Chapter 86: The Expanse

The morning had long shaken off its chill, sunlight spilling gold over the dew-laced field as their horses began the slow ride out of camp. Ilaria rode on her own, her chin high, her cloak fluttering behind her like the very picture of independence.

Except… her reins were not entirely her own.

Levan’s gloved hand held the end of them, the reins looped loosely between his fingers as if he had no intention of truly guiding her horse and yet, somehow, he was. Every subtle pull, every measured pace of his mount, set the rhythm for hers.

It was not that she could not ride. In fact, she could, perfectly well even. But the quiet possessiveness of that tether made her pulse trip in her throat.

She tried not to look at him. Truly, she did. But as the morning light caught the dark strands of his hair and the faint gleam of the crest at his shoulder, her thoughts suddenly were a mess of things that had nothing to do with beasts or travel.

He did not look back. But she could tell, by the faint curve at the corner of his mouth, that he knew she was silently flustered.

The road ahead stretched endlessly, but somehow the space between their horses felt too small. The rhythm of hooves and the occasional creak of armour filled the silence between them, the kind that was not really silent at all, just thick.

Her fingers itched around the reins. “You know,” she muttered, her voice careful and just a little too bright for the atmosphere, “I’m perfectly capable of holding these myself.”

He nodded. “I know.”

He did not let go.

Ilaria narrowed her eyes at his profile, that maddening calm carved into every line of his face. He was not even looking at her, not a single glance spared, not a turn of his head as if his hand was not literally tethering her to him.

Fine, she thought. Fine.

She waited until his attention seemed to drift forward; until his shoulders eased slightly before trying to escape. Slowly, she inched her fingers along the leather, pretending to adjust her grip as she began to ease the reins from his hand. Just a little at first, gentle enough that he might not even notice.

Her horse slowed obediently beneath her. Perfect. Just a few more inches, and she could fall back toward the knights riding behind them. Maybe even chat with Alonzo and Maelon without feeling like she was being subtly paraded around.

Except the moment she thought she had succeeded, his hand moved. Smooth, unhurried, and utterly inevitable. His fingers closed over hers, firm but not tight, just enough to stop her retreat in one effortless motion.

She froze like a thief caught red-handed.

His gaze stayed fixed on the trail ahead as he spoke. “If you slow down now, they’ll think something’s wrong with your horse.”

Her mouth fell open soundlessly. “I— I’m not trying to do a-anything—”

“Mm. Best to keep steady, don’t you think?” His gloved thumb brushed once over her knuckles, not as a warning, but as quiet confirmation that he knew exactly what she had tried to do.

His tone shifted then, carrying the weight of command beneath its calm as he slowly let go of her hand and settled back on his reins.

“This isn’t a morning ride through the gardens, Aria. We’re entering the Deyliric Expanse. The ground there doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

The air between them seemed to tighten with the change in his voice. His eyes, still fixed ahead, had sharpened to that same focus she had seen the night before, making it clear that the crown prince in him had surfaced again.

He continued, softer now but no less firm. “If something moves out there, you stay close. You don’t fall behind, and you don’t ride off on your own. Do you understand?”

Her throat went dry. “I wasn’t planning to.”

The corner of his mouth curved faintly, though it was not quite amusement. “You weren’t planning to,” he echoed. “The problem is, Aria, that intentions rarely matter once danger decides to find you.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the mild chastise. “Then I’ll know what to do,” she insisted, but even to her own ears, it sounded weak.

“Perhaps,” he allowed, finally glancing her way. His gaze was steady, the faintest glint of warmth flickering behind the steel. “It’s just… forgive me for saying this, but you have a way of walking straight into storms and expecting the wind to show mercy.”

Ilaria’s lips parted in protest, her brows knitting. “…You talk like I’m some helpless cause…” she muttered, the defiance in her tone softened only by the quiet tremor beneath it.

Levan exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No,” he said simply. “You have a soft heart, Aria. Don’t lose that. Just learn when to shield it.”

