Chapter 36: Unwelcome Heat

Ilaria placed her jar neatly on the kitchen cabinet, right where she always kept it, the soft clink of glass against wood was oddly satisfying. With that done, she dusted her hands once more and decided it was time to return to her chambers for a change of clothes.

Vivienne followed a respectful step behind, her own jar cradled carefully in her arms. By the time the two of them stepped back out of the chambers, the late evening light was spilling golden through the palace windows.

“Shall we?” Ilaria asked, her smile bright as ever as she extended an arm, inviting Vivienne to take it.

After only a week at the princess’ side, Vivienne had already noticed one of her little oddly endearing quirks. The princess loved to link arms. At first, Vivienne thought it was something reserved for her personal handmaiden, Melyn, given how inseparable they seemed.

But no, the princess did it with every maids in her room as if they were her close friends rather than people meant to serve her. It was like her small, unspoken way of drawing people close, whether they wanted it or not. Tentatively, Vivienne slipped her arm through Ilaria’s, her movements careful as always.

Ilaria, on the other hand, swayed them forward without hesitation, chattering as they walked down the hallway and outside into the palace gardens. Despite being a land that saw more nights than days, she was always engrossed by the fact that flowers could still grow here. It fascinated her how nature found a way. Not everything could withstand Noctharis’ force.

“…Oh, you know, Caelwyn has the loveliest lilies. Pure white, and they bloom in such a way that the whole riverbank looks like it’s been dusted with snow. You wouldn’t believe it unless you saw it yourself. But here?” Ilaria gestured dramatically at the flowerbeds. “Not a lily in sight. Not even the stubborn little kind that wilt before you can blink.”

Vivienne looked at the princess. “Are…lilies your favourite, Your Highness?”

“Hmmm, not favourite, but I like them,” Ilaria admitted cheerfully, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t complain about their absence here.”

“Really, if I were the Queen of Noctharis, the first thing I’d do is demand lilies planted everywhere. Maybe even in the kitchens too. Imagine cooking while surrounded by flowers! That would make even the dullest stew bearable.”

Vivienne glanced at her sidelong. She spoke as if her fate as the Queen was not already determined. She tilted her head slightly. “…But wouldn’t that be distracting?”

“Maybe,” Ilaria said with a little shrug, “but at least it would be pretty, and isn’t life far more enjoyable when it’s pretty?”

Vivienne gave a soft, uncertain laugh. “I…suppose so.”

They strolled deeper into the garden, arms still linked, reaching the gravel path curved toward a small stone bridge that arched gracefully over a lake. The evening lull spilled across the water, breaking against gentle ripples, and something beneath glimmered.

“Oh!” Ilaria gasped, tugging Vivienne just a little closer to the railing. “Look, look down there!”

Dark shapes darted below the surface, sleek and quick, catching slants of light as they moved. Their scales shimmered like polished obsidian, a deep black with fleeting flashes of violet and silver when they turned just right.

“Those,” Ilaria whispered reverently so as to not disturb them, leaning over the bridge, “are Noctharian veilfish. Aren’t they pretty? They only live in lakes here. The gardener said their colour comes from the minerals in the soil, like the land itself lends them its shade.”

Vivienne leaned just enough to glimpse them properly. She was not unfamiliar with the creatures.

Noctharian veilfish were a luxury beyond reach for most because they thrived only in lakes untouched by man, where the waters were so pure they mirrored the sky itself. It was said that the slightest impurity would drive the veilfish away, vanishing into nothing as though they were made of shadow and mist.

To catch one was near impossible; even nets could not hold them for long. Their beauty lay not only in their obsidian sheen but in their fleeting, almost ethereal existence. No wonder they were seen only in the ponds of nobles or, more fittingly, within the care of royalty.

She nodded slowly, mesmerised. “They’re beautiful….”

“I know, right?” Ilaria beamed. “When I first came here eight years ago, I thought they were cursed spirits trapped in fish form. I even refused to come near the water unless my father promised me they wouldn’t suddenly sprout wings and drag me under,” she laughed softly at her own confession.

Vivienne blinked at her, startled at the ridiculous story, trying hard not to smile. “…That’s quite the imagination, Your Highness. They’re harmless.”

“Well, looks certainly can be deceiving,” Ilaria cooed.

She lingered on the sight of the creatures swimming below, her smile softening into something tender as her hands came to rest upon the bridge’s railing. The river’s gentle ripples wove through the hush of the evening breeze, a rhythm that invited forgotten memories to rise and stir within her.

“My father used to tell me that, too,” she said quietly, almost melancholic. “He said the veilfish weren’t spirits at all, but mirrors of people. They’re slippery when chased, but steady when left to their own rhythm. ’Respect them, and they’ll let you watch. Try to catch them, and they’ll slip away.’”

Her lips curved faintly as she repeated her father’s words, but the ache behind them was harder to hide. Funny, how something said to comfort a frightened child could sting so much now. Wasn’t she doing the same? Reaching and chasing after someone who would only slip further from her grasp?

