The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

"So this is the man you were talking about?" Isabella asked, arms crossed, one brow raised so high it nearly reached her hairline. She tilted her head slightly, sizing Valen up like he was some strange creature she’d never seen before—and might poke with a stick if given the chance.

Valen, standing awkwardly in the doorway with Opehlia practically glowing beside him like a proud sunflower, scratched the back of his head. His fingers got momentarily tangled in his messy hair, but he played it cool—sort of. "Uh... depends. Am I getting yelled at or welcomed with berries?"

"No berries," Isabella deadpanned, her expression flatter than a squashed mushroom.

Opehlia gasped dramatically, clutching her chest like she’d just witnessed a crime. "But you said you made extra sweet ones for—"

"Not for him," Isabella cut in sharply, eyes narrowing like a hawk spotting prey. "I thought you said he was strong and dependable. This one looks like he got lost on the way to impressing me and ended up tripping over his own ego."

Valen straightened, instantly puffing out his chest like a squirrel trying to scare off a bear. "I am strong!"

Unfortunately, the sudden breath caused him to swallow air the wrong way. He choked, wheezed, then broke into a small coughing fit that echoed far too loudly in the room. One hand slapped his chest. The other flailed for dramatic effect. Opehlia looked concerned. Isabella looked amused. A bird outside the window looked judgmental.

When the coughing finally died down, Valen gave a thumbs up that was both heroic and hopeless. "Mostly."

There was a pause. Then he added, voice rasping slightly, "Very strong... just... throat betrayal."

Opehlia giggled and stepped forward, grabbing Valen’s hand like he was her prized prize at the village festival. "He is strong! You should’ve seen him when he lifted that tree trunk—"

"It was a branch," Valen muttered.