Chapter 130: The Falcon’s Invitation

Ilaria stood there for another moment, watching the leaves as though they might betray the secret they had briefly suggested. But the branches had already settled back into their lazy morning stillness, swaying only when the breeze passed through.

After a while, she exhaled softly and shook her head, almost amused with herself. Perhaps it had only been the wind catching the wrong angle of the foliage. The solarium was old, the glass panes uneven, and the garden outside had always been fond of whispering to itself.

“It’s nothing,” she said finally, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “Just the plants conspiring to scare me.”

Kathryn studied the greenery for a second longer, then relaxed when nothing stirred again. “If the plants start plotting, Your Highness,” she said dryly, returning to the table, “I fear we have far larger problems than the Council.”

Ilaria laughed under her breath, though the sound carried a faint hesitation that neither of them chose to examine too closely. The morning continued as gently as it had begun. And soon enough, the moment passed.

~×~

A week passed, easing the palace into its familiar rhythm.

As the morning had stretched into the slow rhythm of late daylight, the corridors had begun their usual procession of messengers, attendants, and sealed letters moving from one chamber to another like quiet currents beneath the stone ceilings.

One such letter found its way to the Crown Prince’s study.

It arrived among a stack of council reports and trade correspondences, its envelope thicker than the rest, sealed with dark blue wax stamped in the shape of a falcon in flight.

’House Stormlow.’

Levan noticed it immediately. Not because of the seal, though the house was powerful enough to command attention, but because invitations rarely arrived unannounced in the middle of council season unless something required careful handling.

He broke the seal with the practiced ease of someone who had opened far too many letters that carried more trouble than courtesy. The parchment inside unfolded with a soft rustle.

A banquet.

Hosted three nights from now at Stormlow Estate.

Ah, right… It was that time of the year.

They were hosting their annual Winter Banquet, a tradition that gathered half the capital’s nobility each year. This time, however, the guest list had grown more ambitious. Several foreign envoys had been invited, alongside ministers, generals, and members of the Royal Council.

And at the very top of the invitation, written in careful script: “An earnest request for the presence of His Highness Crown Prince Levan of Noctharis.”

His gaze drifted over the formal script, the wording polished into the kind of politeness that concealed more than it revealed. Levan was well accustomed to invitations like this. Noble houses had been requesting his presence since long before the crown had begun to rest heavily on his shoulders.

Banquets, galas, hunting gatherings, seasonal celebrations, each one wrapped in careful courtesies and elaborate ink. Back then, he had never bothered to look twice at the names written beneath his own.

If his wife was mentioned, he went. If she was not, he still went. It had made little difference to him. Most invitations were political theatre anyway, and attendance was simply another duty to be fulfilled.

But this time, his eyes lingered on the text like he was trying to gauge the words out. There was no mention of the Crown Princess. No polite extension of welcome. Not even a courteous line acknowledging the woman who now stood beside him in the eyes of the court.

It was a small omission, almost insignificant, really. And yet, for reasons he did not care to examine too closely, it felt… strange. Levan leaned back slightly in his chair, the parchment still held between his fingers as a faint, thoughtful crease appeared between his brows.

Across the room, the door opened quietly.

Ilaria stepped in without ceremony, sunlight clinging faintly to her sleeves as though she had carried a piece of the cheerful morning in with her. And of course, a small bundle of pastries rested in her hands, wrapped neatly in a linen cloth she had babbled about until sleep finally consumed her last night.

The scent of butter and sugar followed her in like an accomplice. She paused a few steps inside, noticing the parchment in his hand and the way his expression had gone thoughtful.

“Is that work,” she asked cautiously, “or something interesting?”

Levan glanced at her. For a brief moment, the quiet tension of courtly politics seemed almost embarrassed to exist in the same room as her.

His gaze flicked to the golden bun in her hand.

“…That depends,” he said slowly, tilting his head. “Did you come to bribe me?”

Ilaria brightened instantly. “Maybe.”

“Or… perhaps just to show off your baking skills again,” he added with a small smile.

​”Well, I did wake up early to make these,” she said cheerfully. “Just like I planned! I made sure to fold the dough perfectly, and the sugar caramelized just right…” Her words tumbled over one another in an eager rush as she recounted every little detail of the glaze she had brushed on, echoing the exact same plans she had shared the night before.

Levan’s lips quirked upward after she finished talking. “Ah… so that’s why you weren’t in bed when I woke. Up before the sun again, as usual. Today, you were especially early.”

