CHAPTER 95: UNQUIET REST

The sky was still bruised with darkness, the faintest gray line at the horizon promising dawn but not yet delivering light. The camp was quiet, the embers in the fire pit hissing softly as the patrollers return from the heart of the Expanse.

Levan’s boots sank into the damp earth as he approached the royal tent, moving faster than usual, heart tight with unease. Something had pulled at him during the patrol, a sharp tug at his instincts, urging him back before the day began, so here he was.

Inside, Ilaria was tangled in restlessness. Shadows slithered at the edges of her vision. A cold pulse of dread beat in her chest, and the red sea from her previous dreams rose, staining her mind with terror. She shivered, curling tighter beneath the blankets until a subtle rustle at the tent flap made her freeze.

A tall figure appeared in the half-light, his outline rigid but familiar. Her chest constricted and panic clawed up her throat.

"Stay back— don’t!" she shrieked instinctively, throwing herself backward. Her elbow caught the edge of the bedroll, nd she tumbled to the floor with a sharp gasp, breath searing her lungs.

Levan’s eyes widened. "Ilaria!" He stepped forward, every instinct firing, fearing she had injured herself.

But Ilaria whirled instead, voice trembling, eyes wide and terrified. "Don’t... don’t come closer!"

He froze mid-stride, confusion flickering across his face before worry surged in its place. His hands lifted slowly, palms open, as if approaching a frightened animal rather than his own wife.

Her body shook uncontrollably, still pinned to the ground, trembling from some memory that refused to let go. She tried to speak, but only a strangled sob escaped.

Levan’s brows drew together, not in anger but in bewildered concern, searching her expression for any explanation on why she would look at him like he was part of whatever nightmare she had escaped.

Slowly, he approached her, making sure not to jolt her as he knelt beside her, voice low and steadying. "Hey, you’re safe. I’m here. Nothing’s... nothing’s wrong."

The pre-dawn shadows danced across his face, exaggerating the sharpness of his jaw and the tired crease along his cheek. For a moment, she froze again, certain the figure before her was still the shadow impersonating him, cruel and silent.

"You..." she whispered, voice raw, "...I thought—"

He placed a hand on her shoulder, gentle but firm, noting the subtle surprise there before she settled. "Come here," he said quietly. "I came back as soon as I could. The patrol went without incident. Everyone is safe."

Her trembling eased only slightly. She looked up, blinking through tears, catching the first hint of colour in the horizon reflected in his eyes. The panic did not vanish entirely, the raw terror gave way to relief edged with suspicion, but at least she did not push him away.

Levan did not release her, letting the warmth anchor her. Outside, the wind sighed through the canvas, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and smoke. Something lingered in the air, a residue of the Expanse that his mind had brought with him, subtle but unnerving.

Ilaria’s chest heaved as she forced herself to take a long, shuddering breath. Her hands pressed to her eyes for a moment. "It’s... you."

"Yes," he said, confused. "What happened?"

Ilaria did not respond right away. She shifted forward on instinct, the tremor in her limbs betraying the fear still clinging to her. Before she could think, she caught the fabric of his cloak and pulled him close.

Levan exhaled quietly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he wrapped an arm around her. She buried her face against his chest, her breath unsteady and for a moment the silence between them was the only thing that spoke.

"It’s... really you," she whispered, voice small and fragile.

"Yes," he murmured, leaning his head slightly so his cheek brushed the crown of her hair. "It’s me." His brow furrowed as he felt her heartbeat racing beneath his palm, asking once again, "What happened?"

She hesitated, her fingers tightening against his sleeve as she nuzzled in his chest, making sure that it was really him she was hugging. "I... I had a nightmare."

He rested his hand between her shoulder blades, moving in slow, steady circles. "A nightmare?"

Ilaria nodded. "It felt so real." Her voice cracked, and she took another shaky breath. "I thought I was still in it."

Levan said nothing at first. His thumb traced a small, grounding motion at the back of her neck, a quiet reassurance that she did not need to explain more than she could manage. A nightmare? That would explain everything.

"You’re safe now," he said finally. "Whatever it was, it’s gone."

Levan shifted slightly, enough to look at her without breaking the quiet embrace. His thumb brushed a slow line along her spine in the same rhythm he used to calm a frightened horse or a panicked soldier.

He could feel it before she spoke, the uneven rhythm of her breathing, the wild flutter beneath his hand where it rested against her back. Her whole body was trembling so hard, caught somewhere between waking and panic.

"Your heart’s racing too fast," he said, drawing back just enough to see her face.

He frowned softly. "You’re breathing too shallow," he said calmly, almost clinical. "Here—" His other hand came up, fingers splayed just below her ribs, feeling the rapid flutter beneath her skin. "Breathe with me."

She tried, but the air still came uneven.

