Chapter 13: He Defended Me

The long banquet table was nearly filled, only the King’s seat at the head and the First Prince’s chair left vacant. Levan had taken his place to the King’s left, and Ilaria beside him. Directly across from her sat Melvin, already leaning in toward his cousins, trading laughter and hushed gossip while the rest of the family conversed around them.

Ilaria felt uneasy after her husband’s comment. They should have arrived together. A husband and wife always enter the hall together. It was a symbol of tradition, etiquette, and respect, especially since she was his consort. She knew the rules, she had just…forgotten.

Maybe because for the past six months, she had always walked into the dining hall alone. She could not blame Melyn for not making sure things like this did not happen, that lady must have had thought the same, or she had simply assumed the crown prince is already waiting in the dining hall.

Usually, it was the husband who came to fetch the wife. That must be why Melyn had kept glancing down the hallway until she decided Ilaria would be late if she waited any longer. Ilaria suddenly felt like drowning in embarrassment. Now that she understood the reason behind the stares, the weight of silent judgment pressed heavily on her.

In this world, a wife stepping out before her husband was seen as more than a misstep. It was interpreted as impatience, even pride, as if she were trying to act apart from him. Ironically, it would not have been a problem if it was the other way around.

Okay, okay…Don’t blame anyone…

She chant the words in her head. Alas, if she had been more careful and alerted, this would not have happened. It was her responsibility one way or another. She was a princess, so naturally she should have been more prepared and educated than this!

Before she could even compose herself, a voice rose from across the table.

“Eager to see us, were you, princess?” The words carried a playful lilt, light enough to draw attention without sounding cruel.

Ilaria raised her gaze. The speaker leaned back in his chair, jet-black hair falling slightly over eyes the color of deep crimson. He looked younger than Levan, and his smile was sharp with amusement. “Arriving before His Highness himself, quite the statement.”

A few polite chuckles echoed around the long table, the kind that was meant to be harmless, yet she could feel the undertone of scrutiny, sharp as needles pricking her skin.

“Though, I must admit, it was rather unusual,” he continues, swirling the glass of wine in his hand.

“Unusual?” another younger relative with brunette hair and wide emerald eyes prompted, leaning in with obvious curiosity as if she genuinely did not know about etiquette.

“Yes,” the cousin said with mock solemnity. “The Crown Princess marching into the hall alone with head held high. I almost thought she was here to challenge His Highness for the seat beside the King.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the table. Ilaria’s cheeks burned, but she tried to laugh along. “I wouldn’t dare…”

“Oh, don’t misunderstand,” he went on, flashing her a dazzling grin that reminded her too much of a troublemaker. “It was bold. Refreshing, even. Just not quite what we’re used to.”

Another man who looked like he was in his 50s chuckled, lifting his goblet. “Boldness runs in the blood, does it not? Perhaps the princess is simply proving she belongs.”

That earned a round of approving hums, though the playful glances did not let her off the hook. Ilaria forced a small smile, pressing her hands tighter into her lap under the table as she silently looked at her husband.

Levan did not react, much less looking like he wanted to say anything at all. It was Melvin who speak up with all the nonchalance in the world as he leaned back against his chair, arms dangling lazily on his side.

“Better eagerness than tardiness. It shows she respects our gathering. I find it refreshing,” he mused smoothly, eyeing her with the same cordial glint in his eyes. The kind that tells her ’I got you.’

He leaned forward slightly, smiling in that easy, approachable way that seemed to brighten the whole table. “Besides, if the rest of you ever tried dining with Levan, you’d know it’s safer to arrive first than risk waiting on him.”

Another ripple of laughter spread down the table, softening the tension.

Melvin raised his goblet playfully. “So, I say we should be honoured our Crown Princess chose us over her husband’s brooding silence.”

The chuckles grew louder, shoulders relaxed, and just like that, the scrutiny shifted into amusement. The whole family, if anything, knew how untalkative Levan could be. Him and the King literally shared the same deadpanned nature. And as expected, Levan remained unreadable, offering no reaction at all.

Ilaria exhaled a breath she had not realized she was holding, offering Melvin a grateful smile. Before she could dwell on it, a gentle voice from her side called out.

“My dear, you must be overwhelmed,” an elegant woman with streaks of silver in her dark hair said warmly. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Seliora Gawen, one of your husband’s aunts.”

Ilaria regarded the woman for a moment with a slight bow of her head. Dark hair and familiar golden eyes…judging from the obvious attributes, she must be the King’s sister.

“Greetings, Lady Seliora,” she said softly, her tone careful yet sincere. “It is an honour to finally meet you.”

Lady Seliora eyes softened as they lingered on Ilaria’s face. “You are even lovelier than the rumours claimed. That silver hair…truly a mark of divinity. And those eyes are just like the ancients sang of. Truly a beauty of Caelwyn.”

Ilaria felt her cheeks warm, lowering her gaze modestly. “You are too kind, Lady Seliora. I fear words such as yours are far too generous for me.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Seliora said, waving a graceful hand as though brushing away the humility. “Beauty may fade, but the kind of grace you carry, it is something born, not crafted. And I see it in the way you hold yourself, even here, surrounded by strangers.”

That startled Ilaria a little. She had felt like a trembling leaf since walking into the hall, yet this Lady Seliora’s words had single-handedly wrapped her in a blanket of reassurance.

