The Dragon's Heart: Unspoken Passion-Chapter 117: Intention

Ilaria had never been so aware of her own heartbeat. It thudded unevenly in her ears, each beat echoing against the warmth at her back and the weight of his arm around her shoulders. Everything felt too close. Too vivid. As though her senses had been sharpened without her consent.

She hid her face behind her hands, not out of childishness, but because if he saw her expression now, something irreversible might happen. Her thoughts tangled into chaos.

What was that?

She had touched his mouth. He had—

No. She couldn’t finish the thought without her knees threatening to give way. It was not even improper. No one had been hurt, no clear line crossed. And yet her body reacted as though she had stepped into territory she had never been taught to navigate.

Her teeth caught her lower lip, shoulders curling inward as if she could fold herself smaller beneath his hold. She was supposed to be poised, not standing in a training yard, half-hidden while her half-undressed husband held her like she might vanish if he let go.

And yet... she did not try to pull away. If anything, her weight had settled into him, her body trusting his presence before her mind could catch up.

Why does he make everything feel like this?

The thought came fragile, dangerous. She could feel him breathing her in, steady and unshaken, as though the moment had not unsettled him at all. That made it worse, because it meant this was not confusion.

It was intention.

Her hands trembled faintly against her face as she peeked through her fingers, catching the silent dummies in the yard and the wide sky above them. Her heart leapt into her throat again at the realization.

"You’re thinking too loudly," Levan murmured, his voice so close it tickled her ear.

"I am not," she protested weakly, still hiding.

"You are," he said, softer now. "Your shoulders give you away when you’re overwhelmed."

She blinked, startled. "...They do?"

"Yes." His hand closed gently around her wrist.

When she did not resist, he guided her hands down inch by inch, careful as though sudden movement might scare her. Cool air brushed her flushed cheeks once they were uncovered, but his presence filled the space immediately.

"There," he said, satisfied. "Better than hiding."

Ilaria swallowed. "I wasn’t hiding," she insisted, and his faint huff against her hair only deepened her embarrassment.

"Your ears turned scarlet and you tried to vanish. That usually qualifies."

Mortified, she moved to cover her face again, but he was quicker. He caught her hand, turned his palm, and threaded their fingers together with unhurried ease.

His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, soothing and absentminded. The simple intimacy nearly undid her more than anything else.

"You can breathe, you know," he murmured in the same tone he used for frightened horses or a very overwhelmed princess. "I promise I’m not planning anything scandalous. Not out here, anyway."

Her face burned hotter. "That’s not reassuring."

A quiet laugh escaped him. "But you’re still standing. That’s a good sign."

"I feel like I just survived something."

He tilted his head, studying her with infuriating patience. "Did I hurt you?"

"No!" she blurted, horrified. Then softer, "Just... startled. You’re acting out of the blue. I wasn’t expecting it..."

His hand loosened slightly, giving her space but not letting her slip away.

"I should’ve slowed down then," he admitted. "But you didn’t pull away. That matters too."

She had no answer, so she focused on the way his thumb pressed lightly into her palm, easing tension she had not realized was there. The training grounds were quiet now, filled only with birdsong and the faint scent of grass and steel.

Eventually, he spoke again. "So, you came all this way just to watch me train?"

"I only meant to watch for a while, but Leroy dragged me here..."

"That does sound like him."

"He nearly tripped down the stairs," she added. "Twice."

"And you?" he asked, nuzzling into the slope of her neck. "Did you enjoy the spectacle?"

She instinctively tilted her head to give him space, her shoulder twitching at the ticklishness. "You were... very intimidating."

"That wasn’t what I asked."

Her lips curved shyly despite herself. "Yes. I enjoyed it very much," she admitted.

Something eased in his expression, as though he had been waiting for that answer. Pleased, he pressed on. "How was your morning?"

She shifted, flustered at the sudden domesticity. "...My what?"

"Your morning," he repeated, glancing at their joined hands before meeting her eyes. "We were away for quite a while. I assume you weren’t plotting my downfall."

