CHAPTER 83: LINGERING QUESTION

When the morning comes, the first thing Ilaria noticed was the blanket which is warm and heavy in a way that made her sigh even before her eyes fully opened. The dim light of the morning crept through the edges of the tent, painting everything in soft gold, and for a heartbeat, she let herself linger in the comfort and warmth of sleep.

Her fingers traced the folds of the wool over her shoulders, and a faint, puzzled frown touched her brow. She was... already wearing her gown? Somehow, in the quiet of the night, she must have pulled it back on... Or did someone put it on for her?

She blinked, tugging at the fabric, half embarrassed and half grateful for the modesty it gave her. Her mind wandered, and she felt the flush creep up her neck and onto her cheeks. Last night... The memory was soft, a gentle pulse of warmth, like the faint echo of a dream she did not want to end.

She could still feel the way he had held her, the way he had whispered, the brush of his thumb along her jaw, the kiss to her forehead... every fragment made her chest tighten and her fingers curl against the blanket.

She swallowed, heart thrumming in a way that made her feel both light and unbearably full. The morning was quiet, the tent still, and she was alone for now. Alone, but carrying the weight of something new and tender, something that had already shifted everything.

Her breath caught as she realized she had been smiling in her sleep, or maybe it had lingered from waking. She shifted slightly, hugging the blanket closer, cheeks warm, and pulse quick.

Her mind spun. Why do I feel like this? she wondered, curling her toes into the folds of the sheet. The memory of his voice, low and rough yet impossibly gentle, echoed in her head. The soft pressure of his lips on her forehead. It was just a kiss, just a touch... And yet, she could still feel it burning in her skin like a ghost of heat that refused to fade.

A quiet giggle escaped her throat before she could stop herself, soft and flustered, and she pressed her face into the folds of the wool, trying to hide from herself the whirlwind of thoughts racing through her.

I’m ridiculous, she thought, burying her face in the blanket again. But... I’m so happy.

Before she could spiral even more, the flap of the tent rustled. She could barely brace herself when Levan stepped inside. He was already dressed, the crisp lines of his uniform or what passed for one in the field highlighting the strength in his shoulders and the effortless command in his posture.

He did not rush as he walked, each step toward her was measured, the way someone could fill a space with presence alone. His sleeves were neatly rolled and adjusted with a casual precision that somehow made the simplest motion seem magnetic, as if even tying a knot in his shirt radiated poise.

"Morning," he said, voice low but warm, carrying the quiet authority of someone used to being obeyed, and yet softened, somehow, by the intimacy of the tent and the night they had shared. He sat beside her, his gaze sweeping over her without a hint of harshness, landing finally on her face.

Ilaria’s chest swelled almost painfully and she felt herself melting in place. The tired tension of yesterday had evaporated from her muscles, replaced with an almost giddy warmth. Her lips parted in an instinctive, radiant smile, the kind that made her entire face light up.

Then her hands flew to the blanket, tugging it around her as she sat up, still flushed from the morning light and the memory of last night. Her eyes flicked to him, wide and sparkling, and before she even realized it, she instinctively leaned forward, letting her head brush against his shoulder.

"Good morning, husband~" she whispered, voice soft but full of warmth, the words tumbling out like a secret she had been keeping for herself all night.

Levan’s chest rumbled with a low, quiet huff, the sound almost as gentle as his gaze. He shifted slightly, letting her rest against him, one arm wrapping around her shoulders in a loose but protective embrace. "Good morning," he said again, his hand sweeping her cheek. "Sleep well?"

Ilaria’s grin widened, eyes lighting up like the sun had risen just for her. "Yes... so, so well," she breathed, her fingers instinctively curling around the edge of his sleeve, tugging him just a little closer as she nuzzled him, her small, delicate gesture heavy with trust and affection.

Levan’s thumb lingered at the side of her jaw before he gently pulled back, his eyes flicking down to the edge of her sleeve. "You’re moving more freely than last night," he noted. "Let me see your arm."

