The Dragon's Heart: Unspoken Passion-Chapter 109: Tease

Ilaria sat at the edge of the reading table after Melyn left, one elbow resting against the carved wood, eyes fixed on her arm. The mark she had been hiding traced faintly along her skin, a strange combination of lines and curves that seemed almost purposeful.

She flexed her fingers, watching the shadow shift with her movements as if it had a story to tell that refused to reveal itself. It was a good thing Levan had not noticed it. She shivered at the thought of his eyes lingering there, of him realizing there was something she had been hiding right after coming back from the Expanse.

Levan had a way of seeing her in ways that left her exposed and oddly comforted at the same time. If he had caught sight of the mark, she was certain he would not be angry; he would have studied it, questioned her, pressed until she admitted more than she intended. And she... she was not ready for that yet.

She still needed to figure this out on her own. What The Blithe wanted from her, why it had appeared, and whether this mark was a sign, a message, or something more dangerous. If she told Levan now, she would lose control of the discovery. She could not let the worry in his eyes steal the answers before she had even begun to understand them.

After all, they just got... warm to each other.

The brief thought of it made her smile, then she drifted her gaze back to the mark.

Her fingers traced it lightly, a barely-there touch as if coaxing it to speak. Is it warning? Invitation? Or merely a memory etched into me by some long-forgotten event?

Ilaria pursed her lips.

Maybe the dream has something to do with this.

Ilaria’s fingers hovered over the mark, thoughts twisting tighter around the mystery. Maybe the dream had something to do with this... but why was her sister there?

A soft creak of the door made her snap her head up.

"I see you’ve come back to the scene of your crimes," came the smooth, amused voice, drawing her gaze to the doorway.

Lysander was leaning casually against the frame, one hand tucked behind his back, the other holding a narrow stack of papers as if they weighed nothing at all. His robe-like coat draped over his shoulders with effortless elegance, brushing the floor ever so slightly.

Ilaria’s eyes lit up, and she lifted her hand in greeting. "Lysander!"

In that same instant, her other hand darted to pull her sleeve over her arm, hiding the mark she had been obsessively inspecting just moments ago. Her fingers clutched the fabric tightly as she stepped forward, cheeks warming under his calm, amused gaze.

The Archivist smiled, stepping in with the soft click of polished boots as he bowed politely. "It has been a while, Your Highness."

Ilaria nodded, still subtly tugging at her sleeve as she returned the smile, trying to appear composed despite the flutter of nerves that danced under her skin.

"I heard someone was looking for me."

Ilaria blinked, still adjusting her sleeve to keep the mark hidden as she slowly shrink back into her seat. "I... um... yes. Actually, I wanted to ask you a few things," she mumbled, trying to sound casual but failing spectacularly.

Lysander’s eyes sparkled, as if he could see right through her flustered attempt. "Ah, the princess is always so deliberate with her inquiries. I suppose you’ve been poring over every dusty tome in the library again?" He gestured at the stack of books and tomes on the table.

She flushed, twisting the corner of her sleeve nervously. She did not even know why she get all of this, it was not like she was going to read all. "I thought they might help me understand things. You know, about the past, the territories, the... the—" She stopped, realizing how convoluted she sounded.

Lysander nodded slowly. "I thought you and Prince Levan had built some rather substantial understanding of each other by now. Surely, you don’t need to wreck your head over centuries-old wars and forgotten empires just to fathom your husband’s world?"

Ehhh????

Ilaria’s ears went pinker than ever. "I... it’s not about that!"

"Not that? Oh, I see. Then I suppose I shall remain at your disposal to decipher these mysteries for you. It would be a shame to see a princess struggle alone, especially when the sofa is so conveniently nearby." Lysander’s smile widened, subtle but teasing. "May I?"

Ilaria hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded. "Yes, yes, please."

With a smooth, effortless motion, Lysander settled himself on the sofa, crossing one ankle over the other and letting the papers rest on his lap. The quiet of The Ivory Study seemed to stretch around them, punctuated only by the faint creak of his coat brushing the polished floor.

There was a pause, the kind that made Ilaria suddenly aware of her own breathing and the little flutter in her chest.

