The Dragon's Heart: Unspoken Passion-Chapter 41: Heat Care

Chapter 41: Heat Care
The warmth pulsed through her body like wildfire. Every nerve felt alive, tingling with a sensation that was impossible to ignore. Her fingers moved and clenched the edge of the bed, knuckles turning white.
A knot formed on her chest with every breath, shallow and uneven, as if the simple act of existing beside him was a toll no one should be able to bear. She could feel the pressure of his palm on her arm, the way his thumb moved. And when he squeezed — just enough for her to feel it, she let out an unbridled gasp.
Ilaria closed her eyes, wishing that the heat and the maddening ache would subside. But it did not. It only grew sharper, more insistent, each thought of him making her body respond against her will. Because even with darkness occupying her vision, all she could see was him.
The thought made her stomach twist with feeble desire. Her mind knew she should not feel this way, yet every pulse, every shiver, screamed that she could not resist the pull he had over her, leaving her feeling like a woman caught in a storm she could not control while needing someone she had no right to want so desperately.
At this point, she felt like dying.
Ilaria moved her hand to grab his, stopping him from putting even more tension before she combust. "Y-you’re not helping..." she breathed out.
Instead of moving away, Levan’s thumb traced slowly along the back of her hand, just enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin. He had his suspicions in the gazebo earlier, but no evidence was enough to piece everything together yet. And since Ilaria would not admit anything outright, he might needed to use a different method.
"You’re flustered," he observed quietly. "Is it because of something I did?"
Ilaria’s cheeks flamed hotter. She shook her head, words trapped in her throat. "N-n-no..."
He did not comment immediately; instead, he leaned closer, his fingers trailing along her slender arm, raising goosebumps in its wake before his thumb came to rest lightly above the quickened beat of her pulse, cradling her hand.
"Not me...then perhaps something else?" His eyes moved to her neck, noting the flush climbing her skin. "Your pulse is higher than it should be."
Ilaria shivered and tried to pull her hand back, only for him to tighten his grip subtly, forcing her to meet his gaze, startling her.
"You’re avoiding my question." His voice was low, but each word carried weight, an intentional edge that made her pulse skip. He noted that too. "What is causing this restlessness?" He asked again.
Ilaria quivered, heat surging at every forbidden region. What was she even supposed to say? That she might need him somewhere unholy? That her desire had flared so suddenly she could barely think straight? That she wanted him to claim the warmth of her bed?
She had already said she wanted him back in the gardens, but he had scolded her! And now he was looking at her as if she could simply confess without shame. She could not lie that every fiber of her had been craving his presence in her chamber, but of course, he had to pop up at the worst possible moment!
Unable to withstand the intensity of his gaze, she froze, too stunned to move. His firm grip kept her rooted in place, and in a weak, instinctive motion of wanting to hide, she quickly ducked her head, her forehead pressing lightly against his chest.
She swore her heart just exploded.
Wha—! I didn’t mean to do this!
He did not give her the chance to escape though. Before she could so much as blink, his hand slid from hers and rose to cradle the nape of her neck. His large fingers threaded through the back of her hair, the pressure firm yet impossibly tender, sending a tingling warmth that left her breathless and dizzy.
She squeaked. "H-husband—"
"Answer me honestly," he demanded. The touch was appraising and meant to keep her in place. "Are you affected by something?"
Her lips parted. "...m-maybe..." she conceded, voice shaky and barely above a whisper, eyes wide and helpless.
"You’re temperamental..." he leaned closer, close enough to airily brush his lips against her ears as he noted the hotness of the skin there. "I think I already figured it out. But tell me, are you reacting to desire or discomfort?"
"I—It’s not...not discomfort!" she hissed and recoiled from him, her hand covering her ear in a flash as she unthinkingly pressed her head into his chest. "It’s just—"
"Did you eat anything unusual today?"
Ilaria frantically shook her head. "N-no! I haven’t...I only eat my...my usual breakfast and l-lunch..."
He slanted his head marginally, looking at the way she was twitching in his arms. He asked, "Did you meet anyone new? Anyone suspicious?"
"...No," she gulped, her voice small. "Only...only Vivienne helped me in the kitchen and...and Melyn and the others..."
"When did you start feeling like this?"
She hesitated, then whispered, "In the garden...while walking with Vivienne..."
Levan’s gaze flicked back to the single macaron in the jar he had been eyeing since the moment he entered her chamber. It looked harmless enough, but it could be a reason. "Your macarons, did you eat them all?"
Ilaria’s lips clamped into a thin line, then nodded sheepishly. "I...I ate some while baking and well, the rest...just now. It...it was a whole jar."
