The Dragon's Heart: Unspoken Passion-Chapter 104: Upset Husband

Ilaria did not even tried to argue. She went straight inside the chamber and towards his room.

The door shut with a solid click, the sound echoing in the quiet chamber. Ilaria stood in the middle of the room where she had been sleeping peacefully hours ago, bare feet pressed to the floor, nightgown slipping softly around her ankles, hair half-fallen, arms pressed to her sides.

She could feel every heartbeat and every intake of breath, yet she dared not move.

"Husband is mad..." she muttered dramatically to herself while clutching her chest. Not like it would be the first time, but still...

The opening of the door jolted her.

Levan entered without a word while watching her. His expression was calm, almost frightening in its stillness, but the tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw, and the steady, piercing focus of his golden eyes told her everything she needed to know: he was not pleased.

Of course, he wouldn’t be...

"Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath as he crossed the threshold. The door closing shut behind him. "...completely unbelievable."

Ilaria froze, her stomach twisting into knots. Every instinct screamed at her to find excuse and explain herself, but when he stopped just before her and leveled that piercing glare, her lips sealed tight.

Oh... he is really, truly mad.

He walked past her like he could not handle her anymore, making his way towards the table near the window. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done tonight?"

Ilaria swallowed. Her usual clever excuses, the little quips she had cling to had deserted her entirely.

He did not glance back. The silence was an accusation in itself. With deliberate, almost harsh movements, he began stacking the scattered papers and ledgers neatly, aligning edges as if the organization of the room could restore order to the chaos he felt inside.

He went on. "You vanished without a word. You wandered the halls without telling anyone where you were going. You risked your own safety and the peace of this entire household, simply because you could do as you pleased."

Ilaria shifted a bit where she stood, unsure what to say.

"Do you understand how reckless that is? How irresponsible it is to think curiosity excuses your actions?" he asked, his hands pausing briefly on the stack of papers before pressing them down firmly. "We just returned from the expanse, Ilaria. The journey was tiring, the palace is unsettled, and yet you wander off as if the world revolves around your whims."

He straightened a ledger, then tapped its edge sharply. "Every moment you fail to consider the consequences, you risk not only yourself but everyone who must answer for your choices. Do you think a single misstep goes unnoticed? Do you think the staff, the guards, the people who care for you, will simply shrug it off?"

Levan’s gaze swept over her, unyielding. "Your position demands more than childish indulgence. Responsibility, awareness, discipline... these are not suggestions. They are expectations, and I will not excuse carelessness because it is inconvenient, or because curiosity pricks at your fancy."

He set the stacked papers down with a thunk that echoed in the chamber, the slight jolt making Ilaria flinch. The papers slid briefly before he pressed them neatly back onto the table.

"You are not free to act without thought. You are not a visitor in these halls. You belong to this household, to these walls, to the lives that depend on you being mindful. And tonight you chose your whims over everything else. Can you even begin to understand how serious that is?"

Levan turned slowly and leaned back against the table, one hand braced firmly on the polished wood, his golden eyes locked on her like twin blades. The calm weight of his scrutiny made the air thick, pressing down on Ilaria from every direction.

Her hands twined nervously in front of her, fidgeting with the hem of her nightgown. Her shoulders hunched, and she rocked a fraction on her feet, unsure where to look. She pressed her lips together, blinking rapidly, wishing she could shrink into the floorboards beneath her.

Every second under his gaze felt like hours, and she could not find a single word that would make the weight of his disappointment lighter. He was calm, methodical, and terrifyingly in control, and she knew he could dismantle her excuses before she even spoke them.

Her stomach knotted. Even as she tried to steady her breath, the subtle movements betrayed her guilt. And all the while, Levan’s eyes followed her, the faintest crease of his brow emphasizing the frustration he barely contained.

He did not want to scold her, but only the Saints knew how her brief disappearance had unsettled him, how every second without her had tightened his chest and sharpened his mind with worry.

Levan’s gaze did not waver, asking, "Where have you been?"

Silence.

"Where, Ilaria."

Ilaria swallowed, trying to summon an answer that would sound casual and harmless. "...I... I was... walking."

"Where to?"

Ilaria’s ears burned. She bit her lip, glancing down, and then back at him. "Anywhere... I-I just... needed some air," she offered sheepishly, hoping the vague excuse would be enough.

"Lying to me?"

Ilaria’s cheeks flamed. "...I— no? I wasn’t—well... maybe a little?" she admitted, her words trailing off in the most pitiful, guilty way possible.

Levan sighed in disbelief. "Do you even know what time it is?"

Ilaria blinked, trying to appear calm, which was failing spectacularly. "...Two in the morning...?"

Levan frown, a crease forming that could have carved stone.

Ilaria fumbled. "...Wrong? Um... three? Three in the morning..." She shifted from one foot to the other, hands twisting together.

Levan stared at her incredulously, and oh, how she wished the floorboards would open up and swallow her whole.

"...I... I didn’t mean to— there was really no harm," she murmured. "I just... walked around a bit... and I’m... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry anyone..." Her words tumbled out, earnest and rushed, each one laced with shame.

His golden eyes did not soften, but the sharp line of his jaw gave away his restraint. He did not move; he just watched her, like a storm contained behind a veil. Every twitch of her fingers, every hesitant step she took backward under the weight of his scrutiny made him calmer somehow.

Ilaria took a tentative step forward, trying to look contrite but not collapse entirely. "...I truly didn’t want anyone to worry. And... I’m sorry for making... you... worried," she added, her words breaking as if saying them aloud somehow made them heavier.

