Chapter 2: The Princess’ Longing

“Your Highness, the bath is ready.”

“Thank you, I’ll be there in a minute,” Ilaria smiled at the line of ladies curtsying just feet away from where she was standing. She darted her gaze back towards the horizon, her fingers clasping the railing of the balcony in her chamber as she took a deep, calming breath.

The heat of the day has ebbed to a comforting warmth, causing the wild glow of the sky to be coated with a numb gradient of orange. At last, the evening lull has come to the palace, sending the birds to their roots and the crickets to sing at the swaying grasses.

Ilaria fluttered her eyes shut. The wind blowing across her silver locks grazed her cheeks with a faint touch. The footsteps of the handmaidens hurrying outside the room became a white sound as she enjoyed the cool wind. The air in this land was different from her homeland, and she had grown fond of it after months of being a married woman.

Right.

Six months has passed since she was declared as someone’s wife; since the last time she had seen her husband. Once their wedding ceremony ended and the gate of the royal palace was finally closed, the newlyweds went on their separate ways.

The two never chew over pulling up a mutual condition upon their inevitable marriage nor making it contractual, it just happened naturally considering no mutual love was involved in the agreement of the union, at least, from the groom’s side.

While Ilaria ached for the time to see her husband even for a minute, she knew not to invade his personal space as she pleased. And now, he was nowhere to be seen. And now, she missed his unloving eyes and indifferent expression already.

“I’m ready,” she called and turned around, stepping through the threshold and into her chamber, further making her way to the antechamber. White gown fell on the marble floor. The supple skin of the princess’ feet touched the clean water before her body sunk into the rosemary-scented warm bath.

The tub was brimmed with bubbles on the surface, just how she liked her bath to be. She sighed and laid her head back as her personal handmaiden proceeded to scrub her arms and neck with the sponge, all the while massaging her muscles and tendons.

Ilaria hummed a melody that crossed her mind amid the quiet space, feeling her body relaxed at the gentle massage. As she watched the thin curtain on one side of the wall; at the large window that was two meters higher from the floor, she could see the setting sun slowly pulling the light of the world, allowing darkness to consume the once blue sky.

A thousand thoughts flowed into her head in a split second, making her stare at the window in a daze.

“Mel…” She unknowingly called.

The lady, who was stroking the princess’ hair answered politely. “Yes?”

“When will he return?” Ilaria asked as she kept her eyes on the window, her tone was soft and delicate, indicating that she was zoning out. Her violet eyes were distant, as if she was longing for something that she knew would never be in her favour. This is the tenth time she has asked the same question today.

And she will probably ask about it tomorrow, and the day after that — just like she did in the past six months. Melyn stopped her hands to look at the back of the princess’ head for a few seconds. The way she remained motionless in the bathtub; her eyes fixed on the outside world made her feel a tinge of worry.

Even when her face was damped with water and her hair was messed with bubbles, the princess’ beauty was not something that could be easily overshadowed. Even dirt would turn to glitter upon landing on her pale skin. It makes her wonder: How could a sweet lady such as she looked devastatingly lovely yet so hauntingly desolate at the same time?

Melyn sighed, “Your Highness…” Ilaria cast her eyes away from the window as her ears perked up upon hearing the tone of her handmaiden’s voice. She did not mean to sound dejected.

“I’m sorry, I asked too much, didn’t I?” She tried to smile, hoping that it would cover the sudden melancholy that visited her lonesome heart.

“Not at all,” Melyn brushed the princess’ hair back and poured the water on her head, drenching the bubbles away. At this point, Melyn was close to cursing the crown prince out loud for leaving his wife behind.

“It’s natural to ask after your husband’s whereabouts, but I’m afraid my answer is still the same,” Melyn said gently, brushing a hand over her hair. “There is still no word of when the prince will return.”

Ilaria huffed. Of course, there was no notice. It will be a dream come true if he tells her anything at all. Not only did his disappearance make her worried, but the sadness that came along was inevitable too. Her shoulder slumped in solemnity, and it did not go unnoticed by Melyn’s sharp eyes.

She leaned closer to the princess, her voice laced with restrained mischief as she whispered, “Shall we slip salt into his wine when he finally returns?”

“What…?” Ilaria turned to her with wide eyes, only for laughter to spill out the moment she realized Melyn’s face was perfectly serious.

“Or perhaps shred his favorite coat and toss his shoes into the slush?” Melyn went on, one brow arched in mock anticipation. “I could always release a rat in his bedchamber too, that should liven things up.”

The princess chuckled, unable to hide her amusement. “You would do all that for me?”

Melyn sighed with exaggerated tragedy. “I doubt I’d live long after, but for you, Your Highness…I’ll gladly face my execution.”

