The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

The moment they spotted Isabella, they hushed—eager and wide-eyed.

With a theatrical little wink, Isabella grinned and held up the basket. "Today," she declared, "we enhance beauty the natural way."

Cheers and excited claps broke out.

"Flowers," she continued, "aren't just for scent. If worn right, they can draw the eye, flatter your features, and make you feel like the prettiest thing to ever walk across a dusty field."

She knelt on a small fur hide, setting the basket down in front of her. The women gathered close, sitting in a circle around her like children eager for storytime.

"These aren't enchanted," Isabella said as she began carefully lifting them out one by one. "But they don't need to be. Beauty isn't always about magic. Sometimes, it's about placement."

She held up a cluster of tiny white blossoms, already threaded into a thin braided vine. "This one," she said, "is best for the wrist. It makes your movements look delicate—even if you're smacking someone for stealing your food."

The women erupted into laughter.

She slipped it onto the wrist of the woman beside her. "See? Like a dainty forest goddess. Do a twirl."

The woman twirled her wrist awkwardly, beaming.

Next, Isabella pulled out a set of pale yellow flowers woven into a thin ring. "This one's for the hair—works best if you tuck it above the ear or hide it in a braid."

Gasps of admiration rippled through the group.

"But—" she leaned in like she was sharing a forbidden trick, "if you wear it low, just behind the ear and tilt your head like this—" she demonstrated with a dreamy look—"you'll look like you're thinking of someone special."

Giggles and scandalized gasps followed.

"Who would I be thinking about?" one woman asked dramatically.

"Your fourth mate," another whispered, and the whole circle erupted again.

Meanwhile, from a little distance away, Kian stood under a tree, arms crossed lazily over his chest, just watching.

The sharpness in his expression had faded. His shoulders, always tense like drawn wires, were relaxed. And though his face was still mostly unreadable to others, there was a definite smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

He said nothing, did nothing. Just watched as Isabella gestured with flowers, laughed with the women, tugged someone's braid loose to show how a flower would look prettier in it, and even wrinkled her nose when one woman proudly admitted she hadn't brushed her hair in two days.

"You savage!" Isabella cried with mock horror. "You can't be beautiful with grease grease!"

The woman cackled, and another patted her shoulder as if that was the most relatable confession ever made.

One by one, Isabella adorned them with bracelets, flower bands, tiny clips she had made using bark and string. For the neck, she had twisted dried stems into thin, flexible strands and added lavender sprigs and bluebells.

She'd even made miniature flower rings. "Just for show," she told them, sliding one onto a woman's pinky. "But if your man thinks you're married to the flowers, he'll have to work harder."

The women were glowing. Absolutely glowing.

Some started braiding each other's hair with the flowers, some stood up and spun around to admire the effect, and a few stared at their reflections in the water basins nearby.

Isabella dusted off her skirt and stood, placing her hands on her hips proudly. "And that, ladies, is how we use the forest for free beauty secrets."

A loud, collective "thank youuuu!" rang out.

One of the women sniffled. "I haven't felt this pretty in years."

Another clutched her new wristlet like it was a sacred gift. "Can we do this again tomorrow?"

Isabella gave a mock curtsy. "Of course, darlings. But today's beauty class is dismissed."

The women slowly dispersed, still talking among themselves, tossing compliments, holding their heads a little higher than before.

As the crowd thinned, Isabella turned to gather the leftover petals back into her basket, a soft smile on her lips. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed this—this feeling of doing something kind, of making people feel good about themselves with just a few flowers and jokes.

And then—

Ding.

Her body paused as a faint glow flickered in her vision.

A system notification.

Isabella blinked.

She straightened staring at the screen.

[Congratulations on introducing a beauty trend!]

[+623 points, +10 beauty points +3 charisma points]

"Bubu, don't you think I deserve more than points?" Isabella asked smugly in her mind, one brow raised as she crossed her arms. "Because we both know how long it took me to make those flowers."

The system responded with an unimpressed snort.

"What, you want more tasks?" Bubu drawled like a bratty younger sibling.

Isabella went completely silent in response.

"That's what I thought," Bubu sniffed before vanishing from her head like a smug little ghost.

She rolled her eyes so hard it nearly knocked her own brain loose, and then exhaled slowly. One more thing. Just one more thing to do before she opened those cursed tasks for saving Shelia.

Her lips parted, already calling softly, "Mmh, Cyrus—"

But halfway through the name, she stopped.

Of course. He was probably still with Ilyana.

Her mood dropped like a stone into a muddy pond.

And just like that, her gaze flicked to poor, unsuspecting Luca—who was minding his business, daydreaming, maybe imagining how to carve a spoon or whatever wholesome thing he liked to do in his free time.

Unfortunately for him, he happened to be in the line of sight.

Isabella's mood turned into an icy blade aimed right at him.

Luca blinked, snapping out of his thoughts the moment her sharp gaze hit him like a slap to the face. He straightened instantly, eyes wide, lips parting in panic.

Before he could open his mouth and get verbally roasted—

"Do you need help with something?"

The question came from Kian, calm and soft, but somehow loud enough to slice through the tension.

Luca deflated in relief like a near-death soldier spared on the battlefield.

Isabella blinked, turning to face Kian.

"Mmh." She gave a quiet nod, her tone clipped, her smile long gone.

Kian didn't say anything more, didn't press or ask questions. He just walked closer, quietly waiting to assist again—his towering figure shadowing her gently, not intrusively.

And then, as if the air itself shifted—

Footsteps. Calm, unhurried. Familiar.

She didn't even need to turn around.

She already knew exactly who it was.