Levan’s lips pressed into a thin line. He watched her, and despite the storm of frustration coursing through him, a pulse of warmth lingered in his chest. She’s reckless. She’s chaotic. But she’s hers... and somehow, even in all this chaos, she’s impossibly... Ilaria.

"You see," he exhaled, the edge in his tone made the words sting, "this is exactly what I mean. Your actions ripple farther than you imagine. One thoughtless step, one unspoken plan and suddenly the entire household is on edge... And I am expected to maintain the calm that you have disrupted."

Ilaria’s heart sank as she listened. Because beneath the sharpness, beyond the reprimand and the edge in his tone — he was tired. So impossibly tired. Days of tending to her, indulging her whims, worrying over every stubborn insistence on following him into the Expanse, had worn him down.

And now... she had vanished for even a single moment. Of course it had undone him. Her heart thudded painfully. She had not simply been reckless, she had pulled the one person who cared most into a spiral of fear and fatigue, and the thought made her guilt twist like a knot in her throat.

She watched him then, and her chest tightened further. He was not looking at her anymore. His gaze, sharp and piercing just moments ago, had drifted to the side, fixating on the floorboards or the corner of the room as if tracing some invisible line.

The commanding presence that had made her freeze just seconds ago softened in its weariness. He was clearly upset, so upset that it pressed down on her like a physical weight. He was frustrated, disappointed, and tired all at once, and every inch of her knew she had caused it.

"Husband..." Ilaria’s voice was soft, fragile enough to be swallowed by the tension in the room as she took a hesitant step closer.

For a moment, it looked as though Levan had not even registered her presence. His gaze stayed fixed to the side, arms crossed, jaw tight. The stillness of him pressed into her very being and her heart ached with remorse and fear.

But then a brief, low hum escaped him, a sound almost imperceptible yet unmistakably an acknowledgment. Just a single note that reminded her he was still there, still aware of her despite the storm simmering behind his golden eyes.

And suddenly, she remembered all the hings he had done for her, calming her when fear or frustration took over, coaxing her gently when she had been stubborn or upset, holding her steady when the world felt too heavy. And now he was the one upset.

If he had always been there to guide her through her storms, she had to be the sunshine coaxing him too, even just a little, back from the edge. Encouraged, though still heavy with remorse, she inched forward, eyes fixed on him with all the warmth and apology she could muster.

As she drew nearer, Levan’s attention slowly turned toward her. The sharp edge in his eyes softened and no longer a glare, but weary and careful.

"It’s fine," he said, his voice was steady enough to sound like reassurance.

Ilaria gaped, hurt by his immediate answer. The words were meant to soothe, yet she knew better. She thought there would be nothing worse than him being angry, and yet here he was, being upset, and that twist at her heart more than any pain ever could.

"I... I’m sorry," she pleaded. "For... everything tonight, for worrying you..." she shook her head. "I really didn’t mean to."

She shifted on her feet. "I... I shouldn’t have wandered off. I know that now. I just... I just thought I could... handle it." Her voice cracked slightly, fragile and small like a leaf trembling in a storm.

"I wasn’t thinking about anyone else. Not about how it would make you feel... or anyone in the palace. I just—" She swallowed hard, the words sticking in her throat. "I just wanted... I don’t know... a moment of quiet. But I see now that it wasn’t quiet for anyone, especially not for you."

Her eyes lifted, meeting his for the briefest second. "I’m so sorry, Levan. I really am."

Levan’s gaze remained fixed on her, but inside, his thoughts were a storm he had not expected. He had not anticipated feeling this... undone, watching her stand there so small and uncertain, guilt and sadness written across every line of her face.

He knew he should not feel this way, not after all the times he had to be the steady one, the protector, the unshakable presence. And yet, he did. He felt stupid for letting it show. Stupid for letting her see how much her actions had shaken him, how even a moment of worry could weigh so heavily.

A husband was supposed to be the calm, the anchor, the unflinching guide. Not someone undone by the mere sight of the person vanishing for a single moment. And yet, here he was, caught off guard by the flood of relief, fear, and fondness that surged the second he saw her again.

He did not want her apology. He did not expect it. What he felt was not anger alone; it was the exhaustion of caring so fiercely that even a small lapse, a fleeting disappearance, carved through him in ways he had not admitted, not even to himself.

He didn’t mean to sound harsh, but he could not pretend her actions had not shaken him. They had. So much that the simple apology did not ease anything. "Are you?"

Her breath faltered at the subtle accusatory. She nodded meekly. "I am," she whispered. "Truly."

Minutes passed. Ilaria’s breath hitched with every heartbeat, unsure if she should inch closer or remain frozen in place. She could feel the tension in him, the residual worry, and the care that had always underpinned his sternness. She did not even feel sad at him acting this way, she felt tremendously guilty.

After what felt like hours, he finally uncrossed his arms. The sound was hardly more than the rustle of fabric, yet to Ilaria it was a thunder of release. Her breath caught, her eyes lifting with a hope so cautious it almost hurt to look at.

He had not spoken a word, but there was something in that simple shift and loosening of his shoulders that told her he had heard her. That he believed her remorse. That the storm inside him was finally settling. He shifted slightly closer, a subtle cue, a quiet promise that she was seen, that he was still there and that he still cared.

Ilaria nearly crumpled with relief. All the guilt and fear she had been carrying spilled out in a shaky exhale. She moved toward him as if afraid she might be mistaken, wrapping her arms around him with careful restraint, like she did not deserve to hold him too tightly.