Levan did not linger in the corridors once he left Ilaria's chambers. The faint rattle of the glass jar in his hand marked his purposeful pace. The chocolate sweets inside shifted with each movement, glinting faintly under the torchlight.
He glanced at it as he took a detour towards the palace kitchen. At least the ingredients were not dangerous in the fatal sense. Still, it would have been troublesome had he not known the proper way to temper the unwelcome heat they had caused in the princess' body.
His thoughts drifted back to his wife. Ilaria had no idea how she had looked earlier, and he was left to shoulder it alone. Perhaps it was fortunate she did not have to endure the weight of embarrassment, but for him, the misfortune lingered — her warmth pressed into his palm, a sensation that would not vanish until it chose to on its own.
"...Troublesome," he muttered, feeling a slight headache.