Levan humned, a faint line of thought crossing his sharp features. "A whole jar..." he murmured to himself, lips barely moving while his mind raced through possibilities. Something in those macarons must have triggered this. And Ilaria, blissfully unaware while she baked, had no idea what she had consumed.
He gave the jar a once-over then back to her flushed face. So someone is responsible for her supplies...he thought, already planning how to trace the source. But that could wait. For now, he had a more pressing matter: the woman before him, trembling and sensitive, practically calling for his attention without words.
He let out a controlled breath, his thumb brushing subtly against the side of her cheek as he assessed her. With little effort, he tilted her head, forcing her to meet his gaze, her hand still shielding her burning ear. Ilaria blinked at him one time, then shyly adverted her gaze beneath his chest again.
A moment later, the door creaked open. Two of her chambermaids entered with bowed heads, one carrying a small tray with herbal tea, and one with a bucket of ice that glistened sharply in the lantern glow. They placed it on the bedside table and retreated wordlessly.
Levan’s hand left her neck at last, but only so he could straighten her posture. His palm pushed lightly against her shoulder as he said firmly, "Sit properly."
She blinked up at him, dazed. "W-what? Why—"
"You’ll faint if you keep slouching like that," he cut in, guiding her by the elbow until her back was straight against the pillows. His touch was maddeningly gentle, like he were adjusting a porcelain doll rather than his very flushed, very flustered wife.
Levan reached past her, fingers curling around the porcelain cup of herbal tea. He tested the heat briefly with a light sip, then held it out to her. "Drink."
Ilaria stiffened. "W-what is it?"
"Something to settle you down."
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, lips pursing. "It smells bitter..."
"Then drink faster," he countered flatly, pushing it a little closer.
Quickly, she accepted the cup, both hands wrapped around it as if she was being forced to swallow poison. She brought it reluctantly to her lips, sipped, and immediately scrunched her whole face. "Blergh! It’s awful!" she squeaked, pulling the cup away. "Why would anyone invent such a thing?!"
"Because it’s medicine, not dessert," Levan said, looking the cup attentively to make sure none was spilled.
Ilaria wrinkled her nose, whining under her breath as she forced down another sip. "I’d rather eat another jar of macarons..."
"That’s precisely the problem," he replied dryly, watching her grimace through each swallow until the cup was empty.
When she set it back on the tray with a dramatic sigh, he did not so much as blink at her pitiful expression. Instead, he reached for the bucket of ice next. "Now, hold still."
Levan dipped a cloth into the cold water and wrung it with practiced ease, as if the biting chill did not bother him. He folded it twice before pressing it firmly against her cheek.
Ilaria flinched, shoulders jerking up as the shock of the cold seeped into her burning skin. "H-husband— it’s freezing!" she squealed, trying to squirm away.
Levan removed the cloth for a moment, watching her flounce like he had just burned her with fire, his tone blank, "Would you prefer a cold bath instead?"
Her whole body went rigid before she wavered timidly, shrinking back into the pillows. "N-no..."
Levan’s expression did not so much as stir as he placed the cloth back on her burning skin, gliding it down her neck next. "Then stop moving."
She whimpered under the icy touch, burying her chin into her shoulder like a sulking child. He was certainly...not gentle as he scrubbed the cold cloth along her cheek and jaw, but he was not rough either. His hand was fastidious, like he was determined to cool every inch of her feverish skin.
Despite knowing that he was just helping her, she could not help but feel like she was being doted on. It was ridiculous. It was just a cloth, just his hand...yet the fact that he was the one doing this, leaning so close, actually noticing her, and tending to her made her dizzy in a way no burning skin could explain.
Her lashes fluttered as she risked a glance up at him. His face was inscrutable, focused entirely on the task at hand, golden eyes sharp with concentration. And she...she wanted to sink into the mattress and scream into the pillow like a maiden in love.
Thankfully enough, the heat that was running wild in her system had begun to cool despite her still burning skin. Perhaps the bitter herbs were already taking their effect, or perhaps it was simply his presence grounding her, constraining her unnerved thoughts into silence. Either way, her breathing steadied, and for the first time that evening, she thought she might not fall apart entirely.
Levan, ever methodical, wrung out another cloth with controlled movements, droplets spilling over his knuckles before he pressed the cool cloth to her bare arms. His strokes were efficient, dragging down her flushed skin in measured motions. She flinched at first, but then relaxed, her head tipping slightly, almost unconsciously leaning into the sensation.
Just as she thought the worst was over, she felt his hand shift beneath the layers of her gown. His fingers brushed against the delicate curve of her ankle as though he had every right to touch her there.
Her whole body jolted, eyes widening. "H-huh?"
Without hesitation, his gaze lifted to hers. The golden orbs seemed to shimmer despite the darkness as he spoke in the most emotionlessly provocative tone ever, "Take it off."