CHAPTER 69: CLINGY WIFE

"Levan..."

The tone she used when calling him was barely a whisper, tangled in sleep and something that felt dangerously close to yearning, making Levan turned before he could think to stop himself.

She was no longer clutching the pillow he had given her. Her hair was loose and disheveled, her eyes half-lidded as she rubbed them with her knuckles, still caught somewhere between dream and waking. He frowned, wondering why she had followed him.

"Why are you awake?" He asked, his voice came quieter than he meant it to, more like a thought than a word.

She blinked slowly, her fingers brushing the edge of the wall as if to steady herself. "Because you left," she murmured drowsily.

"I told you to sleep."

"I did," she nodded, then added softly, "Didn’t like that you weren’t there, so I thought I’d follow."

Something in him gave way at that. He was not sure what to call it, only that it felt like his heart had quietly broken open, not from pain but from something far worse. The kind of ache that came from wanting too much. Lately, she has been driving him crazy and he did not know what to do about it.

He exhaled, a sound that caught somewhere between disbelief and surrender. "You’ll ruin your sleep, you know. It’s better to go back to bed. We can see each other tomorrow."

But even as he said it, his feet were already moving toward her. The light from his study fell across her as he took her in once again, only then noticing that her gown was far too thin to shield her from the night, her toes curling against the cold marble floor.

It should not affect him too much, but still he felt a pang so sudden it startled him that he found himself worrying. He did not meant to reprimand her when she had just woken up and probably still sleepy, but it came naturally anyway.

"Why don’t you take something to cover yourself before following me? Do you plan to freeze before dawn?" He asked. His brows furrowed in concern.

"It’s not that cold..." she said, though she was already rubbing one foot against the other, trying to steal what little warmth she could.

He shook his head, running a hand over his face as though he could smooth away the worry that always seemed to come when it involved her. "Honestly, I don’t understand you. You can’t even stand the draft from an open window, and now you’re walking barefoot in a gown thin enough to catch a chill just by breathing."

His tone gentled as he went on, quiet but exasperated. "If you fall sick, what then? You think I’d let you go about like this again?"

By the time he stopped, she was already pouting, her lips pressed together, eyes turned up at him in sleepy defiance. "It’s really not that cold," she insisted. "And you weren’t there."

Something in him broke all over again, because how could he continue to scold her when she kept saying things like that?

"I wasn’t there," he echoed, testing the words himself. "You make it sound as if the world stops when I leave the room."

"What if it did?" she countered, her voice barely above a whisper, but too honest to ignore.

He blinked, disbelief. "That’s not how the world works."

"Maybe not for you," she said stubbornly, still rubbing her bare feet against the cold floor. "But you can’t know that."

Levan stared at her. "Are you implying you’d just... stop existing the moment I step out the door?"

She crossed her arms, or tried to, given how her sleeves slipped down her shoulders. "What if I do? What if I just fall and die right there because my husband decided his papers were more important?"

"Aria," he said slowly, fighting the urge to laugh, if that was even possible considering how deadpanned he used to be.

"You’re standing. Very much alive," he said, fixing her sleeves back to cover her shoulders.

"Now," she pursed her lips. "But what about later? What if I trip on the rug and hit my head?"

"You don’t usually trip on rugs."

"There’s a first time for everything."

"That’s hardly a reason to—"

"What if a window falls?"

He gave her a funny look, the corner of his mouth twitching. "A window?"

"Or the ceiling. They’re heavy, you know."

Right.

"Aria..." His voice had gone helpless now, a mix of amusement and fondness he could no longer disguise.

Her eyes met his then, shining with obvious mirth. "See? You wouldn’t know if you weren’t there."

He bit his lip and veered his head to the side before the laugh could spill, trying so hard to regain his composure.

"You make it sound like I’ve wronged you," he said finally, the gentleness in his voice betraying the reprimand it tried to be. "I only went to finish some work, not abandon you."

"Then don’t make me stand here," she replied, tilting her head just enough to find his eyes again, refusing to let him look away.

And that was all it took. Something in him broke loose, and before he realized he had moved, she was already in his arms, warm and small and impossibly close. She even make those happy noises when he hooked one arm beneath her knees and effortlessly lifted her off of the floor.

Levan stood there for a moment, stunned by how easily she fit against him. Her hands found their way to his collar, fingers curling there as if afraid he might slip away again. It was so natural, like she had been practicing this again and again and only now get to do it properly.

"You really have no sense of reason, do you?" he murmured. "Come on. Back to bed before you catch your death."

She did not protest, only hummed a bright "mhm" and tucked herself closer, cheek brushing against his shoulders and arms around his neck. Her feet swaying slightly.

He sighed in defeat, really...

But just as he stepped one foot back into his sleeping chamber, she lifted her head off of his shoulder. Her fingers, still curled against his collar, slipped down to catch the edge of the doorframe, making him pause at the sudden restraint.

