The Dragon's Heart: Unspoken Passion-Chapter 122: I Will Take Care of You (Part 1)

Ilaria stepped into Levan’s chamber, her mind already halfway elsewhere as she drifted toward the adjoining door that led to her own rooms. "Hmm... maybe the blue one?" she mused aloud, more to herself than to him. "Or the pink one? You have to help me decide—blue is elegant but pink is cheerful and—"

Her voice trailed on as she disappeared through the doorway, still happily yapping about fabrics and sleeves and how one of them made her feel slightly too regal for a fine evening.

Levan did not follow immediately. He turned instead toward his desk, still in his princely coat, his gaze lingering on the empty doorway long enough to confirm that Ilaria was truly gone, her voice already fading into the next room. Only then did he shift his attention back to the envelope in his hand.

The Queen’s seal caught the lamplight faintly as he examined it once more. Important. Urgent, even. The kind of correspondence that demanded care and silence, not idle curiosity or unnecessary worry. He exhaled softly through his nose, already decided when he would go back to duty.

With practiced discretion, he slid the letter into the drawer beneath his desk, pushing it back until it was hidden from sight. The drawer closed with a soft, final click. Then he reached for the fastening at his shoulders and removed his coat. He folded it neatly, smoothing the fabric with deliberate care before draping it over the back of the chair.

Once the formal layer was set aside, the prince seemed to recede, leaving a man with rolled sleeves and an easy posture, prepared to spend the evening simply as Ilaria’s husband. And only then did he continue, adjusting the front of his inner tunic as he turned toward the adjoining door to follow his wife.

Though, he had barely taken two steps when her voice came through, "I’ve decided!"

The door burst open, and Ilaria popped back into the chamber with irrepressible energy while holding up two dresses, one blue, one pink, her eyes bright and expectant.

"Okay, now you have to choose," she declared happily, bouncing on her heels towards him. "They’re both pretty but you’re not allowed to say ’both.’"

Levan paused mid-step. Then his lips curved into an easy smile as his gaze softened in that way it only ever did for her.

He glanced past her briefly toward the still-open adjoining door before his eyes returned to the dresses now occupying his space. One brow lifted as a faint amusement flickering across his face.

"...You do realize," he said mildly, "that your chamber is quite literally two steps away."

Ilaria blinked her eyes. She followed his gaze, looked back at the door, and promptly ignored it entirely as she stepped closer, holding the dresses up against herself instead.

"But I’m already here," she said, as if that settled everything. "And you’re here. It would’ve taken longer to go back."

Levan huffed a quiet laugh at her logic, shaking his head as he reached out, fingers brushing the fabric thoughtfully. There was no reprimand in his touch, only fond resignation, the kind reserved for habits he had long since stopped questioning.

"Of course," he nodded. "Because why would you ever use your own room?"

He leaned back, arms crossed, like a gardener admiring the first bloom of spring. "Now then," he said, voice soft with indulgence, "show me the blue one again."

Ilaria’s face lit up immediately at that, like she had been given permission to launch into something she was already bursting to say. She draped the two dresses on his bed without ceremony and lifted the blue dress with both hands and gave it a little shake so the fabric caught the light.

"Okay, look," she said eagerly, holding it up against herself. "This one is proper. It’s calm, it’s graceful, and it makes me feel like I won’t accidentally spill wine on someone important." She glanced up at him, eyes bright. "And you like blue."

Levan hummed, assessing the fabric as if testing her argument. "I like blue on you," he corrected. "That’s different."

She grinned, pleased, and then, as if remembering something crucial, she gasped softly. "But!" With that, she lifted the pink dress too, draping it over her other arm. "This one is happy. It’s lighter and it moves better when I walk. And if I laugh too loudly, it won’t feel like I’m committing a crime against etiquette."

He eyed the second dress, then at her, his amusement deepening. "So," he said, thoughtful and entirely too calm, "the blue one is for behaving, and the pink one is for being yourself."

Ilaria froze for half a second. Then she groaned. "That’s unfair! You’re not supposed to phrase it like that."

He shrugged. "You’re the one who asked me to choose. I’m simply weighing the evidence."

Ilaria huffed softly, then lifted both dresses again, except this time, the pink one somehow ended up a little higher.

"So?" she pressed, tilting her head and peering up at him through her lashes. "Which one should I change into?"

She held the blue one steady against her side, respectable and composed... while the pink was raised just enough to brush her shoulder, her fingers fidgeting with its sleeve as if absentmindedly smoothing it.

His eyes flicked between the two, then back to her face where the eagerness was barely concealed beneath a show of patience.

"You’re making a compelling case," he said dryly.

"For which one?" she asked quickly, lifting the pink a fraction higher still, her tone far too casual for someone already halfway smiling.

Levan reached out, catching the hem of the pink dress between his fingers and tugging it down just enough to still her restless hands, saying calmly, "For the one you’ve already chosen."

Her eyes widened. "I have not—"

"You have," he cut in smoothly, giving her a knowing look. "Your right hand is gripping it tighter, and you stopped arguing for the blue."

"I did not stop arguing," she protested, lifting the blue in defiance only for it to droop again. "...I’m merely... reconsidering."

"Mhm, how generous of you."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You’re supposed to choose, not analyze me like I’m a court document."

"I am choosing," he replied serenely. "I’m just taking my time."

Ilaria’s lips parted, then pressed together in a tight line. Her shoulders sagged as a tiny pout made its way to her mouth. She leaned forward, voice soft and just on the edge of a sulk. "Husband..."

