Chapter 48: I Wanted To Go Too!

Ilaria’s mind went blank, and so does her expression. If they were not lovers, then what she saw back at The Ivory Study was just…an illusion? But it could not be! Who would touch each other so casually if they were not in love with each other?

“B-but you…I saw you two at The Ivory Study together…” Ilaria’s words trailed off, soft as a thought, but the solarium carried every syllable enough to tell that she was thunderstruck by the unveiling.

There was something almost farcical about her expression that he thought she might as well had lost her soul. “The Ivory Study?” He asked, obviously not quite understanding what she was trying to imply.

Her heart jumped to her throat. She had not meant for him to hear. She ducked her chin, fiddling with her skirts sheepishly. “I-I mean…I just…saw you two there once. Together.”

The silence was brutal.

Then, with a humourless scoff, he dragged a hand down his face. “You saw a viper coiled near the fire and thought I was keeping it as a pet.” His eyes narrowed, steely and incredulous at once. “That’s your brilliant conclusion?”

Ilaria’s clamped her lips, flustered. “…Well what else was I supposed to think? You were so close, and— and she touched your chest—”

Without thinking, she reached up and patted near his collar. “—like this.”

At the sudden touch, Levan actually flinched.

“Touched my—” He broke off, staring at her as if she had just declared the sky green. His jaw set hard, and then, with all the venom of insulted pride, he bit out, “That woman touches anything that doesn’t run fast enough.”

Her eyes widened.

Levan regarded her in disbelief, voice low and flat, as if he was speaking of the most ridiculous thing he had ever been forced to clarify. “I have never been her lover. Not once. Not ever.”

Ilaria blinked at him, her mouth opening and closing before words finally tumbled out in a slow, sheepish mumble. “…So I got mad at you for nothing?”

His brows drew together. “What?”

Her breath stuttered as the memory rushed in. That day in the library when she refused to go to The Ivory Study because she was reminded of them together. She wanted to curl into the earth and disappear.

“…Back then…when I avoided you at the library…it was because I thought that you and Lady Seraphine—” she faltered, then lifted her hands and pressed her fingertips together, clumsily miming two people kissing.

Her face burned the instant she realized what she had just done. “…like…that.”

Levan froze at the gesture, then blinked at her with the flat stare of a man confronted with the world’s most baffling pantomime. Realization clicked in his gaze. “…That’s what that was about?”

She winced, clutching her knees tighter. “Maybe.”

Levan leaned back, exhaling through his nose. He could not believe that someone could sulk over such nonsense. Of all the things to waste his time on…So that was why Lysander kept on blaming him and would not leave him alone.

He had sacrificed his ears entertaining the Archivist lectures because she was…pouting over her own baseless assumption?

“Unbelievable…” he sighed. He himself could not believe he had squandered his time doing so.

At this point, she might as well drive him crazy.

His gaze slid back to her, half exasperated, half incredulous. “So you really were sulking.”

Ilaria buried her face in her hands with a strangled noise. “…Don’t say it like that.”

He did not look away. “Was the silent treatment also part of your punishment scheme?”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “I-it wasn’t a scheme! I was genuinely upset!”

Levan’s brow twitched, unimpressed. “Over nothing.” He looked away, eyes tracing the edge of the table absentmindedly, muttering, “…You sulked over that

.”

Ilaria was caught between embarrassment and awe, finding his reaction to be somewhat unusual. She had braced for his scolding, stiffened for anger, but instead he just mumbles to himself, his voice softened just slightly on the last words.

For some reason, though he should have been irritated, he could not summon the weight of anger at her. She may not be aware of it, but the memory of her little sulk had stubbornly tugged at him since that day, pressing gently and persistently against the armour he had built around himself.

She dared a tiny smile when he did not retort, her fingers twisting at the hem of her skirt. “I-I’m sorry…” she murmured.

Levan returned his gaze back to her, steady and calm, a flicker of something unspoken softened the sharp lines of his face, making him look more at peace than when she had first entered the solarium. Butterflies bloomed in her stomach upon the sight, causing her heart to warm and her cheeks to burn.

“You need not apologize,” he said quietly. “It’s…understood.”

For a long, delicate moment, the space between them held nothing but the silent acknowledgment of each other. There was no pretense, only the gentle pulse of familiarity and care that had quietly grown in the spaces they shared.

Ilaria felt her heart stretch and contract all at once, like a bird’s wings brushing against a sky it had only dreamed of reaching. Her thoughts spun wildly, each one a tiny storm that made her want to dive into cold water just to soothe the heat that was burning in her heart.