Levan looked at her. "...What are you doing?"

Her voice came small and stubborn. "You’re just going to leave me there and go back here. I told you, I don’t want to be somewhere you weren’t."

He exhaled through his nose, wondering how did he even managed to have this much patient to indulge in her antics. "And where do you want to go then?"

"Wherever you are," she said shamelessly, smiling like she had just declared that tomorrow is going to be a joyful day because she said so.

Levan did not speak. Not because he did not want to, but because he did not think there was a possible reply to that without sounding like he was too far gone. Only after a moment did he huffed out a disbelieving breath as he looked away, the kind that sounded too much like a laugh.

This girl... is she planning this in advance, or does her clinginess came with her sleepiness?

"You know," he adjusted his hold and turned away from the door, saying, "I think I’ll be the one dying instead of you."

"Then stay alive," she nuzzled back into his shoulder, "so I can keep following you."

And what could he possibly say to that? He only shook his head, helpless and utterly gone, as he carried her back through the silence of his study with her warmth pressed to him, her breath steady against his throat, and her presence lingering like a promise he did not yet know how to stop keeping.

"Just so you know," he crossed the space, his tone half warning, half indulgent as he went on, "this isn’t going to be particularly entertaining. I’m only going to sit here and read dull reports until dawn."

She hummed, unbothered. "That’s fine by me~"

He gave her a look. "No. You’ll fall asleep in five minutes and then complain about your neck hurting."

"Then I’ll just stay awake. I like watching you read."

"That would be a distraction."

Her lips curved, a hint of mischief glimmering in her sparkling eyes as she teased, "From your papers?"

"From everything."

That earned him a soft, triumphant chuckle. He sighed again, the sort of sigh that only came from losing gracefully. Then, instead of leading her to one of the plain wooden seats by the window, he turned toward his chair behind the desk, the one cushioned and comfortably worn from long hours of work and guided her down onto it.

"There," he said, adjusting the armrest so she could sit properly. It was not until he went to fetch another chair. A plain wooden and far less forgiving chair that she realized what he had done.

"You’re taking that one?" she asked, brow furrowing slightly as he dragged it closer to the desk.

"It’s fine," he replied easily, sitting down without a wince even though the chair creaked under his weight. "You’re the one who said you wanted to stay. Might as well be comfortable while you defy me."

"Okay, hehe~" she beamed.

Ilaria leaned forward over the desk, chin propped on her hands, watching him with a brightness that could have outshone the candlelight. The way she sat drowning in his chair with her hair tumbling around her shoulders was almost comically out of place in his quiet, orderly study.

But she looked so pleased to be there that he found himself saying nothing. He began stacking his scattered documents, adjusting the inkstand, trying to pretend he did not notice how she followed every small movement of his hands.

"I’m not sleepy anymore," she said suddenly, straightening up as if to prove it. "See? Perfectly awake. I can stay up with you."

He arched a brow without looking up. "Is that so?"

"Yes, yes," she nodded, all determination and sleepy delight, inching the chair closer to the edge as if they were not already within reach. "I think I can become a night owl."

Levan paused mid-page, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "A night owl, hm?"

She beamed, entirely too pleased with herself.

He set the papers down with a soft thud, opening the drawer to retrieve his glasses. "It’s not good for your health," he chided, slipping them on with the kind of care that made the words sound gentler than a scold. "Don’t tell me you slept early just so you could stay up and do paperwork with me."

"Not paperwork, I’m bad at that," she said quickly, wrinkling her nose in protest. "Just keeping you company."

He glanced at her over the rim of his glasses. "Keeping me company by losing sleep?"

She tilted her head, grinning like she did not see the problem at all. "By trying to fit into your schedule."

Levan merely shook his head and went back to his papers, though he barely read a word. Every few minutes, he would glance at her, taking in the way her chin was resting in her palms while blinking slowly as she fought the pull of sleep. She was clearly bored, but she was too stubborn for her own good.

"You’re going to fall asleep any second now."

"I’m not," she said, already blinking slower than before.

He only hummed, more fond than convinced, and turned another page. A few breaths later, her head finally tipped forward, resting on her folded arms atop the table. For a while, she kept her gaze on his papers, or at least tried to, until he noticed her lashes flutter, then closed.

Her breathing evened out, soft and steady in the hush of the room. Levan looked at her for a moment longer, the quill paused mid-air. Then, with a quiet breath, he set it down.

So much for working.

"Told you so..." he whispered, though his voice carried no reproach, only something achingly tender.

The most reasonable thing to do right now is to get up and carry her back to the bed, but then he was suddenly not sure if he wanted her gone at all. Simply because he did not want to feel lonely.

And so, as the candle burned low, the prince who had learned to love nothing found himself quietly loving the sound of her breathing beside him. It was a sound softer than any vow, but it was enough to melt even the most unbreakable wall.