Chapter 91: Trust

Levan’s arms hovered above her shoulders, uncertain at first as if afraid she might vanish if he held too hard. He could not say he had not expected her to agree, but it was her willingness that caught him off guard.

It was almost unreal. Even if she cared for him… even if she liked him more than he dared to acknowledge, he had never imagined she would accept this so easily. Not something so close, so trusting. Not something that asked for her heart, not just her hand.

The air between them shifted, heavier now, charged with something unspoken. Every breath, every brush of fabric, felt amplified.

Levan felt his pulse quicken, sharp and insistent, the kind of rhythm he had only ever known in the middle of a fight. But this was not fear. It was not danger. The tightness in his chest, the rush in his veins… it was something else entirely. Something quieter and warmer. And that frightened him more than any blade could.

“You’re sure?” he asked, voice rougher than he intended.

“I told you,” she said, “I’m not afraid.”

He swore he could not breath the moment she said those words.

There it was again. Her talking so easily like she was merely breathing. He tipped her chin up, his thumb brushing along her jaw as if afraid she might dissolve under his touch. Her eyes met his — open, steady, and filled with a trust so pure it made something inside him ache.

She should not look at him like that, he thought. Not after everything. Not after the things he had done or the darkness that still clung to his hands, no matter how much he was trying to silently redeem himself. But she did.

She always did.

And he realized that all his walls, all the discipline and distance he had built to keep her safe were only keeping him from feeling this — the quiet, unbearable warmth of being seen and still chosen.

He let out a shuddering breath. If he were sane, he would have asked her to rethink, to take back her words before they unraveled him completely. But sanity had never held its ground against her.

Because she was the only one he could never bring himself to refuse, the only person who could strip him of reason with a single look. He might could have say the word out loud, but his thoughts? Every instinct that once told him to step back now begged him to stay.

Before he could think better of it, he drew her close, wrapping his arms around her fully, holding her as if that single embrace could keep the world from touching her.

For a long while, neither of them spoke. The world outside seemed to still, the crackle of the lantern, the hush of wind brushing through the tent all fading beneath the steady rhythm of their hearts pressed together.

Something in that silence tugged at him, unexpected and raw. He did not know why, but the warmth of her against him stirred a faint, aching echo of when things used to be simpler. A boy’s world, small and soft, where comfort came in the form of his mother’s arms and the muffled sobs he hid after his brothers had stolen his toys.

Back then, crying had felt like a kind of release. Now, it only sat heavy in his throat, locked behind years of restraint. It startled him, that the closeness of his wife could feel like that same safety he had long forgotten that he could not help but — as embarrassing as it was — felt like he was the one being protected.

“…I used to think,” Levan said quietly, his breath warm against her hair, “that caring for someone only meant protecting them. That if I could keep them safe, it was enough.”

Ilaria shifted slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. And in that brief glance, she saw the shadows that lingered there — the weight of being a crown prince was not just a title; it was a constant, pressing responsibility to his people. Every decision measured, every step calculated, every smile tempered, all to shield those who depended on him.

Outwardly, he could wear the mask of deadpan indifference and the scowl of someone who despised nonsense, but beneath it all, he carried the relentless weight of care. The kind of care that never allowed him rest, that never let him truly relax.

And now, with Ilaria pressed against him, that carefully constructed armour softened just enough for her to glimpse the truth: he was always vigilant, always burdened, always… profoundly human.

Ilaria tugged at his sleeve, silently prompting him to speak.

He hesitated, but relented upon seeing the plea in her eyes. “But now I think… safety isn’t the same as peace. I could guard you from everything beyond these walls, but not from loneliness. Not from the ache I leave behind when I walk away.”

Her throat constricted at his words. Here he was again, being all guilty and vulnerable and so out of his usual composure. She had thought she could never hate anything he did, but this quiet surrender of himself… it was unbearable.

Levan’s hand moved slowly to her hair, threading fingers through the soft strands if only to anchor himself to her. His voice was low, rough with restraint.

“I always leave you behind, Aria. After we were wed… Every time you tried to draw me close… And every time your hands longed for mine… I always turned my back,” he murmured, his face contorting in remorse.

“I guard the kingdom, I shield the people… but you are my wife, and I leave you still.” He exhaled, a shudder barely contained. “You were always cherished in your family, and adored as a princess in your kingdom. But as my wife I fear I already failed you.”

