Chapter 6: Talk To Me

The brief silence seemed to last for eternity. For a moment, Ilaria remained locking eyes with the man standing at the double door. She felt the world stop in its tracks. There was a profound sense of relief and tranquillity, knowing that the person she had been longing for was finally here.

Her heart jumped at the sight, leaping in contentment and solace; filling the emptiness she suffered for the past few months in pretence to make her feel whole again. But come with it was a painful rejection of reality. Despite their locking gaze, he was still the same as she remembered.

Levan’s sharp eyes quickly darted to the man standing beside her, his eyes glinted beneath the tense atmosphere.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, there was no trace of emotion in it despite how contemptuous he appeared at the moment.

Melvin mirrored the same look, but before he fully pay attention to his brother’s unbridled act, he withdrew his hand that was extended towards Ilaria to pat her head. A gesture of consolation. An act of sorry. He, if anything, was not pleased that they were interrupted after he had just recovered from imagining his face, and now he was physically here, making his scowl deepen even further.

“Later,” he whispered and smiled reassuringly at Ilaria before stepping away. His steps were languid, nonchalant in a way that showed he did not fancy the idea of being around the crown prince, especially when he suddenly appeared after six months of being out of sight.

“What? Don’t tell me you suddenly missed me after gallivanting off to God knows where,” he snapped, stopping at a careful distance and raising a sharp brow. “And I reckon this an open place.”

Levan’s face was carefully calm. Not once did his eyes tear from the second prince as it held an unspoken deprecation that glowed hauntingly beneath his façade. His absence for half a year may be a mystery to Ilaria — both of them, but it was not difficult to tell where he might have been in those months.

The dark attire that hugged his figure and the cloak circling his neck — though still intact, was soaked with crimson liquid that had gone frigid because of the icy weather. He was drenched, probably because of the raging storm, except for his face.

The hood flopped over his broad shoulder as it bore the weight of the rainwater mixed with red liquid, drip by drip it fell on the white tiles. A single streak of blood on his cheek? A trophy of battle. He must have returned with haste considering his unannounced arrival.

“Come with me,” he said, cutting to the chase in the most monotonous tone Ilaria had ever heard from him. His words ended the conversation almost before it began, yet they struck her with an intensity that left her reeling, though he seemed either oblivious or indifferent to her reaction.

A twisted expression crept across the second prince’s scowl.

“I guess you do miss me after all,” Melvin jeered under his breath, stepping forward. Though a snarky smile lingered on his face, a sudden seriousness flashed in his features, as if a second thought had crossed his mind.

“Is this so important that it requires my attention?” He glanced down at his drenched clothes, frowning in disgust. “You reek of blood.”

“His Majesty shouldn’t wait any longer.”

A scoff. “Then it’s not important.” Melvin rolled his eyes coldly. The mere mention of the King was enough to piss him off. Ilaria stayed in awkward silence, pretending not to listen, giving the brothers their ungracious privacy.

She clasped her right arm, her nails carefully rubbing her elbow in nervousness. Amid the turmoil, it was hard not to look at her husband now that he was here. For months, she has articulated the perfect way to start a conversation with him once he returns. For months, she had planned the perfect opportunity to converse with her unrequited lover.

But the courage and determination she had built were all shattered in the moment of truth. Her stomach dipped and her breath was shallow. Her hand began to feel clammy against her elbow. She clamped her lips as if to prevent her heart from escaping through her mouth. There was no fear, but even she could not tell why her heart was vigorously pounding against her ribcage.

In her list of people to worry about, Levan was certainly not one of them. Although the way he presented himself was that of a man who had gone through hell while being drenched in blood that was not his, he was, from head to toe, well and alive. Still, Ilaria could not help but feel a whiff of concern.

There was a part of her that urged her to remain equanimous, yet a stronger force that insisted she reach for him to make sure he was truly unharmed clashed in a silent battle within her mind. Even then, the way he remained stoic in his stead without an ounce of recognition of her presence drew a line that she did not dare cross.

With a heavy heart, the princess remained staring at him with a lowered gaze. She desperately hoped that he would spare her some glance, but of course, he never did. She did not deny that she longed to be near him, albeit just admiring his face from afar. Even if he would not reciprocate her feelings forever, she thought the little attention and his mere presence would suffice.

It was foolish to yearn for something that was never meant to be, yet the flowers in her heart have bloomed, and the tiny voices in her head have been tautly bewitched by the man who could only look at her indifferently, hooking her to the brink of no return.

