The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

Isabella's grin lingered as she watched the women lean in, laughing softly, teasing each other like children offered candy for the first time. The air buzzed with feminine excitement, the sweet scent of the mysterious flower now drifting between them like a shared secret. The women nudged and giggled, murmuring things like "She always smells like this?!" and "What do you think it'll do to the men, huh?"

Satisfied, Isabella turned on her heel, the flower still safely tucked in her hand, and walked toward Kian with the grace of a queen and the mischief of a cat who knew she had the upper paw.

Behind her, the women huddled closer, their voices low and teasing.

"She walked to him like that on purpose."

"Can't you see? She's trying to melt that face of his."

"Oh, she's bold. I'd never dare tease that man."

"You don't have to. He only looks at her."

Isabella let their whispers follow her like a royal train, each one warming her chest. But as she drew close to Kian, the air shifted.

He stood stiffly, hands clasped behind his back, jaw set like stone. His eyes didn't soften, not even a blink of amusement on his face. He looked every bit the cold commander. The only giveaway of his brewing storm was the tight line of his lips and the barely-there tic in his temple.

"Well, well," Isabella said with a teasing lilt, "you've been brooding back here all by yourself. Didn't like my little perfume lesson?"

Kian didn't answer.

She sighed, long and dramatic, stopping in front of him. "Fine. What is it this time?" She crossed her arms and tilted her head. "You didn't like the flower?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, not at the flower, but at her. "When did you leave the village to get that?"

Isabella blinked.

Then she smiled. Mischievously.

"Oh? Are you mad that I didn't get one for you?" she teased, raising the flower with a flourish and offering it with a mock bow. "Here, your majesty. I picked it with thorns, sweat, and maybe a bear chase."

Kian's gaze didn't move to the flower. His voice, when it came, was cold and clipped.

"No. I am mad because I just realized you enjoy endangering your life every chance you get."

Her brow shot up.

Now that wasn't the response she expected.

A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. 'If only he knew', she thought. 'If he thinks climbing a flowery mountain was risky, he'd faint if he found out half the things I've done. Or what I'm about to do... for his sister.'

She stepped closer, eyes playful, ignoring the frost in his.

"Will a kiss make my king feel better?" she whispered, low and sweet, standing close enough for her perfume to tempt his senses.

Kian's jaw tightened. His frown deepened. And still, he said nothing.

Not the reaction she hoped for, but she wasn't discouraged.

"Alright, alright," Isabella held up both hands in mock surrender. "I promise I won't go gallivanting up any more death-ridden mountains. Scouts honor. Can I at least send men to fetch the flowers instead?" She tilted her head, blinking up at him. "Or would you rather I did it again?"

Still, he said nothing.

But he turned slightly, just enough to glance at Luca.

That was all it took. Luca gave a curt nod, already understanding what Kian had decided.

That was how they communicated—through glares and tiny shifts of expression, like two beasts from the same wild pack.

Isabella sighed again, but this time in relief. "Good. See? That wasn't so hard. Teamwork."

Kian gave her a look that clearly said you're exhausting, but she just beamed brighter in response.

She turned away from him, tucking the flower securely back in her pouch. She had no intention of wasting even a single petal on someone who wouldn't appreciate it. Then again, she wasn't entirely sure Kian wouldn't appreciate it—he just had an annoying way of not showing it.

Behind her, the women had started circling again, eyeing her like a heroine in some local legend.

She turned back toward the gathered crowd, her fingers brushing lightly along Kian's arm as she walked past.

Isabella walked back toward the women, ignoring the way Kian's gaze burned into her back like he was trying to read her thoughts. If he could read her thoughts, she'd be in trouble. Because as much as she teased and smiled, her mind wasn't on flowers anymore.

It was on the countdown.

Time was ticking. Shelia didn't have forever.

And Isabella had things to do—dangerous things. Much worse than plucking petals from Mount Feirun.

But for now?

She had a village to charm, a perfume to introduce, and a very cold king to frustrate.

And she planned to enjoy every moment of it.

Isabella slipped into her little hut, the curtain rustling as she pushed it aside with a soft swoosh. The scent of dried herbs and fresh blossoms clung to the walls, and sunlight filtered in through the thin woven roof, casting golden stripes across the modest space.

She reached for the small woven basket she had tucked away in a corner—carefully wrapped in cloth, as though it were something sacred. With a hum under her breath, she pulled it out and peeked inside.

It was still perfect.

Layered with soft cloth and dry leaves were dozens of delicate flowers—pale blue, soft yellow, blush pink, and gentle whites. Nothing magical, not in the way the perfumed flower was, but beautiful in their own right. Lovingly chosen. Each one had been plucked at the right time of day, from the right spot, pressed or braided or arranged into something special.

When she stepped back outside, cradling the basket in both hands, the women were already waiting with bright eyes, still whispering among themselves about the scent that lingered from earlier.

"Ooooh what's this one for?"

"She's bringing more?"

"I swear I'll cry if she has a secret beauty recipe for eyebrows—my man keeps saying mine look like two frightened caterpillars."