The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 552: Did you poison me

The spoon touched Isabella’s tongue.

Warmth spread across her tastebuds.

Then confusion.

Then betrayal.

Then rage.

Her eyes widened so slowly it was almost theatrical.

Osiris froze, still bent in front of her like an obedient servant awaiting praise.

Glimora peeked over the blanket, hopeful.

Isabella swallowed the liquid with the reluctance of a woman who had just realized her mistake in trusting a man.

She blinked once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Then she whispered, voice flat, emotionless, soulless:

"Osiris."

He brightened. "Yes."

"What is this."

"It is soup."

"No. I mean, what is this."

"The food I cooked."

Isabella stared into the bowl at the strange brownish mixture. It was bubbling even though it was no longer on the fire. A leaf inside it was moving. Actually moving. Like it was trying to swim out.

Her voice dropped lower. "Did you poison me."

Osiris’ jaw dropped. "What. No."

"Did you kill an animal that was already sick."

"What. No. I hunted it myself."

She paused. "Osiris... why is the soup making sounds."

He leaned forward. "Sounds."

The soup gurgled like a baby demon learning to talk.

Osiris blinked. "That is normal."

"No, it is not normal. Food is not supposed to have a heartbeat."

Osiris frowned at the bowl. "It does not have a heartbeat."

Glimora squeaked in horror as the surface of the soup rippled again.

Isabella slowly raised her eyes to him. "Osiris. What leaf did you put inside."

He hesitated.

And that was enough answer.

"OSIRIS."

He winced. "I put the green one."

"Which green one."

"The one that smells nice."

"Do you mean the one I specifically told you never to use because it causes hallucinations when boiled."

Osiris blinked. "Really."

"YES REALLY, YOU USELESS PHOENIX PEASANT."

He gasped. "I am a prince."

"Not in my eyes."

"My father would be offended."

"Your father is dead."

Osiris paused. "That is insensitive."

"OSIRIS YOU BOILED A HALLUCINATION LEAF IN MY SOUP."

Glimora hid behind Isabella’s arm and shook like a frightened pudding.

Isabella tossed the bowl away. It landed on the ground outside the tent and hissed.

Actually hissed.

Like a snake.

Both of them stared at it.

Osiris cleared his throat. "Well... at least it is warm."

Isabella looked at him like she had just realized she needed divine intervention.

"I should have cooked it myself."

"You were dying."

"I would rather die than drink that."

He frowned. "I worked very hard. I cut the meat. I washed the leaves."

"You washed a hallucinogenic leaf."

"How was I supposed to know."

"You licked it."

He gasped. "How did you know."

"You started talking to the tree outside."

Osiris looked genuinely betrayed by the world. "The tree was very friendly."

She threw her blanket over her head dramatically and screamed into it. "OH MY GOD. WHY AM I SUFFERING."

The tent rustled as Osiris stood up.

He reached for the pot again, determination plastered all over his face.

"I will try again."

"No."

"Isabella I can do it."

"No."

"I learned a lot from my mistakes."

"OSIRIS, YOU JUST CAUSED MY SOUP TO DEVELOP A PERSONALITY."

He nodded solemnly. "Yes. Which I will avoid next time."

"Next time. There will be no next time. I am banning you from cooking forever."

Osiris folded his arms. "You cannot ban me."

"I just did."

"You are not my mother."

"I am your nightmare."

Their eyes locked again.

Glimora squeaked as if witnessing a lovers’ quarrel. Except it was not romantic. It was pure violence held back by thin, thread-like patience.

Isabella threw the blanket aside and swung her legs off the bed to stand.

Immediately, Osiris pushed gently on her shoulder, forcing her back down.

"You rest."

She spluttered. "Rest. Rest. Did you not hear me. I need to cook something edible before my soul leaves my body."

Osiris shook his head. "Your hands are cold. You are sick. I will cook."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No Osiris."

"Yes Isabella."

"No you large featherless pigeon."

Osiris paused, offended. "I am not a pigeon. I am a phoenix."

"Well your phoenix brain is malfunctioning."

"That is rude."

"It is accurate."

Glimora squeaked in agreement.

Osiris inhaled deeply and said with stupid confidence, "I will cook again."

"NO YOU WILL NOT."

"I will."

"I will stab you if you touch that pot."

"I will take the pot away from the fire."

"I will stab you with the spoon."

"I will hide the spoon."

"You cannot hide all the spoons."

"I will hide them in my space."

"Oh my God."

This went on for several minutes.

Finally, Isabella gave up and flopped back inside the blanket like a dying noodle.

"Fine. Cook. But if I die, I will haunt you."

Osiris nodded proudly. "Okay."

"And curse your descendants."

"I do not have descendants yet."

"You will not have any if you keep feeding me poison."

"Then I will try harder."

"Try less hard. Try safe."

Osiris returned to the fire. He picked up the pot. Then picked up the wrong knife. Then put it down. Then picked the wrong ingredient. Then put it down. Then picked up another dangerous leaf. Then frowned.

He was genuinely trying.

Which somehow made it worse.

Glimora squeaked and tugged on Isabella’s hair as if saying, Mama, we are doomed.

Isabella sighed and sat up again. "Osiris."

He turned. "Yes."

She sighed louder. "Move. I will supervise. Sit down. No, not there, you are too close to the fire. Move. Move more. More. Enough."

Osiris sat like a scolded child.

For the next twenty minutes Isabella guided him.

"No, do not stir that fast, you are splashing everything."

"No, that leaf is safe but you are using too much."

"No, Osiris, meat does not cook in two seconds. Put it back."

"No, that is not tasting. That is drinking half the pot."

By the time they reached something edible, Osiris looked exhausted.

He held the bowl in both hands like a ritual object, approached her slowly, and helped her sit up again.

"Here," he said softly. "This one is safe. I promise."

She stared at him.

He waited.

She took a sip.

Warm.

Soothing.

Spiced.

Actually delicious.

Her eyes softened.

Her body relaxed.

Her cold felt a little less heavy.

Osiris watched her with quiet worry.

"Well," he said slowly. "Do you like it."

She swallowed.

"It is... tolerable."

He smiled a little. "Is that praise."

"No."

"It sounded like praise."

"It is not."

"It felt like praise."

"Oh my God Osiris, stop smiling like that."

But he kept smiling.

And Isabella, for one small second, did not hate him.