Chapter 311: Flowers for your wife

As the shadows of evening lengthened across the room, Eilika stirred awake.

She felt a bit sore despite the warm bath Damian had drawn for her earlier.

The memory of their intimate encounter rushed back, causing her heart to flutter wildly and once again heat rose on her cheeks. She pulled the velvet quilt higher over her shoulders just as a sudden rumble from her stomach broke the quiet.

Their passion had escalated so entirely that the lunch meal had been completely forgotten.

She shifted into a sitting position, smoothing down the simple silk nightgown Damian had carefully dressed her in while she drifted off.

Before she could swing her legs over the edge of the mattress, the doors of the room creaked open, and she turned her head toward the entrance.

Damian entered the bedroom carrying a silver tray, pausing briefly as he caught her gaze. "You are awake," he noted, surprise softening his sharp features. "How do you feel?"

He set the tray upon the bedside table and sat at the edge of the mattress, turning his full attention to her.

"I feel a bit sore," Eilika admitted, keeping her voice low.

"I suspect I was far too rough with you," Damian replied, a hint of concern crossing his face.

"I did not mind," Eilika whispered, casting her eyes downward as a fresh blush warmed her cheeks. "In truth... I enjoyed it."

A quiet, satisfied smile touched Damian’s lips. Leaning forward, he caught her chin gently with his fingers and pressed a soft kiss to her swollen lips. "As did I, my love."

She looked up at him, her dark eyes searching his face.

"Do you doubt my words?" he asked softly.

"No," Eilika answered, a genuine smile breaking across her features. "I simply like hearing you say them."

Damian’s smile deepened before he turned his attention to the silver tray beside the bed. "I brought evening tea for you, along with a few sandwiches. You were denied your midday meal on my account," he noted, a faint trace of amusement in his tone.

"Eat this for now," Damian added, lifting the china pot to pour a hot cup of tea for her. "The kitchen is preparing a proper supper as we speak."

"Thank you, though since when have you taken to performing such domestic chores?" she asked, taking a quiet sip of the warm, fragrant tea.

"I believe since I began to notice your own care for me," Damian replied, his tone even and unhurried.