Ilaria’s eyes sparkled. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Before he could respond, Ilaria placed the pastries down on the table and stepped closer to him, leaning over the chair so her arms could wrap around his shoulders. Her face hovered just above his, and she pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek, then another to his lips, murmuring, “Good morning, husband.”

Levan’s hands went to her arms instinctively, holding her gently as he looked into her eyes. A faint smile tugged at his lips before he leaned forward, returning the kiss with his own soft, steady “Good morning,” as if greeting not just her lips, but the warmth and light she brought into the room.

His hands lingered on hers, fingers intertwining naturally as he guided her gently toward him. “Come sit,” he murmured, pulling her hand so she could settle onto his lap with ease, in which Ilaria obliged without a word. The familiar rhythm of their closeness settling around them like a second skin.

Levan reached toward the small bun she had placed on the table, lifting it carefully before taking a bite. Ilaria’s eyes widened with anticipation, and she leaned forward, brushing a faint crumb from the corner of his lips with her thumb.

“How is it?” she asked eagerly, her voice light and hopeful.

He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, letting the warmth of her fingers linger against his cheek. Finally, he shook his head. “Too sweet.”

Ilaria’s eyes widened. “Really? Too sweet?” She looked at the bun like it had personally betrayed her. “But I made sure to balance the sugar with a hint of almond!” She added defensively, poking the bun lightly with her finger. “And see, the glaze is just fine. How can it be too sweet?”

Levan let out a quiet, amused huff, wiping a faint crumb from his lips with a thumb. “Perfection doesn’t always equal palatable,” he teased gently, taking another small bite despite his earlier comment.

Ilaria giggled then, settling back against him. Her eyes drifted toward the small stack of letters at the corner of the table, the formal script catching the morning light. “Husband… can I look at that?” she asked, nodding toward the top envelope.

“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing for her to pick it up, completely unbothered. He leaned back just enough to give her the space, finishing the last bite of the bun as she carefully lifted the letter. Even in the act of indulging in her breakfast, he made it feel effortless, the world shrinking to the two of them.

Ilaria held the envelope gently then, her curiosity already stirring, but for a moment she just watched him finish, appreciating how small gestures, like eating a bun she had baked, could feel like an entire morning’s worth of comfort.

She carefully unfolded the envelope, the fine script catching the light. Her fingers trembled just slightly from the thrill of curiosity. She read the opening lines aloud, savouring the elegance of the words:

“An earnest request for the presence of His Highness Crown Prince Levan of Noctharis.”

Her eyes lifted to his, shimmering with excitement, only to dim fractionally as they registered a detail she had not expected. Only he was invited. She did not comment though. She did not let the change in her expression betray anything.

Instead, she asked lightly, tilting her head to hide the sudden, quiet sting of being left off the parchment. “Will you be attending?”

​Levan brushed a stray crumb from his thumb, nodding. “Yes. It’s the annual Winter Banquet. We’ll need to brush up on a few names before we arrive.”

​Ilaria blinked, the letter suddenly feeling very heavy in her hands. “We?”

“Did you think I would let you stay behind?” Levan asked, a faint, amused smile touching his lips. “My wife goes where I go,” he said simply. The words were not boastful, just certain, like an unshakable promise that made her chest warm in a way no morning sun could match.

“And of course,” he added, his gaze dropping briefly to her lips before meeting her eyes again, “if you want, I’ll help you pick your dress again. We’ll make sure you shine brighter than anyone in the room.”

Ilaria’s cheeks warmed instantly, her fingers tightening around the letter as if it could steady her sudden flutter. “You… you’ll really do that?” she stammered, caught somewhere between delight and disbelief.

Levan tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. It never failed to amuse him at how effortlessly she flushed at his words, how her soft laughter filled the quiet space.

“Mm,” he nodded, his hand finding the middle of her back, gently caressing her through the fabric of her dress. “We attend these things together. I won’t let you face a room full of vultures alone, and I certainly won’t let you look anything less than perfect while doing it.”

A shy, brilliant smile broke across her face, accompanied by a soft, airy laugh she could not have held back if she tried. “Okay, husband~” she whispered.

She leaned forward to wrap her arms securely around his shoulders, squeezing him tight as her heart did a joyful, fluttering flip against her ribs. In that quiet study, holding the man who always made sure she came first, the morning was absolutely perfect.

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