Unable to withstand his raw confession, she pressed herself closer as she tried to hold back hear tears. Her fingers brushed over his, squeezing gently. Because in her mind, there had never been anything to forgive.

“I never thought you failed me though,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I… I understand. I don’t mind. I… I understand why you did it, so… so you don’t need to be sorry.”

The words run deep into his soul, an ache and a warmth all at once. He could not stop the shuddering pull of relief and longing that made him feel dangerously unsteady. And so, he buried his face in her hair, inhaling her warmth and soft scent.

Ilaria’s fingers trembled as she clutched at his arms, her chest rising and falling as she hold onto him. She thought he was about to say something sad again, so she braced herself for the impact, only for him to nuzzle into her shoulder.

She felt ticklish first, then her breath hitched as a sudden warmth brushed against her neck, light and deliberate, sending a shiver down her spine. Her fingers tightened slightly on his arms, caught between surprise and the strange fluttering of her heart.

“H-husband…”

Levan’s presence was so close and grounding, yet something in the way he leaned in, the way his lips brushing just beneath her ear made her pulse skip. A soft exhale, almost a whisper, passed against her skin.

“I won’t let anything touch you while I can stop it,” he said, almost roughly, but not at her.

Ilaria’s mind spun. That tingle against her neck, the warmth of his words, the quiet certainty in his tone… it all wrapped around her like a promise. She could feel herself melting into the closeness that every worry outside the tent faded into nothing.

Her lips parted, her head tilting to the side almost instinctively when Levan pressed a gentle kiss just beneath her jaw. The delicate touch ignited a spark that spread like wildfire through her veins, chasing away any lingering hesitation.

He pulled back just enough for his eyes, dark and intense, to meet hers. The unspoken question in their depths was a challenge and an invitation, and Ilaria found herself answering without a single word. Her own gaze, though confuse, held nothing back.

A tremor of uncertainty ran through her, a bewildered whisper in her mind questioning the intensity of his gaze. Levan seemed to read every flicker of doubt and wonder in her eyes. And his own expression gentled, the intensity giving way to an almost fragile fondness that made her breath catch.

It was a look that promised understanding, not conquest.

Slowly, his hand rose. The back of his knuckles brushed against the delicate skin of her throat as he slipped his fingers beneath the neckline of her gown. Ilaria stiffened, a surprised gasp escaping her lips, but his touch was so incredibly light, so devoid of any demand, that she found she could not pull away.

A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer, like starlight caught on dew, clung to his fingertips as they traced the curve of her collarbone. He let his hand drift down her shoulder with feather-light caress, the fabric of her dress offering no resistance and a jolt, not of fear but of pure, unexpected sensation, shot through her as his hand continued its languid descent.

His voice, a velvety, resonant rumble, filled the space between them like a silken thread weaving into her very core. “The heart, Aria… is where the true essence of a being resides. Not merely a pump of blood, but the very crucible of life,” he breathed out, his gaze never leaving hers,

“This is where I will touch you.”

Ilaria sucked in a sharp breath.

His hand, still trailing that faint, ethereal glow, settled gently against her chest just above her breast, warm and steady. The magic hummed against her skin, a soft vibration that seemed to resonate deep within her own heart.

She could feel the frantic beat of her pulse beneath his palm, and a strange, profound sense of connection began to unfurl within her. Levan leaned in then, his dark eyes still locked on hers as he pressed his lips to the very spot his hand had rested.

The silent, sacred moment stretched, woven with the hum of nascent magic and the fast rhythm of her own heart. His lips, warm and yielding, lingered on her skin, a brand that promised to reshape her very being. Then, with an almost imperceptible sigh that vibrated against her, he began to ascend once again.

His lips drifted from the tender skin above her breast, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She felt the delicate brush of his lips as he moved along the curve of her collarbone, past the hollow of her throat where her pulse throbbed wildly.

Her head tilted back, baring her neck to him again, a silent offering she had not consciously made but could not now retract. His lips reached the sensitive skin just beneath her jawline, her throat, and a soft moan escaped her.

One hand, which had been resting lightly on the small of her back now slipped beneath the silk of her gown. The thin fabric parted effortlessly as his fingers found the bare skin, cool at first, then rapidly warming beneath his questing touch.

A gasp caught in her throat as his thumb brushed the delicate curve of her spine, just above the swell of her hips. He could feel her hesitation, her curiosity, her trust, as if her very heart were speaking, and his own answered without a single word.

With each touch, he felt her heartbeat echoing in his own chest, a resonance that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with… being truly together.

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