The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

After everything that happened, Isabella was finally resting.

The room she was in was warm enough to keep the winter from biting too hard, and thick furs had already been piled around her so well that even the cold air slipping in from the stone passageways could not really touch her.

Outside, snow kept falling over the village, covering roofs, walls, and the paths between homes in white silence. Inside, the palace still carried that beast world feeling of stone, fur, firewood, warm broth, drying herbs, and the quiet sounds of people moving about under one roof.

Isabella sat back with one hand resting over her stomach and her eyes half lowered. She looked tired, and this kind of tiredness was not the simple kind that could be chased away with a short nap. It was the kind that settled deep in the body and made even breathing feel heavier after a long day.

Naturally, Cyrus noticed.

He always noticed.

That was one of the reasons he could never stay far from her for too long. The moment her face softened from tiredness, or the moment she shifted slightly as if her back hurt, or the moment her hand drifted to her stomach without her thinking about it, Cyrus would see it at once.

So after making sure she was properly wrapped and warm and settled where the others could watch her, he said softly, "Stay here for a little while. I’ll make something for you."

Isabella looked up at him. "You just cooked earlier."

Cyrus’s pink eyes softened. "That was for everyone. I want to make this one for you."

That answer made her heart warm a little, though she only huffed lightly and looked away so he would not get too pleased with himself.

"Fine," she said. "But if it tastes bad, I’ll still complain."

Cyrus actually smiled. "You always complain."

"That is because you all need guidance."

Zyran, who had been leaning nearby in the most useless decorative way possible, clicked his tongue and said, "How touching. The great Cyrus is cooking with love again. I hope the food knows how lucky it is."

Osiris, who had still not fully settled after the terrible flare of the brand earlier, sat off to the side with his arms folded and his expression stormy. Even then, hearing Zyran speak nonsense made him frown and say, "Your mouth is annoying."

Zyran turned to him with a lazy smile. "And yet the world keeps allowing it."

Kian, who had been standing near Isabella’s side like some giant lion statue made of cold patience and bad moods, did not even bother looking at them. His attention remained on Isabella and on the room around her. After the incident with Osiris, none of the men were willing to relax properly. Even now, all of them were still more alert than usual, their beast instincts stretched tightly under their skin.

Cyrus left after that.

Before he went, he adjusted the fur around Isabella one more time.

Then Cyrus went to finish what he had in mind.

The kitchen area was warm from the fire and full of smells that had already settled into the stone and wood over time. It still looked like a beast world kitchen because there were stone counters, clay pots, racks of drying meat, and bundles of herbs tied up with reed strings. At the same time, Isabella’s influence was everywhere. There were proper shelves now, large tables, strong chairs, wide bowls for mixing, and cleaner tools placed in order instead of being scattered however people liked.

Cyrus moved through the space with quiet purpose.

He had already decided what he wanted to make. Isabella had been through too much, carried too much, and felt too heavy these days, so he wanted something warm, rich, soft, and easy for her to enjoy. He worked in that same gentle, careful way of his, and before long the fire was crackling louder beneath a clay pot while broth simmered and gave off a deep comforting smell.

By the time he was done, he had already filled a separate bowl for Isabella.

That part was so normal in this house that nobody thought twice about it. Isabella’s portion was always separated when needed, not because she demanded it every time, but because the people around her had all grown too used to watching over her. Her bowl had a little more meat, a little more broth, and the best part of what had been prepared because everybody agreed on one thing even when they argued about everything else.

If Isabella was eating, then she should eat well.

Once the soup was ready, Cyrus looked toward the passage leading back to the resting room and decided to go get her himself. So he turned to Ophelia and said, "Stay here and watch this. I’ll bring her."

Ophelia nodded happily because she was given a task. "Ok."

Cyrus left.

At first, the kitchen was quiet.

Ophelia stood near the pot and the tray with the very serious expression of someone guarding sacred treasure. She was soft-hearted, yes, and she trusted too easily, yes, but when it came to things involving Isabella, her feelings were very clear. Isabella was her friend, her ruler, her safe place, and the person she admired most. So standing there watching over a bowl meant for Isabella actually made Ophelia feel proud.

Then Zara arrived.

At least to everyone else, it was Mira the healer.

She stepped in with that same mild face and soft tone she always used. Her movements were careful, and her smile looked harmless in that practiced way of hers that made kind people lower their guard without realizing it.

Ophelia saw her at once.

And this time, she did not brighten.

That difference was small, but Zara noticed it immediately.

Earlier, after everything that had happened, Ophelia had begun to feel uneasy. She still wanted to believe in good things. That was her nature. Still, she had Shelia’s words in her head, Isabella’s silence in her mind, and that ugly feeling in her chest that told her she had perhaps been too open too quickly.

So when Zara smiled and asked, "How are you?" Ophelia only said, "I’m fine."

Then she kept her attention on the pot.

Zara felt irritation rise immediately.

She had expected this.

She had known the sweet little rabbit-hearted girl would grow distant after what happened earlier. That was exactly why she had prepared.

Before coming in, she had already taken a thin sharp sliver hidden on her body and drawn it across her own hand. The cut was small, but deep enough to look fresh, and she had hidden it until the right moment.

Now, seeing Ophelia’s guard, Zara understood that the time had come.

So while Ophelia turned slightly to adjust the tray, Zara let out a soft sound of pain.

It was not loud.

Just enough.

Ophelia turned at once because she truly was too kind for her own good.

"What happened?"