The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 95: Oh? Then empty them first and fill them again!

Isabella’s fingers lingered on Kian’s hand for a moment longer than necessary, but then she quickly dropped it, her smile widening like she hadn’t just caused a small storm in his chest. With a quick, dramatic twirl, she turned toward him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Kian, darling, I’m going to need another hut for my dear brother Cyrus," she said with an exaggerated flourish. "You can’t possibly expect him to stay in that one," she said with a tilt of her head, her eyes batting in an exaggerated way that would have made anyone else think she was just being playful. But there was something in the way she said it that left no room for disagreement.

Kian, the ever-cold and detached figure, was quick to recover. He had always been skilled at shutting down his emotions. He met her gaze with that same unreadable expression, his icy demeanor undisturbed by the warmth of her touch just moments before.

"I will arrange that," he said simply, his voice as flat and impersonal as ever, though something in his eyes betrayed a hint of... something else. It was fleeting, like a shadow passing over the surface of a still pond.

Isabella didn’t catch it, of course. She was far too busy focusing on the next thing, her mind already buzzing with new ideas. "Oh, good," she said, her voice light and sweet, her smile dazzling. "And make sure it’s close—like the hut next to mine. You know, the one that’s empty. Is it?"

She glanced over her shoulder toward the small, rustic huts carved from stone and wood, their crude structures a testament to the simplicity of the early Stone Age. The cold air swept through the village, carrying the earthy scent of the ground beneath them. The huts were far from luxurious, but they were functional. Primitive, yet sturdy enough to withstand the elements. The one next to Isabella’s had been abandoned for a while, its hide door hanging slightly ajar, empty inside except for the sparse furnishings typical of their village.

Kian, ever the efficient one, only gave a sharp nod. "Yes. I’ll have it prepared," he answered, his gaze flicking briefly to the empty hut. He had already noticed it earlier but hadn’t bothered to comment.

Isabella, still grinning like she’d just pulled off some grand maneuver, clasped her hands together in front of her chest. "Oh, you’re too kind," she said, her voice dripping with sweetness, but her eyes held something far more calculating—something that told Kian this little exchange was far from over. "Now, about the arrangement inside the hut..." she began, as she walked past him, her fingers brushing against his arm ever so slightly, "I’m sure we can work out something very... cozy for my brother."

Kian’s lips barely twitched, but his eyes narrowed slightly as he watched her flit away, her steps light, almost too light, as if she were dancing through the air.

It was the way she moved. Too effortless. Too perfect. Her every gesture screamed confidence, yet there was something else beneath it—a hint of strategy, a glint of ambition. He was starting to realize that beneath that exterior of sweetness, there was a sharp mind at work. Something about her never quite added up, and he hated how it tugged at his mind.

He pushed the thought aside. No matter how intriguing she was, he had a job to do.

And that job didn’t involve falling into her trap.

He had to remember that.

Isabella turned back toward him, that same dazzling smile lighting up her face again. "I’ll be expecting that hut to be ready soon, alright?"

Kian didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his expression returning to its usual cold mask. "Of course," he said simply, turning on his heel.

As he walked away, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was already losing control of the situation. freewebnøvel.com

And the unsettling part?

He didn’t know whether he liked it... or hated it.

He was a king, he should act like one when... around her.

"Oh, Luca, you’re still here," Isabella chirped, turning to face the ever-serious warrior who stood like an unmovable pillar, his protective aura practically suffocating.

Luca’s dark eyes locked onto her with the same unwavering intensity, his posture rigid, as if he expected an attack at any moment.

Isabella sighed. "Luca, go fill the gourds," she blurted out, waving a delicate hand as though dismissing a servant.

Luca didn’t budge. "I filled them yesterday," he stated, voice flat but firm, his gaze shifting to Cyrus—who stood silently behind Isabella like an obedient shadow.

Ugh. Isabella felt her jaw clench. The way Luca kept throwing those distrustful glances at Cyrus made her want to smack him with a clay pot. "Well, go fill them again!" she huffed, her irritation spilling over.

Luca didn’t move, his frown deepening. "They’re full," he pointed out, slowly, as if trying to make her see reason.

Isabella’s lips curled into a sugary-sweet smile. "Oh? Then empty them first and fill them again!"

A muscle in Luca’s jaw ticked. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, exhaling sharply. Was she serious? She was serious. He looked between her and Cyrus, suspicion flashing in his dark eyes.

Finally, he let out a low, exasperated breath. "...Fine," he muttered before turning on his heel, marching off like he had been given the most ridiculous task in existence.

Isabella watched him leave, crossing her arms with a smirk. "Such a weird little fellow," she muttered under her breath.

Now that he was gone, the atmosphere shifted. The morning had fully bled into midday, the golden sun casting long shadows over the village. She turned back to Cyrus, only to pause.

Something was different.

Was it the way he stood? The way his pink eyes softened when they met hers? His usual tension had melted into something... gentler. If one ignored the fact that he was a massive, coiled-up snake beastman, they’d almost think he was—

Oh.

Oh, he was just a misunderstood baby.

Isabella’s expression eased, her gaze openly drinking him in.

Cyrus, meanwhile, felt the full force of her attention, and heat crept up his face. His fingers twitched at his sides. No one had ever looked at him like that before—like he was something worth examining, worth understanding.

Her hands absentmindedly stroked Glimora’s soft fur, the small pet practically purring under her touch, nestled against her.

"So tell me..." she said, her voice soft but teasing, tilting her head slightly. "Where are you from?"

The words landed like a rock in the pit of Cyrus’s stomach.

His body stiffened. His fingers clenched.

Was it the way she asked? Or the fact that the place he came from was horrible?

Because if he told her the things he had done...

She might not want him anymore.