The Dragon's Heart: Unspoken Passion-Chapter 113: Admiring Him

The fresh morning air met her like a quiet balm the moment she stepped outside. After Lysander’s stern-but-strangely-kind advice, Ilaria found herself wandering the palace grounds with Melyn at her side, the weight of her thoughts shifting with each step.

She was still red-faced from remembering half the things she said to Lysander. The poor Archivist had looked one sigh away from throwing a book at her... gently, of course. She had never seen him like that, and she wondered what would have happened if she provoked a little more.

They passed through the grand hallway, sunlight pouring through tall, glasspaned arches that caught and scattered the morning light like polished crystal. The obsidian pillars gleamed as the pale stone floors warmed beneath the sun. Outside the windows, the sky stretched clear and blue.

The weather tugged at a memory. And for the first time since waking, the mark beneath her sleeve faded into the background, eclipsed by a longing she had not realized was sitting quietly behind her ribs.

Caelwyn... I should visit Serenya, she thought, the idea slipping in gently like a tide brushing her ankle. Maybe she could do that just for a little while. A quick visit to see her sister’s smile, hear her voice, and breathe something familiar after almost a year of being away.

"Your Highness?" Melyn called from the side, matching her pace. "You’re unusually quiet. Did the Archivist say something concerning?"

"No," Ilaria answered softly. "Well... yes. But no." She could not explain it, so she did not try.

They cut across the courtyard, following the silver-laced path that led toward the training grounds. Steel clashed rhythmically in the distance. She did not need to look for long to notice her husband among the knights. His presence vibrated through the air like a low hum she had learned to recognize.

When they reached the archway overlooking the grounds, Ilaria slowed to a stop, her fingers brushing lightly over the cool marble railing. Sunlight stretched across the training yard below, carrying with it a gentle breeze that tugged at the ends of her silver hair. It fluttered around her face like stray wisps of smoke, softening the heaviness in her chest.

Levan had said he had a council meeting earlier. She wondered if it had gone well... wondered if he was still wearing the same gentle expression he had had when he left the chamber. Her thumb stroked the railing absently as another memory rose unbidden, bright as the day around her.

The last time she had watched him train like this... they had still been barely teenagers. She had hidden rather poorly behind one of the old cypress trees bordering the yard. A small, awkward shadow trying to remain invisible while he moved with all the silent intensity he would one day be known for.

Blades cut arcs through the air with the same precision he carried now, the same focus that made the entire world seem very small around him. He never noticed her. Or... she liked to believe he never did. She had been sure back then that she was subtle.

Now she looked back, she could not help but cringed at the memory, feeling foolish at the thought of her little head poking out every few seconds just to catch a glimpse of him. Still, the memory warmed her like a tiny piece of childish awe preserved in glass.

She leaned against the rail a little more, letting the breeze cool the heat in her cheeks. Some things truly did not change. Because she was still here, still watching him from a distance. Only now... she was allowed to.

"Should I fetch His Highness for you?" Melyn’s voice startled her from the daydream.

Ah... she almost forgotten.

"No." Ilaria shook her head quickly. "But... um. Can I have a moment alone?"

Melyn looked at her, her face immediately frowning in disapproval. "Alone? Again?" Her voice already sharpened with the memory of the last time Ilaria vanished like a mischievous breeze.

Ilaria winced, clasping her hands together as she realized what the request might have triggered. Aside from Levan, Melyn had been fuming as well. She refused to be reminded of how she had looked at her last night. If she were to compare Melyn and Serenya when they were angry...

Ugh, there’s no difference. They’re both scary.

"I promise I won’t run away this time."

"That’s what happened last time," Melyn said sternly.

"I know!" she squeaked. "But this time I really won’t!"

Melyn crossed her arms, unconvinced.

Ilaria leaned in, lowering her voice to an embarrassed whisper as she gently tugged at Melyn’s sleeve. "I just want to..." she hunched her shoulders, cheeks warming, "admire my husband."

Melyn deadpanned. "Admire him from afar like a lovesick teenager."

Ilaria’s face practically combusted. "...Can you not say it like that?"

Melyn sighed through her nose, the deep, world-weary sigh of a lady-in-waiting who had long accepted that her princess lived in a world made of softness and oblivious romance.

"Fine. Ten minutes," she grumbled. "But if you disappear again, Your Highness, I will drag you back by the ear."

Ilaria beamed, already half-turned toward the railing as she waved happily. "Thank you, Melyn! I promise I’ll behave! I love you~"

As her attendant reluctantly walked a short distance away, Ilaria leaned forward once again. Her fingers curled around the cool stone of the railing, grounding her as her heartbeat tripped in her chest.

