The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

Kian didn't reply. He just picked up the wooden stirring stick, tested its weight, then placed it back down carefully.

A slow smirk tugged at Isabella's lips. "Aw, look at you," she teased gently. "All focused and hardworking. It's like you actually want to be here."

Kian slowly turned his head toward her. The flat, stone-cold glare he gave could have turned bubbling shampoo into ice.

"…Noted," Isabella said quickly, looking away. "I'll shut up now."

Silence hung between them for a moment before she cleared her throat and began pointing again.

"So first, we heat the Moonwater until it boils — not a violent boil, just a gentle one. You don't want to burn the essence."

She reached forward to pour the water into the cauldron, letting it settle over the flame. Steam began to rise, curling into the air like glowing mist.

"Then," she continued, "we add the Glowpetal Gel and Ashberry Oil. Slowly. Stirring constantly."

Kian crouched closer beside her, watching her every move. When she reached for the Glowpetal Gel, he was the one who took it gently and handed it over.

Their fingers brushed.

Just barely.

But Isabella felt it anyway — the stupid jolt in her chest that always came when he looked too good and smelled like smoke and pine and quiet danger.

She added the gel, then the oil, and began stirring. The mixture shimmered under the firelight.

"Next is Foamroot Juice," she murmured, "pour it slowly. It'll start foaming right away, so don't panic."

Kian handled the clay jar, pouring it with an unexpected grace. The mixture began to fizz and bubble gently, giving off a soft, sweet scent.

Isabella couldn't help herself — she glanced at him again.

He really was beautiful in a rough, unforgiving way. Like someone carved him out of stone just to make life harder for her.

"Your arms look nice when you pour things," she muttered without thinking.

Kian gave her a sidelong glance. "Focus."

"I am focused," she whispered, eyes sparkling. "Just not on the shampoo."

He let out a slow breath, eyes narrowing slightly in warning.

Isabella held her hands up. "Okay, okay. Back to it."

They crushed the Frostleaf together, taking turns with the mortar and pestle. She showed him the proper way to grind in circles, and when he got it perfectly right on the first try, she pouted.

"Ugh, why are you good at everything?"

"I listen."

"Ugh, disgusting."

She added the Starlily Nectar and Frostleaf Powder to the mix. The scent changed immediately — it became something soft, crisp, and alluring.

After ten minutes of stirring, they removed the pot from the fire and set it aside to cool.

Once cool enough, they strained the mixture through the woven leaf filter, watching the golden liquid drip into the clay bottles.

Isabella held one up proudly.

"Shampoo. The first of its kind in this village."

Kian took it from her hands carefully, examined the texture, the weight.

"Where did you get such ingredients from? I've never seen these anywhere," Kian asked as he studied the glowing petals, the silver-tipped leaves, and the glistening oils arranged on the mat like treasures.

His eyes didn't widen, nor did he speak in awe. But something about the way he crouched closer, the way he tilted his head slightly, inspecting every piece with that cold, analytical gaze—it made Isabella feel strangely... accomplished.

Which meant, obviously, it was time to mess with him.

She clicked her tongue and folded her arms. "Kian, you're really greedy."

His gaze snapped up to hers, confusion flickering across his otherwise unreadable face. "Hm?"

"That's right," Isabella said with an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head slowly like she was disappointed in a toddler. "Here I am—breaking the sacred laws of my mysterious beauty secrets to help you, and what do I get? Interrogation."

"I didn't mean—" he started, but she cut him off, already in full performance mode.

"It's not enough that I'm generously offering you glowing hair and a scalp that feels like heaven's tongue," she declared, "now you want the source too? What's next? You'll ask me for the moonwater recipe? The star alignment for harvesting Frostleaf?"

Kian blinked. Once.

Then twice.

She could see the way he processed her nonsense, deciding internally whether to argue or simply let her burn herself out.

"I was just curious," he said, voice deadpan. "Not plotting betrayal."

"Oh, but that's how it always starts," Isabella gasped dramatically. "Curiosity. Then next thing you know, I wake up banished from my own hut, and there you are—stirring Glowpetal Gel with some new mystery woman who calls you Kiki and doesn't talk back!"

Kian tilted his head. "Why would anyone call me Kiki?"

Isabella threw her hands up. "Exactly! But it'll happen! Because the moment I tell you where I got my ingredients from, that's it. You'll have no more use for me. You'll kick me to the curb, and I'll be out there making shampoo in the mud, with nothing but Glimora and the shame of loving a man who betrayed me!"

"Are you done?"

"Not even close."

Kian let out a very small, nearly silent sigh—the kind that said this is beneath me but I'm already too deep into it to escape.

"You want to know where I got these from?" Isabella narrowed her eyes, arms crossed as she leaned back on her heels like she was preparing to expose a national scandal. "Fine. You really want to know?"

Kian's gaze didn't shift, but his brow rose just slightly. "Yes."

"Alright," she said, voice lowering as if someone could be eavesdropping in the middle of nowhere. "But once you hear it, you can't un-hear it. So don't go blaming me if your life suddenly feels empty and unmagical."

"I'll take the risk," he said, dryly.

"These ingredients," she said, gesturing dramatically at the glowing petals, the sparkling dust, the weird silvery oil. "Came from a very dangerous place."

Kian tilted his head. "Dangerous?"

"Oh yes," Isabella said, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "A secret forest hidden so deep even the maps forgot about it. There's this old, cranky, half-blind herbalist there with a bad attitude, a crow for a pet, and a habit of throwing things at people who ask too many questions."