Ilaria rolled it up, revealing the faint trace of where the wound had been. The cut was barely a line, and the bruise had almost completely faded. She held her arm out proudly, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "Ta-da! Healed already. Magic and rest did the trick."

He traced the faint line with a careful fingertip. "Not bad," he said calmly. "You really don’t like letting anything stop you, do you?"

"I don’t, and I can fix it anyway," she admitted, shrugging slightly. Then she paused, curiosity bright in the way she lowered her voice. "By the way, husband... Did... did you put my gown back on last night?"

Levan stared at her wide and expectant eyes, finding it ridiculous more than anything. Did she realize how adorable she looked? "I did," he said simply. "Figured you’d want some modesty for the morning."

Ilaria blinked at him, caught off guard by how unruffled he sounded. "You... didn’t even thought of waking me?"

"I didn’t need to," he replied, a side smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he tilted his head slightly, dark fringes falling on his forehead, making Ilaria wonder how could such a perfect man exist.

"You were asleep, and I handled it quietly. No harm done." Levan shifted slightly, letting the soft weight of his body settle closer to hers.

Ilaria’s cheeks flamed, and she ducked her head, hiding her face in his chest. Her hands fidgeted with the edges of the fabric, and then, she went completely silent, caught between warmth and embarrassment. The words she had wanted to say seemed to evaporate in the heat of his nearness.

Levan noticed the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her breath hitched ever so slightly, and he felt that familiar warmth in his chest. He did not speak though, he simply let her shyness settle over them like a soft veil as his hand never leaving her back.

His mind wandered then, replaying every fragment of the night before. The way she had trembled on the ground, the fragility in her eyes that had somehow felt so unshakable and yet had cut straight to the core of him. He wondered how she could still smile so brightly despite what had happened to her last night.

It would have been more reasonable if she refused to speak, if she turned away, keeping her distance after everything. But then again... his wife had always been peculiar in her way of thinking. Bright even after fear, radiant even when the world had tried to press her down.

And maybe, that little, persistent thought gnawed at him was that maybe it was because she liked him. No, not maybe. She had made it so obvious in her actions, in the way she smiles, in the way her hands had found him, and in the way her laughter had dared to bloom even in the shadow of danger.

Levan’s chest tightened as he remembered last night. How he had almost... almost let anger and fatigue rule him, how his words had stumbled out harshly when all he had wanted was to protect her. And then the apology... how he had spoken it so carefully and so tenderly to her, of all people.

He could hardly believe he had done it. That he, carved of steel and discipline, had allowed his heart to spill itself into raw and unguarded words, to her.

But he did not regret it. Not for a second.

He rubbed her back again, letting the warmth of her presence settle around him. The guilt that he had not been tender enough, had not acknowledged her bravery, pressed at him lightly, but it was tinged with a bitter sweetness. He had failed her in patience, in timing... yet here she was, so small and bright, leaning into him as if the world had never touched her.

And still, despite the mistakes, the hesitations, and the quiet fear he carried like armour, he knew one truth as clear as the morning light: he would never stop trying to match the gentle honesty she offered so freely and he would never stop trying to be better if only it would make her feel happy.

Ilaria shifted to rest her forehead against his shoulder, letting herself melt in the warmth of him once again. And yet, even as her pulse calmed, a small, persistent shadow tugged at the edges of her mind.

The memory of last night’s terror suddenly crept its way in.

Her fingers tightened instinctively on his sleeve. "Husband..." she murmured, a note of uncertainty creeping into her soft morning voice. He looked down at her, and she took a slow breath before continuing. "About the... beast last night..."

Levan’s hand twitched upon hearing the word. "What about it?" he asked, voice calm, though there was a sense of alertness threading through it.

"...There was... something odd about it," she admitted, hesitating as she searched for words. "When it touched me, I tried everything to push it back... but... there was something... bothering me. Something I can’t explain."

Levan went rigid at that, his hand still resting on her back, but the subtle tension in his jaw and the shadow in his gaze betrayed him, as if he was bracing himself for something unseen.

"Husband," she called again, curiosity and worry mingling on her face, "what are they?"