Ilaria's steps were light, almost bouncing, as she carried the two items in her arms like a treasure. Turning to Sir Alaric, she flashed him an unexpected, cordial smile, enough to make the hefty guard clear his throat awkwardly. Of all the unexpected things the princess could do, this was the one that always struck him the hardest.
A single, sudden smile. One so bright and disarming he bet it was enough to make even the most seasoned knight falter. No blade could wound him so deeply as that fleeting curve of her lips. It was truly unfair, because she was so pretty and she was giving it away so freely. But then again, she was always happy, hence the smile.
They reached the crown prince's chamber in no time. Sir Alaric announced her arrival as usual, "Her Highness, the Crown Princess." Then he stepped back.
The door guards bowed in respect and exchanged a wary glance, making Ilaria wonder if something was amiss. One of them cleared his throat and said, "His Highness is in audience at present, Your Highness. Shall I inform the Chamberlain?"
Audience?
Ilaria's gaze shifted to the side, and only then did she notice the house guards standing in rigid formation. Bulky men with the clipped bearing of soldiers rather than mere attendants, their stances were sharp and disciplined as their hands never straying far from the hilts of their blades.
They waited not idly, but with the alert poise of men trained to anticipate command at any moment. They bore a military crest of steel upon their tabards, and Ilaria found herself wondering where she had seen it before. Maybe Levan was having a really important meeting.
"Oh..." Ilaria shook her head gently. "No, that's fine. I'll wait outside until he's finished."
Hugging the cloak and the sweet rolls tightly to her chest, she walked to the nearest window, leaning lightly against the sill. Beyond the glass, the palace gardens stretched in calm beauty, yet her mind was far too restless to take it in fully. She shifted the bundle in her arms, pressing the silk-wrapped rolls closer.
He'll be surprised...won't he? It's silly, but I want him to taste it. Maybe he'll even smile for me this time.
Her lips curved faintly at the thought, warmth flooding her chest despite the unease lingering in the corridor.
Would he even eat it?
She fretted, glancing down at the neat little bundle.
Well, it doesn't matter. I made it with my own hands. Husband has to at least try it.
Her heart fluttered at the idea of offering it to him, of watching his expression while he eat, even if he only gave her that cool, distant look, she still wanted to see it.
Ilaria waited for nearly an hour, her patience wrapped in the same silk as the sweet rolls she clutched to her chest. Each time footsteps echoed beyond the chamber doors, her heart leapt with expectation, only to settle again into quiet anticipation. When at last the heavy doors swung open, her face lit up, only for the warmth to falter upon seeing the guest who just came out.
A tall woman emerged, her striking red hair gleaming like a banner in the torchlight. It was the same woman she encountered the other day when she visited her husband, making Ilaria's heart twist uncomfortably. Like last time, she carried herself with effortless poise, and as her gaze fell on Ilaria, a polished smile graced her red lips.
"Your Highness," the woman greeted, her voice smooth and soothing, her curtsey graceful to perfection.
"We've crossed paths before, though I did not have the honour to properly introduce myself," she smiled sweetly it was almost sinful to look at. "I am Seraphine of House Dorovian. It is a pleasure to meet you," she lowered her head respectfully.
The name resonated in Ilaria's memory at once. House Dorovian, a name woven deep into the kingdom's foundations. One of Noctharis' oldest and most formidable houses with roots in both war and politics so strong, no noble gathering was ever complete without them.
Ilaria blinked, searching her mind for the last time she had seen that crest at court gatherings, though she could not quite place the woman herself. Hugging the cloak and rolls tighter to her chest, she offered a polite smile and returned the courtesy with a small bow of her head.
"I believe I've met your house before, Lady Seraphine."
Seraphine's cat-like gaze flicked to the bundle in Ilaria's arms. "Indeed. Though I fear my family's reputation precedes me more than I myself ever could."
Her lips curved faintly before she added, as if in passing, "You've brought something sweet? How thoughtful. Though, if memory serves, His Highness never did have much of a taste for such things."
For the briefest moment, Ilaria's smile faltered. The warmth of her anticipation cooled, replaced by a flicker of unease she quickly smoothed over with a practiced smile.
"Perhaps," she replied gently, her tone light but even, "but there is always a first for everything, isn't there? I would like to think even His Highness might be tempted, just this once."
Seraphine only chuckle, the kind of sound that sounded polished in gilded halls. "Well," she said smoothly, her eyes flicking over Ilaria with a smile that lingered just a shade too long, which soon straightened into a thin line. "You are his wife now, after all."
The words carried the lilt of courtesy, yet beneath it ran the quiet edge of appraisal, like a jeweler studying a gem, weighing its worth against memory. With another graceful dip of her head, she added, "I won't keep you, Your Highness."
She turned then, her silken skirts sweeping across the floor as her guards fell into step behind her, strong and powerful. The same faint trace of perfume lingered in the corridor as Seraphine departed.
Ilaria lingered for a moment, her thoughts swirling. The Chamberlain stepped out with a measured bow just in time, his voice was low but courteous as he gestured for her to enter. "Your Highness, the Crown Prince will see you now."
"Thank you." With a little nod, she stepped past him.