She did not mean to ask, but her curiosity got the best of her.

"...What do you mean by that?" she asked finally, leaning her head as if asking for a secret, curious despite herself.

Lysander’s lips curved into a knowing smirk. "By what?"

"About me and..." she trailed off, suddenly embarrassed.

Lysander’s smirk widened, faintly mischievous. "Oh, nothing scandalous," he murmured, leaning back with the ease of someone completely in control. "I just know how the two of you have been spending your mornings. Some progress has clearly been made, wouldn’t you say?"

"H-huh?" Ilaria widened her eyes.

"I’ve kept tabs on my friends, Your Highness. Especially the ones who appear particularly attentive to each other. It’s quiet enlightening."

Her thoughts scrambled. She jumped up slightly, only to immediately panic, freeze, and awkwardly drop back into the cushions like she had never moved at all.

"It’s fine," he sighed dramatically, waving a hand as though she were merely a squeaking bird flapping in front of him. Then his expression shifted, and he tapped thoughtfully at his chin. "Though speaking of progress... I was just with Prince Levan, actually."

Ilaria’s gaze snapped to him. "...And?"

"He was asking questions." Lysander’s voice took on a vague, theatrical curiosity. "Very earnest ones. About resonance. Methods, precautions, side effects... and how to, ah, not accidentally do it wrong."

Ilaria stared at him as if processing a foreign language. "Do... it... wrong?"

"Oh, indeed," Lysander replied lightly. "He seemed particularly worried about overstimulating a partner."

Ilaria blinked once. Twice. The room suddenly felt too warm.

"A fascinating technical issue," he continued as if they were discussing agriculture. "I almost wish he’d brought a diagram. He did try to describe possibilities with hand gestures, and those were—" Lysander paused to grimace, equal parts horrified and fond, "—remarkably clumsy."

And just like that, Ilaria’s mind threw her straight back into the tent, the drawn-in breaths, the feeling of warmth pressed to her back, her hand gripping his sleeve, and the way he had kissed her heart.

He... he asked about that? He told Lysander?

Her ears were on fire. How much did Levan say? What did he describe? Hand gestures?! Oh Gods. Why?!

Lysander noticed the way she stiffened and the way her expression imploded. His brows lifted in delighted realization.

"Oh," he mused softly, tapping a finger to his chin, "so I take it he attempted the method... incorrectly?"

Ilaria made a sound, half gasp, half squeak, the kind that escaped before she could strangle it.

Her brain short-circuited. She shot up straight like a startled cat, then realized she was standing, then awkwardly sat back down a little too fast. The sofa thumped beneath her.

Lysander blinked once, slowly. "...Are you alright?"

"No," she whispered. Then louder, "I mean— yes! Perfect! Completely normal!" Her voice cracked.

Lysander’s lips pursed into a sympathetic line that was not really sympathetic at all. "Heh. The diagram would have helped him, then."

She threw her hands over her face. "D-Diagram?! Why were there diagrams?!"

"Because," he replied matter-of-factly, "your husband asked very earnestly. I didn’t have the heart to deny a man trying not to injure his wife."

She made another tiny sound of suffering.

Lysander cleared his throat in the gentlest "I am done ruining your dignity for the moment" gesture, and with the grace of a man changing topics on a silver platter, slid one of her books toward himself.

"Well then," he said smoothly, as though they had been discussing weather, "you asked for guidance. About these peculiar ruins. And as fate would have it, I am here."

She let out a weak laugh, some of her tension dissolving though her face was still burning hot enough to light a candle. "Right. Yes. That. I could use some help. I didn’t want to bother anyone, but... you’re here now."

"Ah," Lysander murmured, leaning forward slightly, an amused glint softening into genuine curiosity, "so it is an adventure after all. How very like you, Your Highness, to chase hidden truths in the quiet corners rather than endure the noise of court."

Ilaria tugged her sleeve down a little further, feeling the fabric brush over the hidden mark. Her embarrassment eased into a mask of steadiness. "Some things don’t make sense unless you look closely. And I thought... someone with your expertise could help me see what I’m missing."

"Flattery and research," Lysander exhaled, almost fondly. "You know precisely how to get what you want."