Levan had seen it coming the moment she stopped herself from talking. His resolve lasted exactly half a second more before a quiet laugh escaped him, his surrender plain in his expression.

"The pink," he said finally. "Before you convince yourself I’ve wronged you somehow."

Her face lit up instantly. "You chose correctly!"

"Eventually..." he corrected, so quietly so that she would not hear and pout at him again.

Ilaria hugged the pink dress to her chest. "Okay, okay, since you picked so wisely, I’ll go change now," she declared, voice bright but laced with a subtle shyness. Her eyes flicked toward the adjoining door, then back at him as she mulled over the options she had.

"But... um..." she lifted a finger to her mouth, tapping her lower lip lightly, suddenly thoughtful.

Levan did not move from his spot. He simply looked at her, arms crossed loosely with a faint, knowing smile on his face. He had already predicted the tiny complaint lurking behind her bright eyes. Well, it would not be Ilaria if she were not like this, always somehow expecting the world to bend just a little for her.

"I think I should take a bath first... but Melyn’s nowhere to be seen," she started, her voice dropping into a soft, almost pitiful murmur. She shuffled her feet slightly, ears turning pink. "Vivi was in my chambers earlier, but I told her I can manage... with you."

Her gaze dropped, big eyes shimmering with that hesitant ’please help me’ look like a kicked puppy unsure if she should complain or not. And he would be damned if he rejected her now. She would not say it aloud, but the need was as clear as day, written in every quiver of her lips and every flicker of her wide, expectant eyes.

She was spoiled in the most disarming way, a treasure of a life that made even the smallest plea feel precious, a heart he could not help but shelter. Levan cupped her face with one hand and lifted her chin just enough to meet his gaze. His touch was impossibly soft, almost surprising given how composed and commanding he could be at any other time.

"You have a unique way of asking for help," he could not help but tease lightly. "But I’ll help you, of course." His thumb brushed lightly across her cheek as a silent promise.

"Really?" She leaned into his hand like a cat seeking warmth, soft and pliant against his fingers. "With... dressing me up?" she murmured, voice small and hopeful. "With... the bath?" Her gaze flicked up, wide and pleading, and then she added a little shyly, "...Even if I take a bath in your chamber?"

Levan nodded to each request as if answering a series of unspoken questions, letting her feel the certainty of his presence. "All of it," he said. "You don’t have to worry about a thing."

His hand lingered on her chin for a heartbeat longer before he gently released it. With a deliberate motion, he reached for the pink dress she had been clutching and draped it carefully over the edge of the bed beside them, smoothing the fabric as if it were as precious as she was.

"Wait here," he instructed and left the room for only a few moments.

He disappeared briefly into the antechamber to prepare everything she might need: a stack of soft towels, a neatly folded bathrobe, and a small basket of fresh towelettes, each one scented lightly and folded just so. There was no complaint as he moved, only the quiet certainty of someone who knew exactly what his wife needed.

When everything was ready, he returned to her side, tall and poised, like a knight stepping back into his armor yet softened by the warmth of home. "Let’s start with this first," he said steadily, reaching for her wrist to guide her around.

Ilaria’s cheeks flushed a delicate rose as she obeyed, letting him lead her. Levan’s hands moved with quiet precision, gathering her hair to one side of her shoulder so it would not tangle or brush against the fabric. With that done, his fingers found the strap on her back and unfastened it with practiced care.

As he slowly loosened the bodice, his thumb brushed over the faint indentations it had left on her skin. A flicker of worry passed through his eyes. He could not quite hide the sharp intake of breath at how delicate she looked beneath his touch. "...Why wear it so tightly when it leaves your skin like this?"

"Hm? Oh—" Ilaria tilted her head around as if she could see the marks herself. "Well, if it’s not tight enough, the bodice just sags, and the waistline doesn’t sit right, and then the dress doesn’t flow properly over the hips, and—"

She waved her hands helplessly as if conducting an invisible orchestra of fabric. "It looks all wrong! You can’t just have it loose or else it ruins everything."

She exhaled, a little flustered at how much she had said, then added softly, "To put it simply, it helps with posture and, well... it makes the dress sit properly."

Levan’s brows lifted, bewildered by all the explanation. "You mean you enjoy feeling trapped like this?"

She gasped. "Not trapped, the word is elegant! It’s supposed to make me perfect."

"Perfect, huh? By hurting yourself in the process."

Without warning, she turned fully toward him, settling her weight onto one hip as if she had planned it all along. Her gaze lingered on his face, bright and unapologetic. "Is it so wrong," she said, smiling sweetly, "to want to be your pretty wife and make sure you only look at me?"

Levan paused, his hands hovering on her sides, caught off guard by the curve of her hip pressed against him and the bold certainty in her gaze. He snorted softly, though the sound carried a hint of fondness. "Is that really why?"

She nodded, determined and unwavering. "Yes! You should only have eyes for me. Don’t I deserve at least that much?"

Levan’s chest tightened in spite of himself, a familiar ache stirring low in his gut as every movement of hers pulled at his restraint. He had to remind himself to keep his hands steady, though it was becoming increasingly difficult, so he dropped his gaze away from her face instead.

He shook his head as a faintly rueful smile made its way to his lips. Stepping a fraction closer, his hands curved around her sides just enough to reach the strap of the bodice on her back once again. "You’re insufferable," he murmured.

His thumb brushed lightly against her side, following the curve of her waist with one last pull of the strap. "But somehow... I can’t even scold you for it."