The door eased open as Ilaria peeked inside. The chamber smelled faintly of oak and candlewax, quiet now after the audience. Her eyes found him at once. Levan was standing by the sideboard, one hand steadying a glass as he poured himself water from a carafe.
For a beat she lingered at the threshold, gathering her courage, then she stepped fully inside.
"Good morning~" she cooed brightly, stepping in with her little bundle.
Levan's hand stilled on the carafe before he set it down, turning to regard her. His eyes swept over the sight of his wife hugging both a cloak and a silk-wrapped parcel to her chest like some overgrown child protecting her treasures. He narrowed his eyes.
"What are you carrying?" He took a sip of his water and placed the glass down, cataloguing the sight before him.
Ilaria beamed wider, dismissing his bluntness like it was the most natural greeting in the world. "Breakfast delivery, specially baked by me." She lifted the bundle slightly, her pride obvious despite his cool scrutiny.
Ilaria carefully set the two items on the table in front of him, almost like a merchant proudly laying out her best wares. And when she finally looked up, her face was alight, beaming so brightly it almost betrayed the nerves flickering underneath.
She gently patted the folded cloak. "You left this in my chamber, so I thought I should return it before you go losing more of your things."
Then, with both hands, she lifted the silk-wrapped sweet roll and held them out toward him, her eyes bright and wide with hope.
"And this...is for you," she added, a touch of shyness breaking through her cheer. "I baked it myself."
Levan's gaze flicked from the bundle to her expectant face. Whatever he had expected, it was certainly not this. He slowly leaned, his back against the table, arms crossing deliberately as he forced the words out from his mouth.
"You bake?"
"Yes~" Ilaria beamed, nodding so eagerly her braids shifted with her. She held the sweet rolls closer, like a proud child showing off her craft.
Levan internally sighed. "I don't eat sweets."
Ilaria's smile did not falter. "Then it's the perfect chance to start," she replied playfully, like it was the simplest solution in the world. "What if you like them and just never knew?"
At last, Levan took the sweet roll from her hands, turning it between his fingers as if he could not quite decide what to make of it.
"So you came all this way only for this?"
Ilaria shook her head, her voice gentler. "Mm, not only. I wanted to see you too."
His eyes flicked up to her. "See me? For what purpose?"
"For no purpose," she tried to keep it airy, though the words trembled faintly. "Just because."
"That is not a reason," he said flatly. "I only receive audiences if the matter is important. Otherwise, it's a waste of time."
Her smile faltered, just for a breath, before she steadied it back in place. "Then...perhaps you should teach me what counts as important."
He did not hesitate. "Something that goes beyond baked goods and idle chatter."
Ilaria's face faltered at that, her voice quieted, still carrying its gentle lilt but with a hint of sheepishness now. "It...isn't wrong for a wife to want to meet her husband occasionally, is it?"
Levan did not respond.
Ilaria's lips clamped shut for a moment, and then she sighed. "It's just that...I'm always in my chamber. Melyn has other duties sometimes, and I don't get to see Prince Melvin often either."
She rocked lightly on her feet, her fingers fiddling behind her back. "And if my macarons are still plenty, I don't even have a reason to sneak into the kitchen anymore."
Her eyes lifted back to him, shimmering with something both guilt and earnest. "So...I thought I'd come here instead. You don't have to spend time with me. I just wanted to see you."
Levan regarded her in silence, the sweet roll remained untouched in his hand. His expression did not soften, however, if anything, it only sharpened. He set the sweet roll down on the table with deliberate care, as though it was an object that did not belong in his hands.
"A wife who understands her place," he said, each word deliberate, his golden eyes cutting into hers, "would know better than to trouble her husband with trifles."
The silence that followed was heavy. He was basically shooing her away, but instead of fully breaking beneath it, Ilaria remained looking at him with quite resolve, her smile trembling but still there, like a flower refusing to close against the cold.
"Then..." she murmured, her voice light, almost playful despite her fingers twisting nervously in her skirts, "maybe you'll have to forgive me for being a poor wife, because I really just wanted to see you."
Her laugh was soft, almost self-mocking, yet unbearably sweet. She lowered her eyes, hugging her hands to her chest as if the warmth there could shield her from the chill in his tone. "I'll try to do better next time."
With that, she dipped in a graceful curtsey, "Goodbye, husband, don't forget to eat the sweet roll," her bright smile linger until she turned away, carrying her small heartbreak with the same gentle dignity that made her, her.
Levan stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the spot where she had been, as if the air itself still carried her presence. The untouched pastry on the table seemed to mock him, its sweetness clashing with the bitterness that had lodged in his chest. He had expected nothing when the Chamberlain announced his wife's arrival.
He knew what it would be, perhaps some errand, perhaps some triviality. But he had not expected her to come in smiling, bright-eyed, clutching his cloak and a bundle of sweet roll as if they were treasures meant for him alone. And he certainly had not expected the faint sting that lingered after she left.
His jaw tightened, his hand curling against the edge of the desk until the wood dug into his palm. He could not name the feeling, nor explain why it pressed so heavily on him. All he knew was that something had shifted, and he did not understand it.