He placed a carefully prepared sandwich onto a small porcelain plate and set it near her hand. "Eat. You will need your strength."

~~~~~

"Will Your Highness not be taking his leave?" Iliana inquired, her hands smoothing down the fabric of her apron. "The sun has already set. You ought to reach the Duke’s estate at Varos before the roads grow entirely dark."

"You seem remarkably eager to send me away," Sylvian observed, a low amusement in his tone. "I intend to stay here for the night. You need not fret. Nothing is going to happen. Simply treat me as your guest." He offered a faint smile before rising from the bed, his bare feet touching the cold floorboards once more.

"Your Highness, I am heading to the market first," Iliana interjected, stepping into his path to halt him. "I must purchase fresh vegetables and meat for supper."

"Then I shall accompany you," Sylvian declared with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.

Iliana arched an eyebrow, looking at him in utter confusion. "How could Your Highness possibly manage that?"

"I can simply conceal my face," Sylvian suggested, offering her a faint, unbothered smile.

"That is entirely out of the question," Iliana replied firmly. "Someone in the village will surely recognize you. Stay inside the house. I shall return shortly."

She offered him a swift bow before turning on her heel and hurrying out of the room. Moving quickly through the quiet house, she slipped into her leather sandals, retrieved a coin pouch from the sideboard, and stepped out into the evening air.

Yet the moment she pushed past the front wooden gate, a firm hand settled lightly onto her shoulder.

Iliana spun around, her heart plunging into her throat as she met Sylvian’s calm gaze. A sudden wave of panic rushed through her, and her eyes immediately swept the shadowy street to see if anyone had witnessed the Prince of the Kingdom standing unattended outside her door.

"Your Highness, why did you—"

Before she could finish, Sylvian pressed a single finger against her lips, using his free hand to pull a dark wool cap low over his brow. A thick knitted scarf was wrapped snugly around his throat and lower face to ward off the biting autumn chill.

"No one will recognize me so long as you keep your voice down," he murmured beneath the cloth. "The common folk of this town have never seen my face up close—unlike you."

Iliana took a deliberate step backward to break the contact, smoothing her skirt as she found her breath. "In that case, I must lock the main entrance first."

"By all means." Sylvian stepped aside to grant her passage.

A moment later, she returned after securing the wooden bolt. Reaching into her apron, she extended the iron key toward him. "Keep this in your coat pocket, Your Highness. My own dress has no deep pockets to hold it."

"Are you taking me for your husband already?" Sylvian teased. Though the thick fabric of the muffler concealed his mouth and nose, the sharp crinkle at the corners of his eyes made it entirely obvious he was grinning down at her.

"No. Your Highness happens to have coat pockets, whereas I have none," Iliana answered defensively, attempting to pull her hand back. But before she could withdraw, his fingers closed gently around hers to take the iron key.

"I shall keep it safe," Sylvian murmured, his eyes crinkling with quiet amusement above the thick muffler.

Iliana promptly turned on her heel and set off down the cobblestone path. Sylvian adjusted his stride, easily keeping pace beside her as they entered the busier stretches of the lane.

"Please keep a proper distance from me," she whispered without looking at him, her voice taut with nervous tension. "What will the townspeople think if they see us walking together like this?"

"You are free to tell them you are courting me," Sylvian replied smoothly.

She snapped her head around to glare at him, but in her distraction, her sandal caught against a loose cobble. Her foot slipped, her balance faltering instantly.

Before she could fall, Sylvian’s hand shot out, his fingers locking firmly around her arm to haul her back upright against him.

"Careful, my lady," he murmured.

The heat of his grip burned through her sleeve, sending a sudden shudder straight down her spine.

"Thank you, Your Highness," she murmured quickly, disentangling her arm from his grasp and fixing her gaze straight ahead as they turned the corner onto the main market street.

Lanterns flickered to life along the row of timber stalls, illuminating the bustling evening crowd. Yet as they walked, Iliana’s mind remained entirely distant from the vendors’ calls.

’He truly seems serious about me,’ she thought, her pulse quickening despite her effort to remain composed.

’I told myself I wanted to see where this path leads, but my feelings are deepening with every hour we spend together. What is happening to me? I have known other men, shared warmth and laughter with male friends over the years, yet I have never felt anything close to this magnetic pull.’

Beside her, Sylvian walked with hands tucked casually into his coat pockets.

"Sir, why don’t you buy these flowers for your wife?" an old woman asked, suddenly approaching them with a bundle of fresh wild blossoms held out in her calloused hands.

"We are not a couple, Grandma," Iliana interjected quickly, her cheeks warming under the dim lantern light.

"Ah, so you two were married only recently!" the old vendor replied, since she didn’t hear well and she pressed the flowers closer toward Sylvian.

A quiet laugh escaped Sylvian beneath his muffler, feeling strangely happy at the woman’s assumption.

"Sir, your bride will be overjoyed to receive them. I shall even offer you a discount," the old woman insisted, watching him closely.

"How much?" Sylvian asked without hesitation, already reaching beneath his cloak for his coin pouch.

"No, do not buy them," Iliana whispered urgently, pulling lightly at his sleeve.

"It is one sheel, sir," the vendor answered almost immediately, her eyes gleaming with hope.

"I have no common copper sheels upon me, but this should suffice," Sylvian stated smoothly, dropping a bright, finely minted silver coin into the woman’s weathered palm.

The old lady’s eyes widened in utter astonishment at the generous sum.

Before she could offer her breathless gratitude, Sylvian took the bouquet from her hand, offered a brief word of thanks, and wrapped his fingers firmly around Iliana’s hand, guiding her briskly away into the evening crowd.