The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

[Congratulations on making a Primitive Mirror]

[+44 points, +3 Survival Points, +3 Beauty Points]

The familiar glow of a Bubu notification floated into her vision like an annoying fly. Isabella only gave it a tired nod and kept walking, lips pursed in disinterest. She was used to the system being dramatic.

But something felt... off.

Why hadn't it disappeared yet?

She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing. "Why are you still here?"

"Mind your business and keep walking," Bubu replied flatly, floating beside her like it had nothing better to do.

Isabella gave it the most aggressive side-eye known to woman, but decided—for once—to do as she was told. It was a fine night, after all. The stars were out, the moon was bright, and her legs didn't hurt for once. She could let this one slide.

She glanced at Kian beside her, eyes lingering a second longer than usual. "Your eyes are very pretty."

Kian slowed his steps, brow twitching ever so slightly as he turned his head to glance down at her. His face remained blank. Cold. Regal. Dangerous.

And yet, Isabella didn't flinch. She just kept walking, beaming up at him like she'd said the most normal thing in the world.

Because in her world? It was.

No one else would dare speak to him like that—but she wasn't 'everyone else,' was she?

Kian stared for a beat longer. His gaze dropped briefly to her lips—was that an accident?—then back up to her bright, mischievous eyes. And somehow, his lips twitched into a small, fleeting smile. Real. Rare. Unarmored.

It hit her harder than she expected.

Isabella's own smirk faltered, softening into something more delicate, more genuine. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked ahead quickly, suddenly shy. Why the hell was that so effective?

Their steps were in sync, their shoulders brushing lightly as they walked beneath the arch of vine-covered trees that led back to the palace. The breeze was gentle. The silence was… pleasant. For once, it didn't feel like a power struggle between her chaos and his control.

Until—

Her pace faltered.

Just as they reached the edge of the courtyard, five tall, shadowy figures came into view—standing like carved statues at the palace entrance. Arms crossed. Expressions unreadable. Eyes gleaming under the moonlight.

Instantly, the calm she had felt turned into alertness.

Her eyes flicked across the group. They didn't flinch, didn't move, just stared like they had been waiting specifically for her.

She didn't say a word.

Instead, she took in their appearances with slow calculation. All of them were broad. All of them were tall. And all of them had four stripes inked into their right arms.

She swallowed slowly.

In this world, stripes weren't fashion—they were power. A visible mark of strength. Rank. Evolution.

Even without a proper guidebook, Isabella wasn't stupid.

She hadn't explored much of this strange world yet, but it was basic knowledge at this point: Four-striped beastmen were rare. Elite. Dangerous.

None of the men Isabella had seen since arriving in this strange village had four stripes—except Kian.

And Luca, who had three.

The rest? One-striped at best. Most had none. A few two-stripes, sure, but even those walked like they were trying to impress the wind.

That's why the palace guards escorting the strange men were sweating through their fur-lined skirts, eyes darting like rabbits caught between a fire and a spear.

Their hands hovered near their stone daggers, but not a single one moved.

Because the man standing at Isabella's side wasn't just a beastman.

He was four stripes. A living weapon. And worse—he was furious.

Even without saying a word, Kian's posture screamed danger. His back was straight, shoulders squared like a predator ready to pounce, and his blue eyes locked onto the approaching strangers with a gleam that made spines tingle.

Not because he feared them.

But because he feared for her.

His Bella.

She didn't need to see his face to know he was ready to slaughter. She could feel it—like a rising storm behind her.

Kian's arm shot out and pushed her behind him so fast she barely had time to gasp.

His grip around her wrist tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to say, Stay where I can protect you. Stay mine.

Isabella peeked around his arm, her heart hammering, but her expression blank. That's what she was good at—pretending to be calm even when her guts were tying themselves into knots.

Five men stood across from them. Strangers. Not dressed like villagers. Not even like the palace guards. Their hair was short and slicked back, and their bone weapons were strapped to their backs like they didn't expect to need them.

But their leader who also had four stripes inked boldly across his chest.

The tension in the air was suffocating. Even the flickering torches along the palace walls seemed to dim, like they didn't want to be seen witnessing what was about to unfold.

"Are you sure we want her?" one of the men whispered to another, voice just loud enough to carry across the tense silence. His eyes were on Isabella, flicking up and down in stunned disbelief. "She looks… ordinary."

Isabella's eyes narrowed.

Ordinary?

Her?

She felt Kian's body tense even more, and behind him, she rolled her eyes slightly.

Oh great. Here we go again. Someone's about to lose a tongue.

But the man kept speaking, voice unsure now. "She's too small. This doesn't match what we heard. Are you certain she's the one?"

His voice shook, just a little. Enough to reveal the doubt curling through him like a snake in tall grass.

Because even though she wasn't tall or muscular or anything close to terrifying, she stood out. Her skin unblemished, her golden- hair glinting under the torchlight like a halo. Her eyes—sharp and intelligent—didn't waver.

And perhaps that's what unsettled him most.

Because even now, surrounded and threatened, she didn't look like prey.

She looked like someone who already knew how this ended—and it wasn't with her losing.

"I understand now why the villagers call her goddess..." he muttered under his breath, and the man next to him nodded tightly.

"I thought it was just an exaggeration," another added. "But now that I'm seeing her..."

None of them finished their sentences. They didn't need to.

Even they could sense it.

Something was off about her.

Something powerful.

But their leader didn't waver.

"We want the woman," he said, stepping forward until his feet scraped the stone floor. His tone was flat. Cold. Certain.

Isabella's pulse spiked, but she kept her expression neutral.

Kian's response came low and dangerous. "And why would I give her to you?"

His hand, still wrapped around hers, squeezed tighter. Protective. Possessive. She could feel the heat of his anger radiating through his skin.

She didn't even realize she had stepped closer to him until her forehead nearly touched his back. She wasn't scared, she told herself.

She just… didn't like the way those men were looking at her.

Like she was property.

Like she was meat.

Like they'd drag her back in chains if they could.

Her fingers twitched, and Kian immediately noticed. His tail—usually relaxed—now curled like a whip behind him, swaying in that deadly rhythm she'd learned to recognize as he's about to break someone's neck.

The leader of the strangers smiled. Not a nice smile. Not even a polite one.

"Death is also an option," he said.

The silence that followed was complete.

Even the breeze itself seemed to hold its breath.

One of the palace guards made a choking sound, as if he couldn't believe the man had said it aloud.

Luca, who had been leaning casually against the palace wall, straightened with a soft chuckle that didn't match the glint in his eyes. "Well, someone's not making it back to Fangridge in one piece…"

Isabella's gaze shot to Kian's face—and her heart thumped harder.

Because he was smiling.

Not the soft one he gave her in private.

But the slow, dangerous one that came just before the killing started.