Chapter 207 - 208: Apologize to the goddess too
Cyrus stood rigid as Isolde’s words slithered through the crowd, sharp and uninvited. His eyes flicked down to the ground as if searching for refuge from the implication she’d just flung so carelessly into the air. The suggestion that Isabella wanted Kian. That Kian wanted her. The very image of it made his lips tighten in discomfort. He shifted his weight, almost like he could physically step away from the thought.
Kian, meanwhile, remained still—his face was a mask carved from stone. Not a twitch, not a breath out of place. Even the flutter of his lashes seemed mechanical. No irritation. No surprise. No... denial. And that silence, that maddening silence, was worse than if he’d roared.
"Go get her," Euphim murmured, voice low and tight. His eyes were locked on Isolde’s back, the muscle in his jaw twitching with restraint. "Before Kian decides to end her... or banish her."
Garan, leaning lazily against a nearby tree with his arms crossed, cocked a brow. "Why do I have to be the one to get her?" he muttered, the ever-present cockiness in his tone completely unaffected by the tension coiling in the air.
Euphim didn’t answer. He simply turned his head and gave Garan a slow, scolding stare—a silent language that only brothers could decipher. It said: Don’t test me. Not today.
"Tch," Garan clicked his tongue, peeling himself off the tree like it physically pained him. "Of all my brothers, you’re the worst," he grumbled under his breath, dragging his feet toward the chaos with exaggerated reluctance. A few guards near him chuckled quietly before silencing themselves at Euphim’s glare.
Meanwhile, Isabella scanned the crowd, noting the expressions—the stifled gasps, the sharp inhales, the way women clutched their chests as if gossip physically hurt. She took it all in before her eyes returned to Kian.
Still blank.
But not empty.
His face was unreadable, but his eyes—those blue, icy eyes—held a flicker. A trace of memory. Of last night. Of the spring. The scent of moss and steam. The heat of silence between them.
Maybe that’s what he was thinking of.