Ilaria’s ears perked up when Melvin cursed under his breath. With an incensed huff, he walked past the crown prince as the sound of his shoes pattered ponderously on the marble floor, annoyed. He was rather rebellious, and he did not care to show it. Finally, the attention she was seeking was directed at her.

Levan snapped his head to Ilaria; the wife he had left for six months. His haunting gaze darted to the table behind her for a split second to inspect if it had been irresolutely touched by anyone. Something inside the pool of gold flared. Ilaria held her breath upon instinct.

“No- I didn’t…” She flailed her hands. It was an impulsive act, to suddenly try and explain herself when the nervousness kicked in. There were thousands of words awaiting to be spoken on the tip of her tongue, yet her voice was stuck in her throat, refusing to obey her intention.

She was entangled in a bittersweet dilemma, unable to move towards him or away from him, so she remained where she was. However, Levan did not put any effort into saying anything further when he took his first step.

“See yourself out,” he instructed vehemently before fully turning away and falling in step with the second prince. There was no sign of emotions in his golden eyes, only blankness and aloofness that he did not even bother to hide.

“Wait…” She attempted to call him back, only for her voice to falter into a whisper. The hand that was extended out did not get the chance to be acknowledged, thus her fingers curled before they forlornly retreated.

Between the slits of the double door right before it shut close, Ilaria could see him removing his cloak, clutching the blood-reeked thing in one hand as he turned to the corner and disappeared once again. He looked effortlessly striking as he walked, no matter the rainwater.

The sound of his steps vibrated across the floor with urgency. That was when reality hit her right on her head. Disappointment. Heartache. She could precisely feel something inside of her break. There were always consequences to one’s actions, and to be in love with someone she could only enjoy in her fantasies was a torment waiting to rend her precious heart.

Still, the blinded affection prompted even her rational self to let it happen.

~*~

One way to relish rainy days was to embrace their cosiness by enjoying a hot beverage that would warm the body against the cold. It was a custom throughout the nation of Noctharis that coffee was the ideal libation to be served no matter the occasion.

With half of the continent occupied by coffee bean plantations, it was one of the main attractions that served the kingdom’s recognition across the realm, for tourists could expect a good quality of the dark brew while visiting. When Ilaria spent her first night in the palace, she found it intriguing that they were served coffee instead of tea.

The dark brew was unduly bitter for her sweet tooth, though as time passed, she had come to enjoy it in the morning and during uncalled chilling days, like today. Right now, however, an hour has passed since she started stirring the cup of coffee in her hand.

There was a distant look on her face. Her eyes were dropped but they never closed, not even for a moment to blink. The once warm cup felt cold against her fingers, yet her mind had been racing a mile to notice.

A palm clasped the princess’ hand, another had its thumb pressing the spoon against the rim of the cup, stopping its motion. Melyn bent her back, hazel eyes sweeping over the princess’ countenance intending to catch her attention.

“It’s cold,” she said, “You don’t like cold coffee.” Ilaria snapped out of her thoughts and looked up at the lady.

Slowly, she gazed back down at the cold coffee in her hands. Dull. That was the first thing that came to her mind upon seeing the dark brew. What was once a hot drink she would cherish became the epitome of a hollow abyss she did not dare to swallow.

“What a waste…” she murmured and let Melyn take the cup away.

“Are you still thinking about what happened earlier? You looked troubled,” Melyn carefully placed the cup on the bedside table. She had woken up, clad in an appropriate dress, her brunette hair tied up in a low bun; she was ready to begin her duty when the princess barged into her room with two cups of coffee and biscuits.

The slight weariness and faint dark circles under her eyes were palpable, but at least she had gotten the sleep she needed thanks to the princess’ firm order. Ilaria had come in with a bright and apologetic smile, which soon turned into a mask of despondency. That was enough to tell Melyn that something was wrong.

The lady sat on the edge of her bed as she surveyed the princess, who had shrunk herself between the small table and the wall, knees up to her chest, her arms hugging her legs as she curled herself into a ball, her head plopped on the side of the table with a dejected pout.

No matter how downhearted she was every time she talked about her helpless sign of affection towards a man who did not recognize it, Melyn had never seen the princess cry throughout the six months together, but right now, she was convinced that she might warrant sparing some silent tears.

“Your Highness,” she called again. When Ilaria did not respond, Melyn slipped off the bed and crossed her legs on the floor with a sigh.

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