Her voice caught just a little before she forced her usual cheer back in, looking back at Vivienne with a smile. “I suppose he meant people are the same. Though he knew I’d never understand it back then.”

Vivienne’s gaze lingered longer than she should have. The princess stood bathed in the soft glow of the evening, hair swaying gently in the breeze, each strand catching the faint light like spun gold against her violet eyes. Her pale skin seemed even fairer beneath the falling dusk.

And then there was her smile, delicate yet dazzling, the kind that seemed to belong to someone far too luminous for the world around her. But the melancholy that came with it was palpable. She looked like a lantern wrapped in silk, its light muted, beautiful still, but never burning as freely as it was meant to.

Ilaria shifted then, her fingers brushing against her own arm as if she was chasing off a sudden warmth. A faint tremor of restlessness moved through her body as she frowned at the unwelcome sensation.

Vivienne noticed immediately, concern flickering across her features in an instant. “Your Highness? A-are you unwell?” she asked urgently, taking a step towards the princess and linking their arms in case anything happens.

Ilaria was surprised at her urgency, then she laughed softly, the sound a little thinner than before. “Oh— no, no. I’m fine. Maybe I’m just…tired. Too much reading in the morning, then baking all afternoon. My body’s probably protesting.” She gave a faint shrug, her smile returning though it did not reach her eyes quite the same.

Vivienne did not buy it. The princess only needed to falter for a bit, and she instantly sprung into action. “Your Highness—please, sit.” Without waiting for a reply, she guided her gently toward the nearest gazebo tucked between climbing ivy and white blossoms. Ilaria, bemused but obliging, let herself be ushered to the seat.

“I told you, I’m fine,” she said, earnest but subdued, her voice stripped of its usual luster.

She lowered herself onto the bench, leaning back at first, but within moments she shifted forward, her elbows pressing to the cool wood of the table in the center. Slowly, she lifted her hands and cupped her face, as if trying to steady herself, violet eyes half-lidded despite the absence of the scorching sun.

It was not exhaustion alone. There was a strange warmth clinging to her skin, like her pulse was quickened without reason. The little quiver in her fingers and the way her breaths came uneven were signs too subtle for her to name but impossible to hide. It was like a secret fire had been lit beneath her skin.

Vivienne’s frown deepened as she studied her. “You don’t look fine, princess,” she whispered, her voice thin with worry. “A-are you dizzy? Should I fetch someone?”

But Ilaria only shook her head, strands of hair falling loose around her cheeks, a faint, wistful smile tugging at her lips. “No, no…it’s nothing serious. I just feel…strange. That’s all.”

The maid did not buy it. Vivienne leaned forward, her brows furrowing as she studied the princess more carefully. “But you’re flushed,” she murmured, almost to herself. “And y-your breathing…” Her eyes widened, and suddenly her hand flew to cover her mouth.

“Your Highness,” she whispered, aghast. “You— you couldn’t be—”

Ilaria looked at her, utterly puzzled. “Be what?” she asked, her voice small, muffled against her palms.

Vivienne hesitated, cheeks reddening at the sheer audacity of her own thought. She had served many married ladies before, and all of them had that unmistakable look that spoke louder than words. “…in season?”

For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them. Ilaria stared, violet eyes round in wonder before the meaning sank in. Her face flamed instantly, colour rushing hot to her ears.

“W-what?!” she stammered, nearly shooting upright from the bench. “Vivi! How— how could you even—!”

But her own body betrayed her as warmth lingered beneath her skin and a restless ache hummed low, subtle but undeniable. Her voice cracked between protest and mortification, as if the mere suggestion had struck something she dared not admit.

Vivienne opened her mouth to apologize, but Ilaria cut her off. “But what if…what if it’s true? Oh, Saints, what if it’s true?!” Panic surged, and in an instant, the two women were flailing, caught in a whirlwind of disbelief and ignominy.

Vivienne was frantically thinking of a way to help the princess. “W-well, ladies in, um…similar situations…they usually…seek…their husbands?”

Ilaria’s eyes widened so fast she abruptly stood up. “W-what?! No! Nonsense! Absolutely not!”

“I-I didn’t mean…it’s just…that’s what they…they do…” Vivienne stammered.

“I—oh, Lord, I can’t believe you just said that! Don’t ever say that again!” Ilaria hissed, glancing around as if someone might have heard.

“Y-yes, Your Highness! I…I…I’ll—” Vivienne squeaked.

“I— I need…air! Fresh air!” Ilaria whispered harshly, fanning herself with her hands. “Thank the Saints he’s not in the palace, it would be utterly humiliating if he saw me like this!”

But fate decided to laugh at her. Her words barely left her lips when a calm, measured voice cut through the garden air. “What are you doing here? The sun is nearly set and you are still outside.”

Ilaria froze mid-breath, her heart hammering like a drum in her chest. She lifted her head, praying to the dragon that it was just her imagination. But then there he was, every bit as commanding, every step making her pulse spike. Embarrassment struck like lightning. She clasped her mouth in alarm, certain the garden itself had witnessed her betrayal.

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