"Only briefly," she said, breathless. "I decided against it at the last minute. You should be grateful."

That earned her a real smile.

"After breakfast, I went to the library," she continued.

"Mm, and?"

Ilaria hesitated, carefully choosing her words. The truth of why she lingered there would worry him. Levan disliked her poking into dangerous things, so she softened the story, tucking the troubling details away.

"And I... spent some time in The Ivory Study," she said lightly. "I meant to read for a little while, but the hours just slipped by."

Levan’s brow lifted, curiosity sparking in his gaze. "Reading, huh?"

She nodded, smiling. "Yes... just books. Nothing else."

"What kind of books?"

"Um... history, and something about war. The kind of books you read, Lysander told me."

Levan studied her for a long moment, his fingers still tracing hers, though his gaze sharpened ever so slightly. The quiet stretched, filled only by the rustle of leaves, until he leaned back and turned her to face him.

"You’re hiding something," he said at last, more observation than accusation.

Ilaria’s stomach lurched. She opened her mouth, ready to smooth it over, but the words caught when his hands moved with deliberate slowness, resting on her arms and guiding them down to her wrists. His touch was light, not forceful, yet enough to make her freeze between protest and compliance.

"I feel like you’re not telling me everything."

Her pulse spiked, panic fluttering through her fingertips. She tried to pull back subtly, but his grip held just firm enough to keep her there.

"Then you must be mistaken. I’m not hiding anything from you," she attempted. "Why should I?"

But her innocence faltered when his fingers slid inside her sleeve before she could retreat.

Oh no. This was it. This was where everything unraveled. Her pulse thundered so loudly she was sure he could feel it.

He knows. He felt it. He—

Levan’s brow furrowed, but not with suspicion. Instead, he made a soft, absentminded sound. "You’re cold."

She blinked. "What?"

He rubbed warmth back into her skin, unhurried, as if discomfort was all he’d discovered.

"Your hand feels tense too." A pause. "Have you been anxious all morning?"

Her heart stuttered. She dared to look down—only to see nothing.

No faint glow. No sigil. No trace of the mark that had haunted her since last night. Her skin was ordinary, pale and unbroken. Relief crashed through her so violently she nearly sagged.

What?

Her knees weakened for an entirely different reason now, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from exhaling too loudly. He had not felt anything beyond her trembling. But the question still screamed in her head.

Where did it go?

Levan noticed the change instantly. The limpness of her fingers, the hitch in her breath. His grip adjusted at once. "Aria," he called, concern threading his voice.

Startled, she looked up. "Yes?"

"What was that?" He bared her arms, searching for darkened veins, but found nothing. His gaze lifted back to her face, intent. "You went stiff for a moment. Was it The Blithe again?"

Ilaria blinked rapidly. She had expected him to notice the sigil’s lingering power. But her skin lay smooth and pale beneath his fingers. Had it retreated? Hidden itself? Or had it burned itself so deeply into her that it no longer needed to surface to be felt?

She did not know which possibility frightened her more. If Levan could not feel it; if there was truly nothing there now, then whatever had marked her had either gone quiet... or was waiting.

A chill crept up her spine, but she shook her head so as to not left him waiting. "There’s nothing. I’m fine."

"You don’t look fine to me."

She drew a breath, then slowly another, forcing her shoulders to ease beneath his hands. "I startled myself," she said finally, smiling faintly. "That’s all."

He did not immediately accept it. She could see it in his eyes, the edge of a scolding held back. So she flicked her gaze downward, focusing on their joined hands instead of the pounding in her ears.

"Okay, fine... I thought you were about to scold me," she attempted, pouting as she swayed their hands. "For reading the wrong books, or lingering where I shouldn’t."

Levan huffed quietly, more weary than amused. "I don’t make rules for your life, Aria."

He steadied their joined hands. "You’re not a child I need to keep from sharp corners. If you want to read, you read. If you want to wander, you wander. I only worry when you come back looking like you were bracing for a blow that never landed."

His gaze softened, losing the edge she feared. His voice was more honest than usual. "So if something unsettles you, I’d rather know than miss it."

Ilaria went quiet, guilt pricking at her. Before she could think better of it, she slipped her hand free. Levan barely had time to register the absence before her other hand followed, palms warm against his cheeks.

"You worry too much, husband. I’m starting to think I should do it more often just to see that face," she teased, though her expression betrayed only fondness.

Levan watched her, long enough for her to feel the sudden stillness beneath her hands, the way his breath stalled before he remembered how to take the next one.

"...Don’t," he sighed. No reprimand, only a warning meant for himself. "I’m being serious."

"Yes, you look scary when you’re serious."

"...Scary?" His frown deepened. "Scary how?"

"You know," she teased, leaning closer, "like someone who might actually eat me alive if I misbehave."

This girl...

He exhaled slowly, jaw tightening. "If you keep deflecting me, I’ll start answering you honestly."

His hands slid down to her wrists, guiding them away from his face. The absence of her touch was immediate, like a door quietly closing, making Ilaria gasped at the loss. But instead of retreating, she leaned forward just a little and deepened her pout. Her lower lip trembled in a way that should have been illegal.

"You’re upset," she said softly, accusation and concern tangled together.

"I’m trying very hard to behave," he corrected.

She blinked at him, wide-eyed and impossibly earnest, still pouting. Still looking like she might fold into him if he so much as raised his voice.

Levan stared at her. Then he closed his eyes.

A quiet, defeated sound left him. "...You do that on purpose," he muttered.

Ilaria, of course, did not respond. Instead, she turned her head away slowly, chin lifted just enough to look tragically wronged. A picture perfect of an exaggerated, wounded silence that practically begged to be noticed.

He opened his eyes and saw it immediately. "Don’t," he warned weakly.

She sniffed then. Entirely unnecessary.

That was his undoing. His hand came up and very gently squished her cheek, fingers pressing into the softness just enough to distort her pout.

"Ouch—!" she protested, the word muffled and dramatically offended. She shook her head at him at once, indignant, like he had committed a grave injustice rather than barely touched her. "That hurt."

He stared at her. "It did not."

"It did," she grumbled. "First, you don’t believe me and now you hurt me."

Levan exhaled through his nose, the fight leaving him completely. "I believe you," he said at last, fondness unmistakable now. "There. Does that help?"

She shook her head again, more emphatically this time.

His brow creased. "No?"

"My cheek is still very sore," she said seriously, one hand lifting to cradle the allegedly injured cheek as if she had just survived a battlefield wound. "You squished it without warning and I could feel my soul leave my body for a moment."

Levan looked away, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek like he was fighting something dangerous. "You are unbelievable."

"And wounded," she added helpfully. "Don’t forget wounded."

He resigned, shoulders finally dropping. "So what is it you’re angling for now?"

She peeked at him from the corner of her eye, still holding her cheek. "Well... traditionally, when someone is injured—"

"This is not an injury."

"—there is comfort," she plowed on. "And reassurance, sometimes physical apologies."

He turned back to her slowly. "Physical apologies."

"Yes," she nodded gravely. "I’ve read about them."

"In which book?"

"...Several," she said without blinking.

Levan’s sigh faded into silence, his gaze softening as he looked at her pout that is still in place, eyes wide and impossibly earnest. Well, it was not like he was going to fight her logic. She has always been too tricky and too adorable for her own good. And so, he lifted his hands and cradled her face instead.

His palms were warm against her cheeks, steadying her in a way words never could, and then he leaned in, pressing the lightest kiss to her ’wounded’ cheek. Ilaria’s heart stuttered, the world narrowing to that single touch. And though she tried to keep her pout, it melted into a smile she could not quite hide.

Levan lingered just long enough for her to feel the affection in the gesture before pulling back. "Better?" he asked quietly, brushing her hair back.

Ilaria nodded with a satisfied smile, unable to find her voice. Levan could not help but mirrored the same smile, his gaze steady and warm as though nothing in the world could intrude on this fragile peace.

But beyond the quiet yard, past the dummies and the drifting birdsong, a shadow lingered, hidden just out of sight.