Below, the training ground stretched wide and sun-washed... but she only saw him. The Crown Prince moved through the field like the morning had been made for him.

He stood among the knights, instructing one of the younger soldier with a posture that was as sharp as a drawn line. His robe was traded for a dark training tunic, the fitted fabric clinging to the shape of him, accentuating the strength in his shoulders, the disciplined lines of his back, and the way his waist tapered beneath the leather belt.

And Saints, when he turned... 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

The sunlight caught in his hair, brushing silver over the black strands, softening the severity of his features. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing strong forearms dusted with faint callouses, evidence of hours spent in practice even when no one was watching.

He lifted a practice blade to demonstrate a correction, and the movement was so fluid and so precise that Ilaria felt the air leave her lungs.

When did he become this unfairly handsome?

She did not even know why she is blushing right now, it was not like she had never seen him almost bare before. Perhaps because he had always been beautiful in a distant, moonlit way, but now, watching him surrounded by daylight, strength, and authority, she felt something warm flutter wildly in her chest.

That was her husband.

Her husband whose voice carried across the grounds, deep, steady, and commanding without ever needing to raise it. Her husband whose expression remained stern for everyone else but softened just a fraction whenever she stepped into the room.

Her husband who had held her the night before like she was something precious he was terrified to lose. Her husband who had kissed her with such trembling gentleness that she could hardly believe he was the same man she once thought she would never have.

Ilaria pressed a hand to her cheek when she felt it warming.

Levan paused mid-instruction, turning slightly, eyes narrowed in concentration...

And even from this distance, even from this height, her heart skipped. Because she could have sworn he sensed her from that subtle tightening of his gaze and the instinctive awareness she had seen countless times before.

She swallowed, suddenly shy, suddenly fourteen again, hiding behind a tree while watching him train whilst thinking he would never notice her.

Her grip tightened on the railing once more as a quiet, thrilling wonder danced through her chest: What would he think if she called for him? Would he be happy to see her? Would he hug and kiss her again?

She bit her lip, imagining the curve of his smile and the tilt of his head when he saw her approaching. Ah... but she had not brought any sweets to give him, no small token to earn a playful smile or gentle teasing.

She watched as Levan stepped aside, giving the knights space to begin their sparring. Arms crossed over a broad chest, the sunlight glinting off the faint sheen of sweat, every muscle moving with effortless control.

Ilaria’s stomach knotted, her pulse thrumming in her ears, and she needed to clamp ber mouth with her hands as she feared a small whimper might escape. Her fingers curled around the railing, knuckles whitening, and her toes twitched in her shoes, curling and flexing as if they had a mind of their own.

That was the same arms that had held her and pressed her close. Can you believe it?

It was almost ridiculous. She felt like the luckiest woman alive.

Ilaria’s thoughts were spiraling faster than her pulse, caught somewhere between run down to him and stay hidden and admire from afar when a sudden movement in the shadows yanked her out of her reverie.

"Shit— What the hell—" A figure tumbled clumsily onto the cobblestones of the training ground, barely managing to catch himself against the ground with one hand.

"Ah! My apologies!" the stranger muttered, springing upright in a flurry of motion, his bright blue eyes wide as they landed on her.

Ilaria let out a small yelp. "W-who— what—!"

The young man froze mid‑movement, rigid as a statue, his cloak still half‑caught on the archway he had clearly tried and failed to leap from. For one suspended heartbeat, they simply stared at each other. She could not precisely recognize him, but it felt like she had seen him before.

The young man’s face contorted in horror.

"I-It was my mistake, Your Highness, I didn’t—!" he stammered, hands flailing as if trying to gather his dignity from the floor.

Then, in an explosion of panic, he dropped to his knees and bowed so abruptly Ilaria jumped again.

"Please forgive me!" he wailed, his forehead nearly slamming into the stone. "I have brought dishonour upon these tiles! I deserve to die!"

Ilaria blinked. "W-wait, what?! No you don’t— Why would you die?! Stand up! Stand up!"

But the man only bowed deeper, somehow flattening himself even more. "I have failed my duty! I have startled a royal! A cardinal sin! An unforgivable—"

"Please stop shouting," Ilaria hissed, utterly mortified as she brought a finger to her lips. "The knights are going to look up here!"

The boy gasped sharply like he had just realized, all over again, that he had indeed embarrassed himself in front of the Princess and slapped both hands over his mouth as if to physically hold the sound in.

Then, without explanation, he dropped into a crouch. And because panic is contagious, Ilaria instinctively crouched with him. Now both of them were hiding behind the railing like two fugitives who had absolutely done something wrong.

They stared at each other, both crouched behind the stone railings, whispering like criminals as the morning breeze ruffled her hair and him clutching his pride like a dying man.