

The touch was light, almost reverent, as he slid the fabric off of her shoulders. The thin silk caught briefly against her cheek before falling away, and suddenly, there was nothing between them but air.

Ilaria’s breath hitched. He was only removing the veil, but it felt like he had just stripped her naked.

"I-I already... bathed this morning," she said. It sounded like an excuse even to her own ears, but she could not help it.

Levan did not look surprised. If anything, his face barely shifted, though his tone was patient. "That was before," he said simply.

He did not move for a long time. Only his hands did, folding the fabric while his eyes stayed fixed on her face. It was not just her face he studied, he was searching for something deeper, something he could not quite name but needed to be sure of.

But that was the thing. Ilaria could not withstand this silent scrutiny. She tried to steady her heart, but the sound of it was too loud in her ears. Her hands twisted against the fabric of her gown that she dared not meet his eyes for more than a heartbeat. When she did, the intensity of his stare only made her look away again.

Maybe it was because of the silence that she could feel it so vividly: the way his tantalizing eyes moved across her face. It was not hurried. It drifted purposefully, tracing the line of her lashes, the curve of her nose, and lingering just long enough to make her breath falter.

It felt almost tangible, like a touch that had not yet landed, but her skin reacted to it all the same. And it did not help that he looked like that. Golden eyes catching the faint light, jaw set in quiet scrutiny, every line of his face sharpened by the hush between them.

There was something dangerously composed about him, something that made her want to look away but could not. Saints, why did he have to look so unreasonably handsome while doing absolutely nothing at all?

And he noticed, of course he did. And something faint shifted in his expression. The sharpness softening into thought.

He looked down at the folded veil in his hands, tracing the fabric to make sure it was neat. "You’re trembling," he stated, his tone a quiet murmur that brushed against her like a touch.

"I’m not," she tried to say, but her voice betrayed her and wavered at the end.

His lips curved, just barely, like a faint, knowing thing that should not have looked as devastating as it did. "Then why can’t you look at me?"

Her brain combusted.

What is wrong with him?!

This was not how he usually was! He was supposed to be composed, cold, and unreadable! Not standing this close with that expression, not letting his voice dip low enough that she could feel it! Her breath tangled in her throat, her thoughts scattering like startled birds.

She forced herself to look up, only for the sight of him to make it worse. For some reason, the muted light that before highlighted the back of his hair had shifted, now tracing the sharp edges of his features, the line of his throat, and the molten gold threading through his dark irises, making his eyes even more prominent.

She turned so quickly it was a miracle she did not pull a muscle, fussing over her hair to cover her reddened ears while her heart screamed treachery.

It felt so overwhelming that when a sharp knock came at the door, she had never felt more relieved. In fact, she exhaled a little too loudly, the kind of sound that betrayed far too much that it made Levan’s brows lifted almost imperceptibly. The corner of his mouth twitched, caught somewhere between incredulous and amusement.

He usually would not even register such trivial gestures, but this one was so comical he could not help it. Was she really that nervous around him? After all, he was only looking.

Levan slowly turned his attention towards the door. The shift in him was almost invisible, but she felt it all the same as he returned the neatly folded veil to her. The warmth in his gaze cooled, his shoulders straightening as though a veil of composure fell neatly back into place.

"Your Highness?" came Melyn’s voice from beyond the door. "I’ve brought the princess’ bathing necessities, as you requested."

"Enter," he said, his tone clipped back to its usual, princely restraint.

The door opened, and Melyn stepped inside carrying a basin full of Hallowbloom petals and fresh linens. Her eyes darted between them — to the princess standing pink-faced and wide-eyed, and the composed prince still much too close. For a brief, silent second, understanding and disbelief warred on her countenance.

Levan stepped back, finally giving Ilaria space, though his hand brushed the edge of her sleeve in passing. Whether it was intentional or not, she could not tell.

"Help her," he instructed, his voice even, betraying none of what just transpired.

Melyn gave him a weird look, but answered nonetheless. "...Yes, I will."