"Slowly," he murmured. "In through your nose... hold it. Now out." His voice had dropped to something low and firm, each word a tether pulling her back to him.

He waited for her to try again, and when she did, he nodded, still keeping his palm steady over her heartbeat. "Good. Again."

Her breathing began to even out, each inhale syncing with the rise of his chest against hers. For some reason, the warmth of his hand and the steady rhythm of his own heart worked better than any words could have.

"There," he whispered after a moment, almost smiling. "Better."

Ilaria hummed, still clinging to him. "I don’t know what’s wrong with me," she said quietly, shame lacing her tone when she realized how she must have acted. "I knew it was a dream, but it still felt like— like something was here."

Levan’s hand rose, brushing her hair back from her temple. "It’s fine," he coaxed. "Your body doesn’t always know the difference between fear and danger. It reacts all the same."

His words were practical, like the kind of reassurance he gave soldiers after battle, but the warmth in his tone made it something gentler. "You’ve been through worse than shadows in your sleep, haven’t you?"

She let out a shaky laugh. "...Apparently not."

He huffed quietly, a sound that could have been amusement if not for the way his thumb still lingered near her pulse. "You’ll be fine," he said. "Just breathe properly. Let the dream fade."

And she did, with his hand still guiding her rhythm, the last of her panic melting into the quiet between them.

He stayed with her until the first light began to stretch thin across the mist. Neither spoke after that. Ilaria stayed curled close, her breathing finally even, her pulse no longer racing under his touch as she slept peacefully in his arms.

Levan did not move, nor did he even try to sleep. He just sat against the bedroll, his arm wrapped loosely around her shoulders as his eyes fixed on the faint ripple of dawn against the canvas.

When the camp began to stir, the soft sounds of hooves and murmured voices bleeding through the still air, he finally exhaled. The night’s edge had lifted, but something of it clung to both of them.

He brushed her hair once, easing her to wake, "It’s morning."

By the time the sun had risen, the world looked almost ordinary again. Steam rose from the wet grass, the mists of the Expanse had drawn back just enough to show the dark outline of the trees. Ilaria had dressed in silence, her motions precise but distant. Levan had donned his uniform piece by piece, all the while watching her from the corner of his eyes.

When she tied the last of the clasps on her tunic, her eyes lingered for a moment longer than they should have, like she was questioning herself. He noticed but said nothing, only walked over and lifted the edge of her shawl and drew it gently over her shoulders.

"Stay close today," he murmured, quiet enough that only she could hear.

She nodded, eyes still shadowed from the night before.

When they finally stepped out of the tent together, the air felt cold and clean. A few knights glanced their way but quickly looked elsewhere, murmuring greetings. Levan gave a curt nod in return, his usual composure restored but Ilaria could feel it, the faint pressure of his hand brushing against hers.

They walked through the waking camp in silence, the faint crunch of their steps mingling with the muted stir of dawn. Knights moved about with quiet efficiency, some tending to the fires, others checking their mounts. The scent of roasted grain and smoke hung in the air, grounding the morning in something almost human again.

Levan led her toward the mess tent without a word. The soldiers who saw them quickly dipped their heads, their movements stiff because no one dared to speak first when the commander’s gaze was unreadable. Ilaria stayed a step behind him, her shawl drawn close, eyes flicking briefly toward the treeline where the mist still lingered like a waiting thing.

Inside, the warmth of the fire greeted them, the air thick with the smell of bread and boiled broth. Levan guided her to a corner table, one hand brushing the small of her back in quiet reassurance before he sat opposite her.

"Eat," he said, not like an order, just a habit turned soft.

She obeyed, though her gaze occasionally drifted toward the tent’s entrance as if expecting something, or someone, to follow them in from the mist.

Levan noticed. "It’s gone," he said, taking the spoon and clasping it firmly between her fingers. "Whatever haunted you last night won’t reach you here."

Ilaria looked down at her hands, the faint tremor in her fingers finally stilling as she gripped the spoon tightly. "You sound certain," she murmured.

He met her eyes across the table, calm and steady. "Certainty is all that keeps fear from taking root," he said simply. Then, softer, "And I need you to eat, not to fear."

A fragile smile ghosted across her lips that for a brief, fleeting moment, the weight between them eased. But just as she reached for her cup, a low tremor rippled faintly through the ground.

It was barely there to the point that most would have missed it. Levan did not.

His hand paused above the table, fingers tightening imperceptibly. He looked toward the entrance as the faintest flicker of unease crossing his face before it vanished behind composure.

Ilaria followed his gaze with her spoon midway to her mouth. "What is it?"

He shook his head. "Nothing," he said, though his eyes lingered a moment too long on the shifting canvas.

Outside, the wind had changed, and the mist from last night had started to return.