The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

Now Kian blinked, clearly trying to decide whether or not she was joking.

"I had to trade for these," Isabella continued, pressing a hand to her chest like she'd just returned from war. "Trade, Kian. I gave up shiny things. Rare things. Pretty things. Things no one should ever part with. And for what? A bottle of moonwater that probably evaporates if you insult it."

"I see."

"No, you don't. Because you weren't there when the crow peed in my pouch. You didn't have to hike up a cliff barefoot because the cranky man said 'only the brave deserve Glowpetals.'"

Kian was quiet for a beat.

"You could've just said you traded for them," he said, calmly.

Isabella looked at him, offended. "And where's the flair in that? The performance? The emotional arc? You can't just drop 'I traded for them' and expect people to understand the trauma, Kian."

"I don't think anyone asked for a dramatic monologue," he said.

"Well, you got one," she huffed.

There was a pause.

Then she leaned closer with narrowed eyes. "You're not secretly planning to gather these yourself, are you? Take my shampoo secrets and run off with some flower-crown-wearing forest girl who speaks in tree poetry?"

"I don't know what tree poetry is," Kian said.

"But you would know, if you dumped me for her."

Kian gave her a long, unreadable stare, the only movement the slight twitch of a muscle near his jaw.

"I wasn't trying to steal your secrets," he finally said, calmly.

"Oh please, that's what they all say," Isabella mumbled as she sat on a rock nearby, arms crossed. "First it's a casual compliment. Then it's a request to learn the recipe. And next thing I know, I'm being dumped for someone named—ugh—Serena."

Kian raised a brow. "Who is Serena?"

"I don't know. Some hypothetical forest girl who wears flower crowns and doesn't roll her eyes when you talk."

A short silence.

Kian finally spoke. "Isabella."

"What?" she snapped.

"I have no interest in being taught by someone who calls me Kiki."

"Well, I have no interest in being replaced by someone who giggles every time you blink."

Another pause.

Then Kian said, seriously—no smirk, no tease, just his low, quiet voice that made her chest feel slightly weird—

"I would never replace you, no matter what happens."

"Oh, I most definitely know. It's not like you can find anyone better than me anyway," Isabella said as she rose from her crouch, dusting her hands and lifting her chin proudly.

The confidence in her voice was almost comical considering she had a powdered ingredient smudged on her cheek, a leaf tangled in her hair, and her sleeves soaked from a few too many enthusiastic splashes—but none of that mattered. Not when Kian's eyes followed her movement with that usual cool, unreadable intensity.

Oh, how she lived to frustrate him.

It was like poking a sleeping volcano just to see if the smoke would rise. She loved watching his expression barely shift—maybe a twitch in his brow, a deepening in his gaze—but she always knew. She knew she got to him. She knew she affected him. It was a strange kind of power, and for someone like Isabella who constantly danced between chaos and charm, it was absolutely addicting.

The truth was, Kian liked his silence. His peace. His deliberate detachment from everything around him.

And Isabella? She was the earthquake in his calm. The thunderstorm in his still lake.

She was the reason he spoke more now than he had in moons.

And that… that was dangerous.

For both of them.

Isabella stretched her arms high, letting out a satisfied hum as she took in the full picture: several clay bottles filled with shimmering, sky-colored shampoo, steam still rising gently from the last batch cooling in the shade, tools neatly arranged. It was honestly impressive, considering they'd started with a cauldron and absolutely no plan.

"Okay, my king," she announced with a smirk, turning to Kian. "We've made enough for the whole village! Soon their hair will shine so bright it'll blind the sun."

Kian didn't comment. He simply stared at her, arms crossed, a slight tilt in his head. But something was there in his eyes—an almost imperceptible softness. Maybe it was the glow of the afternoon sun bouncing off her skin, or maybe it was the way she was grinning with so much pride over shampoo.

She squinted at the sky and sighed dramatically. The sun was blazing, scorching the ground beneath her feet.

"I should make sunscreen next," she muttered under her breath, wiping sweat from her brow and fanning her flushed face. "If my skin turns into dry, crusty bread, it's your fault."

Kian raised an eyebrow. "My fault?"

"Obviously," she huffed. "You're the one who made me stay outside. It's always the quiet ones, you know. The ones who say nothing while you're cooking in the heat and slowly dying."

A small, barely visible smile tugged at the corner of Kian's lips.

He stood slowly, dusting off his hands before walking over to her, that tall, looming figure of his casting a comforting shade over her smaller frame. "You should go inside and rest," he said, voice low and steady. "I'll help you with the rest."

His words made her pause.

She blinked up at him, surprised—not at his offer, but at the way he said it. Like he genuinely meant it. No sarcasm. No teasing. Just quiet sincerity. The kind that hit you right in the chest when you weren't looking.

Isabella tilted her head slightly and studied him.

This man. This emotionally constipated, tall, mysterious, maddeningly beautiful man.

He was always doing this.

Breaking her with the smallest, simplest gestures.

Because it wasn't just what he said—it was how he showed up. How he did things without announcing them. How he paid attention in ways most people didn't. How he stood next to her now like a shadow that didn't ask to be noticed.

And she hated it.

Because in moments like this, she found herself wondering—

If she leaned just a little closer, would he hold her again?

If she asked him to stay, would he?

But of course, none of that could be said out loud.

So instead, she did what she always did.

She teased.