“Oh, come now, this is why I adore you.” Ilaria chuckled as she lay back, letting Melyn continue tending to her hair. The lady’s candor was relentless, but it was also why Ilaria could never stay gloomy for long.

“Don’t you dare. I can’t afford to lose you,” she teased, knowing full well Melyn’s threats were more bark than bite.

“I apologize. I suppose I’m simply…irritated.”

“I know,” Ilaria said with a knowing smile. “You’re only like this because of me, but don’t worry, our little secret stays between us.” She laughed again, light and melodic.

Melyn, of course, was not sorry in the slightest. Though Ilaria knew it was unbecoming to speak of her husband behind his back, Melyn always had a way of slipping such forbidden talk into their conversations. Inevitably, the crown prince of Noctharis became their most frequent subject.

Ilaria would confess, in her quiet and earnest way, how deeply she had fallen for the cold and aloof prince, while Melyn would counter with every flaw she could summon, insisting he was far too harsh, far too aloof, far too unlike the gentle girl who adored him. And when her exasperation peaked, she would not hesitate to curse the man outright.

Ilaria could only laugh at her boldness. Her love remained steadfast, but it was strangely comforting to have someone trying to shield her from the perils of this hopeless devotion. Even the venomous words that spilled so freely from Melyn’s lips gave her a bittersweet sense of satisfaction too.

The crown prince of Noctharis, Levan Gawen, bore the weight of responsibility from a very young age. Though he was the third son of the King of Noctharis, he managed to surpass his elder siblings and secured the title of heir when the Black Dragon itself acknowledged him as its chosen successor.

The tale of how the princes once contended for honour and recognition in their father’s eyes was well-known across the lands, yet none could deny the dragon’s verdict. The descendants of the Black Dragon had long been commended as formidable rulers, their might reflected both in political acumen and martial strength.

To have such a capable prince, and one so young at that, was regarded as a rare diamond in the rough. And Levan embodied those virtues completely — a figure of strength, discipline, and resolve that few of his age could rival. This is another reason why Ilaria admired him so much.

Across the vast realm of Zmeu, seven kingdoms ruled the land. The Great War that took place centuries ago marked the start of the union between humans and the divine creature the people regarded as the First Dragon. The long and brutal bloodshed was a moment in history that humans shall not forget.

Many of the great kingdoms that once stood tall were reduced to rubble, leaving only the last few standings that remained until today. In honour of protecting the realm from further devastation, the First Dragon bestowed its divine blessings by splitting its body and spirit to those remained.

Sun, fire, sea, light, dream, time, and shadow — each entrusted to a sovereign line, hence the beginning of the dragon’s descendants. While the sacred heart of the First Dragon lies under the province of the Guardian, the oath to protect the realm against their mortal enemy was vowed by the seven sovereigns.

Ilaria was the beloved princess of Caelwyn, a land so vast and majestic that was overseeded by the mighty White Dragon, also regarded as the Guardian of the Realm. Her marriage was spoken of as any other — mutual defence, consolidation of powers, the ordinary language of politics.

But behind the council’s words, the truth lingered unspoken: signs of TheBlithe had begun to stir again, and shadows have lengthened at the borders of Zmeu. So to stand apart was to invite ruin. To stand together, even with the most feared of bloodlines was the only hope of Balance enduring.

While her older sister held an immense position as the Queen of Caelwyn after their parents’ demise, it was she who was entrusted with the marriage that might safeguard the realm from The Blithe’s return. Despite knowing the fate she bears as the second princess and unchosen one, she never held a single abomination towards her marriage.

For she had fallen truly, deeply, madly in love with her husband long before their marriage was ever the main topic in the council room. The beginning of her unforeseeable affection towards the prince was eight years ago, when she was still a little princess who constantly followed her father to travel across kingdoms.

Ilaria has always been seen as the social one compared to her elder sister ever since she was a tiny girl, earning her the title of the friendly butterfly of Caelwyn. The first time she stepped into the kingdom of Noctharis, the air was warm, hugging her petite body in a balmy embrace that almost felt like a homecoming, so unlike the foreboding tales of the Land of Darkness whispered beyond its borders.

She has traversed around the world and experienced their unique, benevolent air, but for once, she finally found a land that felt close to her home, perhaps because half of her heart was already implanted there the moment she stepped in. Ilaria was fourteen then, and he was sixteen. Honestly, it felt like another cliché tale she would never tell her children.

The moment she saw him standing beside his father and welcomed them — golden eyes staring at her with slight curiosity a stark contrast with its deadpanned nature — she had to blink twice as the world caved in. The sudden race of her heart has been inexorable. The butterflies that bloomed in her stomach has been out of control.

If she could float, she swore she would have been high up in the sky. The image of his sole existence was engraved in her mind the moment her eyes conceded his features, and that was when she knew, the empty seat in her heart had been sealed.

It was love at first sight.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep