The Dragon's Heart: Unspoken Passion-Chapter 115: Every Droplet, Every Thought

Ilaria and Leroy hurried down the narrow staircase when they finally caught sight of the prince. Well, Leroy hurried, Ilaria mostly just tried to keep up because the moment Levan noticed them, he actually smiled. Subtle and small, but definitely a smile.

"Let’s go, princess," Leroy announced, suddenly full of heroic purpose.

"You’re acting very triumphant," Ilaria muttered behind him, lifting her hem and quickening her pace, trailing after him like they were marching toward some grand reveal only Leroy knew about.

"I completed my assignment," he whispered, smug practically radiating off him, he looked back only to wiggle his eyebrows. "In a single day. Sir Rowan needed a week. A week."

There it was. Pride, pure sunshine pride.

Ilaria tried not to laugh as she trotted after him. They probably looked ridiculous descending the stairs like overexcited puppies, but Leroy was too busy glowing to notice, and honestly? She kind of liked seeing someone so happy because of Levan.

They finally reached the last step and Leroy, with all the flair of a stage actor making a dramatic entrance, swept forward. He did jot just hand the scroll over, no, he presented it. Extended arms, back straight, chin up like he had just returned from slaying a dragon in record time.

"Your Highness," he declared, his voice dipped in theatrical grandeur as he cleared his throat. "The task you entrusted to me, completed. In. One. Day."

Ilaria covered her mouth, half mortified, half amused. Leroy looked far too pleased with himself, waiting for praise like a knight expecting medals pinned to his chest.

Levan darted his gaze between the two of them, wondering when, exactly, had they started talking? He did not remember ever introducing them. In fact, he was almost certain he had not.

He draped his damp shirt on top of the scabbard lying on the grass, casting a brief glance at his... very obviously ogling wife before he reached out and took the scroll from the boy’s hand.

"You’re fast," he commented, as if stating a weather report.

Leroy puffed up immediately. "It was honestly laughably simple, my prince. I truly don’t understand how Sir Rowan required an entire week. Ha— no offense to him, of course— well, perhaps a little, but—"

Levan flicked him a single side-eye. The kind that said I am hearing sounds, but I am not processing any of them.

Still, Leroy carried on, blissfully unbothered.

"—because really, if one just uses logic and basic competency—"

Levan broke the seal, unrolling the scroll with the least amount of enthusiasm known to mankind, while Leroy continued to narrate his own greatness beside him like background noise.

"—I mean, a week? How slow was he reading? Was he reading out loud? Did he get lost? How does one even—"

"Sir Rowan questioned two caravan leaders with conflicting statements, hence the delay. There was no fault, just slow methodology," Levan clarified smoothly.

Leroy spat, "Slow methodology my ass—"

Levan did not flinch at the outburst. Leroy had always been loud and dramatic, always trying to outshine everyone around him. He continued reading, his eyes scanning the next lines until he was finished.

"Border patrol rotations are intact," he murmured, finally folding the scroll. "No unusual crossings. No foreign banners."

He looked at Leroy and handed the scroll back, the tiniest shift of his eyes and a subtle nod carrying all the approval needed.

"Good," he said simply.

Leroy’s chest practically puffed out as he took the scroll back, like someone had just awarded him a crown.

"Now go back and rest for the day, your task is finished," Levan instructed, already knowing Leroy had pushed himself for over twenty-four hours straight just to finish the task faster than anyone else.

Leroy was about to salute when disbelief painted across his face. "Rest? But... I thought you had another assignment for me?"

Levan’s expression remained calm, almost unbothered as he wiped the invisible dust sticking on his arm. "I’ve already asked others to handle it."

Leroy’s jaw dropped, and for a moment, he looked genuinely betrayed. "What?" he squeaked. "All that effort, all that glory... and someone else gets the next task? Your Highness, that’s unfair!"

His voice rose, hands flailing, the words tumbling out faster than sense could catch them. "I worked day and night! Twenty-four hours straight! I didn’t eat, I barely slept— I deserve this! I am the fastest, the most capable! If anyone should have the next assignment, it is me! ME! Not them!"

Levan raised a single brow. Out of all his informants, Leroy was the only one who ever begged for more work, who treated every task like a personal stage. "Leroy. Listen."

"No! You can’t possibly—"

"I am assigning you a task," Levan interjected firmly, "but it is not the one you think. Your task is to rest. You have pushed yourself far beyond what is required. I will not have you collapsing before the day is done."

Leroy blinked, indignation threatening to flare, but Levan’s calm and unwavering gaze held him in place. It was not a request. It was not a suggestion. It was an order delivered like a velvet hammer.

After a long, dramatic pause, Leroy let out an exaggerated sigh, his shoulders slumping. A pouty glare aimed at Levan as one last flare of theatrical protest before he relented. "As you wish, Your Highness..."

He gave a grand bow to both of the royals and waved a solemn farewell before striding off, leaving behind the faint echo of pride and unspent energy.

From the sideline, Ilaria could not help but giggle at the banter.

"Honestly..." she murmured, tilting her head toward Levan, who was now brushing bits of dirt and leaves off his bare shoulders and arm, and Ilaria quickly forced her eyes away before she embarrassed herself. "You’re being far too harsh on him."

Levan did not look up immediately. He flicked a small twig off his arm, as though it personally offended him, and only then answered, "Don’t mind him. He will thank me by tonight when he realizes he can actually breathe again."

"He looked ready to go to war just because you dismissed him though."

"Exactly," Levan replied dryly as he crossed to the small stone basin set against the nearby wall meant for rinsing equipment. "That boy would sprint into a battlefield with no armour if it meant proving a point. If I don’t force him to stop, he doesn’t stop."

She twirled her heel, amused at how casually he said that, like this was simply Leroy’s default setting. She trailed after him. "So he’s always been like this?"

Levan scooped a handful of cool water over his forearms. The droplets slid over his skin, catching in the curve of muscle as he rubbed the dirt away with slow, practiced movements.

"Mm," he said calmly, his tone as steady as the rippling water. "He works himself to the bone just to impress me. Or perhaps to impress himself. I’m not sure he even knows the difference."

Ilaria smiled gently, watching the water trail down his fingers. "Still, his dedication is admirable. He seems very earnest."

Levan tipped his head, eyeing her from the corner of his gaze. "That is one word," he agreed, filling the nearby flask with water.

Ilaria nearly forgot what she wanted to say when he casually lifted the flask and poured the water over his hair, letting it run down his temples and along the sharp line of his jaw. His dark strands clung wet to his forehead, droplets trickling over the slope of his neck.

"Another is exhausting," he continued.

Ilaria’s lips parted, her gaze momentarily transfixed by the way he looked. "...Exhausting," she repeated faintly, not entirely referring to Leroy anymore.

She shook her head to get a grip of herself. "...Maybe, but he clearly cares. About you, I mean."

Levan pushed his fingers back through the dark strands. The motion was unhurried, almost careless, and yet somehow too graceful for someone who had just demolished an entire field of grown men.

His gaze flicked toward her, sharp even through the droplets running down his lashes. It was brief a one glance before he leaned forward again and rinsed the last of the dust from his hands. "I suppose he does. In his own dramatic way."

He straightened, dragging his palm down his face to wipe the excess water and finally turned off the flask. The sun caught on the wet trail along his cheekbone and the faint line of his throat as he raised his head to look at her.

She watched a clear droplet travel slowly along the line of his collarbone, gather at the center of his chest, and slip lower, following the sculpted plane of muscle as though even water knew exactly where to go.

Another drop slid down after it, lazy and unhurried before disappearing beneath the edge of his trousers. And truly, she had no business watching nor thinking about where that water had just gone.

Ilaria stared too long. She knew she did.

And he noticed.

Slowly, he turned toward her, one dark brow lifting just barely as if he were observing something under a microscope. He took one step closer. Not enough to invade her space, but enough that she felt it.

"And what about you?" He asked.

She jolted. "H-huh?"

"Do you care?"

That was definitely not what she meant to talk about anymore. Her heart performed something between a leap and a malfunction, and she had to look somewhere else or her brain would stop working entirely.

"I—" she attempted, her hands suddenly unsure what to do. "O-of course... you know— you know me, I care about a lot of things, especially you..."

Levan tilted his head to one side, studying her expression with quiet, deliberate attention as if he could hear everything she was not saying aloud. And Ilaria, who had planned to be completely composed felt her stomach flip in five different ways before she remembered she was supposed to breathe.

She might still have clung to some shred of composure, some tiny scrap of princess-like dignity, had something cold not landed on the back of her left hand.

A single droplet.

She gasped, startled, her breath caught somewhere in her throat. Then another drop slid lower, tracing along the delicate slope of her wrist. And suddenly the world shrank to the very small space between them. Because he was far too close, far too warm, far too intimate for her pulse to behave reasonably.

She did not dare look up, because if she did, she would have to confront exactly how close his face was... and how the droplets had only fallen because his hair was directly above her.

"...Sorry," he murmured, voice low and unapologetically unbothered. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

He did not step back. Instead, he lifted his hand and with the knuckle of his index finger, brushed the remaining droplet from her skin. A touch so feather–light it felt more like heat than water.

Her breath stuttered.

He did not remove his hand immediately. His fingers lingered around her wrist as he slid his hand beneath her sleeve, barely touching, yet she could feel every point of contact like it set her nerves alight.

"Strange," he murmured, voice low like a velvet wrapped around something warm. The sound of it slid down her spine like the water sliding down her skin.

Strange? What was strange? Breathing? Thinking? Existing?

She dared to look up, which is a grave mistake because the sun drew tiny flecks of gold in his eyes, catching them just enough to make her feel seen in a way that was terrifyingly intimate.

"What strange...?" she breathed. The beats of her heart picking up.

He stepped just close enough until he caught her hand gently, turning it palm-side down as though she were made of something delicate.

Without looking away from her; never breaking that gaze, he lifted her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. It was warm. Intentional. And not rushed at all. It was a kiss that was not accidental nor innocent, but devastatingly careful.

"How easily you distract me," he said softly against her skin.

Ilaria’s thoughts scattered. Her entire soul questioned every life decision that led to this exact moment. Because truly... who was distracting who right now?