As the handmaiden made her way further and into the antechamber to prepare the bath, Levan’s gaze found Ilaria again, still battling with her hair that somehow had covered half her face like a curtain. His expression was perfectly neutral, yet the unmistakable curl at his lips carried a tease too knowing to be accidental.

For a moment, she almost thought he would say something, but instead, the faintest huff of laughter escaped him before he simply turned and left.

Just like that.

Ilaria stood flabbergasted, still feeling the ghost of his gaze on her skin even after the door clicked shut. Her thoughts fizzed uselessly, her face so warm she half-expected smoke to start rising from her ears.

W-what was that for?!

Her heart was still hammering as if he was still standing before her. The space he left behind felt far too small, the air still holding the echo of his voice and the warmth of his closeness. She pressed a hand over her chest, coaxing her pulse to calm.

Get a hold of yourself, Aria! He was just... just being normal. Probably!

But the thought did not help. Every time she replayed the way he had looked at her with the quiet intent in his eyes and the faint curve of his mouth, her stomach flipped traitorously.

Even after he left, the air in his chamber still felt charged. Ilaria sank into the steaming water, trying to wash the heat from her skin. The petals floated around her like small, pale ghosts. Never did she think there would be a day she would feel scared to be standing that close to him.

Melyn crouched beside the tub, eyes narrowing like she was piecing together a scandal. When she spoke, the princess nearly tumbled into the water. "Never thought I’d see the day you and he would end up together," she said.

Ilaria jolted at the remark. "...H-huh? No, we were just..." she trailed off, not knowing how to explain the situation either.

Melyn raised a brow as she wrung a cloth over the basin, asking bluntly. "What was that? Did he finally liked you back?"

Ilaria’s mouth fell open. "W-what— Melyn!" Her voice pitched too high. "You can’t just ask that!"

"I can when I just saw him looking at you like that," Melyn shot back, unapologetic as she moved behind the princess to scrub her back. "Because that wasn’t the usual ’I tolerate your existence’ look, he looked strange."

Ilaria hid her face in her hands. "...Stop talking."

"I’m just saying," Melyn continued, relentless. "You were praying, he barged in, and next thing I know he’s holding you like the last holy relic left in the kingdom. That’s progress, princess."

Ilaria groaned into her palms. "Melyn, please."

But Melyn only huffed, clearly enjoying every second of the princess’ suffering as she tended to her hair next. "He looked ready to bite anyone who came near you, you know. Even me."

"It-It’s not like that," she whined. "Maybe... he was only... worried...?"

"Worried?" Melyn echoed teasingly. "That’s hardly a word I’d ever pair with him."

Ilaria blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. Then heart gave a small, traitorous flutter as she slowly turned to Melyn. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright and uncertain with the kind of fragile hope she tried but failed to hide. It had been a while since Melyn last saw that look, the one that belonged to a girl nursing an impossible crush.

Poor thing, she thought. The princess had spent so much time pining after that dunderheaded man that she barely had the chance to smile like this anymore. But if it was truly what made her happy, then she could not say anything more. After all, it is not like the princess will listen.

Slowly, Ilaria rested her arms on the rim of the tub, and then her chin, looking at Melyn like she wanted some approval. "Mel... Why do you think... he’s acting like that?" she asked softly. "He was so... gentle. Almost like..."

"Like what?"

"Like he might actually..." Ilaria hesitated, a shy smile tugging at her lips despite herself, whispering, "care for me."

Melyn reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from Ilaria’s face before saying, "Maybe," she shrugged. "All I know is whatever happened in there, he looked like he’d seen a ghost. It was priceless."

Ilaria said nothing then. Her gaze drifted to her own arms, clean now but still faintly marked with the memory of darkness lingering beneath the skin. Melyn noticed but did not ask. She only poured another ladle of warm water over her shoulders, her movements steady and kind.

When the water touched her skin, Ilaria exhaled slowly. The scent of Hallowbloom rose with the steam. It was delicate, familiar, and safe. Yet beneath it all, what lingered was the memory of his touch and the quiet plea in his voice when he had said, "Stay with me today."