He looked forward again, reins steady in his grasp. “So please, listen to me. Out here, it’s not strength or courage that keeps you safe. It’s awareness. And I can’t protect you if you keep drifting where I can’t reach.” His voice dipped lower, the edge softening. “I don’t ever want to find you beyond my reach.”

“I said I wasn’t planning to run away…”

“I know you did,” he said. “But I’m not leaving it to chance.”

Her first instinct was to argue, because of course he was chastising her again. The nerve of him, speaking like she was some reckless child who could not tell danger from her own shadow. But the longer his words hung in the air, the less scolding they sounded.

Her grip on the reins loosened. The warmth in his tone lingered like sunlight against her skin, and she hated how easily it made her heart ache in that stupid, fluttering way. Because he was not just being commanding. He was being… him.

Protective, steady, the kind of man who carried the weight of the world and still somehow thought to shield her from its sharpest edges. She lowered her gaze, her lips pressed together in a small, reluctant smile.

Husband is so caring…

The silence that followed was heavier than before, but not uncomfortable, it was the kind that settled between two people who understood what was not being said.

The sun had risen higher by then, light threading through the forest canopy as they continued on. Around them, the company moved with disciplined quiet. The time slipped by beneath the rhythm of hooves and wind. And still, his hand never left her reins.

The steady weight of his grasp, the warmth of it even through his gloves, had long stopped feeling like restraint. It had become a silent tether, a reassurance that no matter how wide the road stretched or how heavy the air turned, he was there. She told herself she did not need it, but she also did not pull away.

The trail sloped downward, narrowing as they left the pine ridges behind. The trees thinned, and the world opened into a pale stretch of land that shimmered faintly beneath the sun. It was beautiful in a strange, unsettling way. Because the grass too silver, and the wind too quiet as though the world itself was holding its breath.

“The Deyliric Expanse,” Alonzo’s voice carried from behind them, his usual steadiness threaded with something taut. “It doesn’t look like much, does it?”

“It never does,” Harken replied, eyes grim as he scanned the area and the trails the beasts from last night left behind. “That’s how it keeps its secrets.”

Ilaria glanced at her husband then, but his gaze was already fixed ahead. The faint sunlight cut sharp across his profile, outlining the hard set of his jaw and the small crease between his brows that had not eased once since dawn. She wondered if he could feel it too, that strange pressure in the air like the world itself was too still.

They descended in silence. The horses’ hooves made no sound against the pale earth. Even the wind had stilled, heavy with an invisible weight that made Ilaria’s pulse quicken. She could almost swear the air shimmered at the edge of her sight, the horizon bending like heat above a forge.

“Is it true,” she asked quietly then, “that no one ever crossed it twice?”

Levan looked at her, lifting his hand to properly adjust the hood of the cloak over her head. The pause stretched long enough for her to regret asking. But Levan only said, “Some did, but they were never quite the same when they came back.”

She gasped a little. “Because of the beasts?”

He gave a faint shake of his head. “Because the Expanse remembers. It keeps what it wants. Sometimes, that’s memory. Sometimes, it’s people.”

She swallowed hard, her fingers unconsciously tightening around the reins, and he noticed.

“Don’t look so tense,” he offered, softer now. “I told you I’d protect you, didn’t I?” He said as he slowly brushed her knuckles, the smallest promise made through touch. “As long as I’m the one leading this horse, nothing out there is going to take you from me.”

It was not arrogance when he said that, it was certainty. The kind that came from a man who had already decided what he would fight the world for.

She looked at him, still pouting. “…Are you not afraid?”

“Of this place?” he asked, then shook his head. “No.”

The words lingered between them like a shadow.

And then, without another word, he guided his horse forward and hers followed, because of course it did. Because even when the world ahead grew strange and colourless and full of whispers she could not name, his hand never let go.

The horizon rippled faintly, like a mirage breathing. Shadows stirred where none should have been. And as they crossed the threshold into the Expanse, Ilaria felt the soft pull in her chest, the quiet hum of something ancient watching them pass.

She glanced once at Levan. He did not look back, but his hand tightened, just enough to remind her that he was there.

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