He isn’t angry. He’s not dismissing me. No smile yet, but he talked to me…

She pressed her palms to her lap, trying to anchor herself, but the quiet pulse between them felt like a tide she could not resist. Her lips parted, caught between wanting to speak and wanting to simply exist in that fragile, perfect moment, where the world had narrowed to the soft gravity of him beside her.

But in the end, she chose not to say anything, only silently admiring him.

A few days later, the morning sunlight filtered lazily through the tall windows of the prince’s chamber, dust motes drifting like tiny stars in the golden light. Ilaria sat on the sofa with a small pastry in hand, her knees tucked neatly beneath her as if the furniture itself had welcomed her presence.

She had already delivered his breakfast bun, placing the plate gently by his documents and now kept herself busy with some letters she had brought along, flipping through them. Levan barely looked up from the neat stacks of papers and parchment before him. His brow furrowed in concentration, one hand signing the papers, while the other quietly picking at the bun as he eat slowly.

Ilaria glanced back briefly, catching his profile in the soft light. A small, satisfied smile curved her lips. After that day in the solarium, she had grown bolder in claiming these quiet corners of his world. She did not know why he allowed it, it could be for convenience, or perhaps a quiet trust, but it made her heart swell regardless.

She did not plan anything specific upon coming here, so she lingered over the neatly folded letters that held Caelwyn’s royal seal, the familiar script from her sister bringing her comfort. She was so absorbed in reading that she barely noticed the soft click of the door behind her.

“…Your Highness,” Marion’s voice resounded quietly as he made his way towards the crown prince, holding a letter in hand. “An invitation has arrived from House Thalvane. They host a banquet next week in their estate, and requested the Crown Prince’s attendance.”

Levan’s gaze flicked to the letter, taking it from the Chamberlain’s hand as he regarded the parchment with attentive scrutiny. He seldom attended such gatherings unless they held significance. He did not move immediately, letting the silence stretch just long enough for Ilaria to notice.

“House Thalvane,” he murmured, voice low and deliberate. “A gathering of influence…very well.” He looked up at Marion with the faintest nod. “Send word to the Lord. I will be attending.”

Before he could return to his documents, a soft presence caught his peripheral vision. Ilaria had quietly slipped in front of his table, peeking up at him with her head tilted a little and hands folded neatly behind her. The faintest, most innocent smile played on her lips.

“…”

Levan slowly lowered the letter, testing the waters. When she remained silent, he took the role of entertaining her smile. “What’s wrong?”

Ilaria’s gaze flicked to the letter in his hand, her lashes fluttering as she cleared her throat and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, before slowly looked up to him again. “Um…is that…a banquet invitation?” Her voice was casual, almost like she was just musing aloud.

He raised an eyebrow at her sudden scintillating countenance. He doubted she did not hear his exchange with Marion just now, but he answered anyway. “Yes, why?”

Ilaria’s eyes lit up. “Well, usually there would be…um…fine foods and music in a banquet…” she said softly, letting her words trail, eyes sparkling as if she was not really saying anything at all while silently hoping that he would understand her.

Levan looked her up and down, catching on to the subtlety of her questioning tone. It was not hard to decipher what she wanted. “…You want to go?” His voice was flat, but the weight behind it left no room to deny him.

And as expected, Ilaria beamed instantly, unable to contain herself. “…Can I?”

Ah…

Levan’s expression remained stoic, but inside, he was conflicted. He had no intention of letting her just wander off, but the way she looked at him, so hopeful and so innocent made the decision feel heavier than any noble’s decree.

He tapped the edge of the letter against the table, mulling over her request. He was expected to attend alone; and he was used to attending alone. Rejecting the invitation outright would be a slight to the people, and he could not afford that.

He stole a quick glance at Ilaria, who stood there while waiting patiently as if her very presence was an unvoiced plea.

He straightened in his chair, deliberately clasping his hands on the table. “The invitation is for me alone.”

Ilaria’s lips parted in hope, hands clasped at her chest, eyes silently pleading. The sight was so absurdly endearing that he could not help but look away.

In the end, he exhaled, surrendering to her expectant eyes. “…You may accompany me, but try not to cause a diplomatic incident while you’re at it.”

Ilaria literally bloomed. The restrained joy of someone given permission to be somewhere they longed to go broke through the way she was bouncing slightly on her toes, careful only not to collide with the table. “Thank you!”

Levan watched her trot back to the sofa he had allowed her, plopping onto the cushion as if he had just caught the stars for her. He was not used to indulgence, but he could not deny that seeing her so genuinely happy made the choice easier than he had anticipated.

He lifted his head from his propped hand and cleared his throat before looking back at the documents on the table, realizing with a start that he had been staring.

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