“You honour me,” she said softly, and then, perhaps emboldened by the aunt’s warmth, she added, “I was worried I might not belong at such a grand table, but your welcome makes me feel less of a guest, and more…family.”

Lady Seliora’s eyes glistened at that, her lips curving into a smile. “That is exactly what you are, a family, and if anyone dares make you feel otherwise,” her tone shifted playfully, though the edge of steel was unmistakable, “they will answer to me.”

Ilaria could not help but laugh softly, her violet eyes shimmering as she met the older woman’s gaze. “Then I am truly fortunate to have you by my side, Lady Seliora.”

“Call me Aunt,” Lady Seliora said firmly, her hand pressing over her heart. “It suits you better.”

Ilaria was taken aback, but she did not fight it, she only smiled shyly. “Yes…Aunt Seliora.”

The older woman’s eyes gleamed with approval. For a fleeting moment, Ilaria’s chest lightened. In fact, she could almost forget she had blundered earlier, but peace at a royal table never lingered long.

Just when she thought they finally leave her be, a sharp voice cut through the gentle lull, as if the Black Dragon lineage had known nothing but interrogations.

“Since the princess is here, I am curious about something,” one of the uncles leaned forward, his rings clinking against his goblet, “what is Caelwyn’s stance on the growing unrest along the eastern borders? I imagine your court must be watchful.”

The words were polite, but the intent was clear and probing. Ilaria’s lashes fluttered as she stiffened. Her kingdom rarely discussed politics with her, much less matters of defense. Her sister never really wanted her to be involved in such pressing matters.

Do I just smile? But that feels improper!

“Surely,” another younger woman chimed in, a smile tugging at her cherry lips, “a princess so radiant must also be wise, or do they keep you far from such affairs in Caelwyn?”

“Come now, must you drag politics into the first family dinner? She has barely touched her plate,” Lady Seliora whisked her fan. “Let the child breathe. If you insist on interrogations, at least wait until dessert.”

Lady Seliora’s deflection earned a ripple of chuckles, but the curiosity at the table had already been roused. Royals thrived on weighing one another, and the newest Crown Princess was no exception.

“Then perhaps a lighter question, princess. Tell me, how do the people of Caelwyn regard their dragon? Do they fear it or revere it?”

Ilaria blinked. Fear? Revere? Both? Neither? She had not prepared for such a question, but the thought of her homeland’s sacred dragon stirred something deep within her.

She straightened slightly. “We…revere it,” she said softly. “For us, the dragon is not simply a ruler or guardian, it is also our kin. My people believe its presence is the breath of life itself, so to fear it would be to forget who we are.”

Her words silenced the table for a brief heartbeat. It was not a rehearsed answer, but it carried conviction that even the most jaded relatives could not easily dismiss.

The cousin with mischievous eyes tilted his head. “Spoken like a poet, not a ruler, and yet…” His lips quirked. “Perhaps there is strength in that.”

Heat pricked Ilaria’s cheeks as she curled her fingers around her goblet, her mind a swirl of self-critique.

Did I say too much?!

Another question followed swiftly, this time from a younger lord further down the table. “Then what of loyalty? To dragon or to people, which weighs heavier on a ruler’s shoulders?”

The weight of his gaze pressed against her like stone. She hesitated, her pulse quickening.

What was the right answer? What would Levan say? What would my sister say?

Yet in the pause, she heard her father’s voice from long ago, teaching her at the temple steps: ’A ruler without their people is only a name. A dragon without its people is only a shadow.’

She swallowed. “The people,” she said firmly, though her heart thudded in her ears. “Always the people…because a dragon may give power, but it is the people who give meaning. Without them, a throne is only an empty seat.”

The hall grew quiet again, longer this time. Ilaria resisted the urge to shrink back.

Oh Saints, did I sound childish? Too idealistic?

From the corner of her eyes, she caught the faintest movement of Levan’s fingers, idly tapping once against the table, his expression still unreadable but it feels like he was judging.

Just when she thought the questions might end, another slipped in.

“Then, princess, how would you advise His Highness to balance Noctharis’ strength with Caelwyn’s softer ideals? Surely you have a perspective, being of both worlds now.”

At that moment, Ilaria froze. Advise His Highness? Balance kingdoms? She was not ready for that. She was not even sure she had the right to say anything of the sort.

Her heart skittered, panic pressing against her ribs. Her lips parted, fumbling for words she was not sure would even come out coherent when suddenly, her chair shifted.

With nothing more than a flick of his finger against the chair’s carved armrest, Levan drew her seat closer to his, making her jolt in surprise. The subtle scrape against the floor was quiet, but it commanded more attention than a shout.

His hand rested lazily on the arm of her chair, but his voice was cold. “She is here as family, not as council. Save those questions for me.”

The room stilled as Levan’s gaze swept across the table, piercing and stone-carved, leaving no room for argument. Noctharis’ Crown Prince had spoken, and that was the end of it.

Ilaria could not impede the embarrassment, but the relief also came so sharp it nearly made her dizzy. She dropped her gaze to her lap, heart pounding.

He…defended me. In front of everyone.

The uncle inclined his head quickly, retreating with a thin smile. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Conversation resumed, lighter and more carefree now, but the echo of his words lingered in her chest.

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