The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 636: Do you think I can rest when you are acting like you want to crawl into the wall and become part of it

Chapter 636: Chapter 636: Do you think I can rest when you are acting like you want to crawl into the wall and become part of it

They wouldn’t let her exist peacefully. They would either want to buy her, steal her, or destroy her.

Cyrus’s throat tightened until it hurt.

"I can’t stay," a thought whispered coldly. "If I stay, I bring the knife to her door."

His eyes flickered toward Isabella.

She didn’t look afraid. She looked like a queen who had decided that winter would not beat her.

Cyrus felt a wave of tenderness so strong it made him dizzy.

Then fear chased it.

If Fifth City truly followed his trail, Isabella would be in danger because of him.

Cyrus’s chest tightened. His tail, hidden under his robe, curled slightly as his body instinctively prepared to flee.

"If I disappear," he thought, "maybe they will follow me instead. If I go far enough, maybe the village will be safe."

He hated himself for thinking that. He also could not stop.

While the hunters continued searching and Kian continued organizing, Isabella turned away and headed toward the central hall.

The moment she entered, people gathered around her like water rushing toward a basin. Women clutched their children, older men bowed stiffly, younger guards stared at her with shining eyes.

"Goddess," an older woman said, voice trembling. "Thank you. If you did not teach us, if you did not make them build, we would have died last night."

A younger woman bowed deeply. "Thank you for saving our children."

Even some men who normally felt awkward praising a female openly lowered their heads and spoke quickly. "Thank you."

Isabella listened, her expression calm but her chest warming despite herself. Being thanked like this always made her uncomfortable, because she didn’t do things for praise nowadays.

Maybe the past her would be grinning from ear to ear by now. But now adays she did things because she refused to lose.

"It’s okay," she said firmly. "Do not thank me with your mouths. Thank me by working harder. Winter is not finished, and enemies do not stop because they failed once."

The villagers nodded rapidly.

Isabella didn’t let them sink into relief. She pushed them forward with orders, the way she always did.

"The wounded will be tended immediately," she said. "No one hides injuries to look brave. If you bleed quietly and die later, I will haunt you myself. Also, I will be extremely annoying as a ghost."

A few women actually smiled despite themselves. The idea of Isabella haunting people sounded terrifying, but also strangely believable.

She continued. "Those with injuries stay under watch. Hunters, check the forest edge for leftover tracks. Guards, repair the west wall. Women, keep children inside until inspection is complete. Nobody wanders around outside playing hero."

Everyone rushed to obey.

When the hall emptied, Isabella exhaled and stepped back outside.

From a distance, Kian watched her.

He saw her small figure wrapped in thick fur, belly heavy, walking with steady steps like she carried not only babies, but the weight of the entire tribe. She didn’t look like a warrior king, but her presence held more authority than most kings he had ever met.

Kian’s chest tightened.

Lucky.

That was the word that rose in him, bitter and sweet at the same time.

He felt lucky she had fallen into his village instead of anyone else’s. He felt lucky she chose to stay. He felt lucky she was alive after last night.

At the same time, a darker thought lingered.

"If the world sees her like this," he thought, "they will not leave her alone."

His gaze hardened. He turned back toward the dead attackers and the cloth markings.

If Fifth City had placed its eyes on them, then the night raid was only the first knock on the door.

He would not let that door open.

...

Isabella didn’t confront Cyrus immediately.

She waited.

She waited until the wounded were wrapped in furs and fed hot soup. She waited until the children stopped crying and the village returned to its winter rhythm, patrols moving on walls, smoke rising from meat houses, women whispering while sewing.

She waited until the evening fire turned low and the palace corridors quieted down.

Then she went looking for him.

She found Cyrus near the storage corridor, standing alone with his hand pressed against cold stone, as if he needed the chill to keep his head clear. His shoulders were tense. His breathing was controlled. His pink eyes looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with lack of sleep.

From behind, he looked like someone trying to hold himself together by stubbornness alone.

Isabella stepped closer quietly, not because she feared him, but because she understood that he looked fragile in a way he never allowed anyone to see.

"Cyrus," she said softly.

He flinched, then turned quickly. His eyes immediately scanned her face, her posture, her stomach, checking if she was hurt like it was the first thing his heart knew how to do.

"Isabella," he said hoarsely. "Why are you here. You should be resting."

Isabella crossed her arms. "Do you think I can rest when you are acting like you want to crawl into the wall and become part of it."

Cyrus’s lips twitched slightly, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes.

Isabella stepped closer until they were only a breath apart. She could smell his familiar scent, cool and clean, with a hint of herbs and smoke. She could also smell something else under it, faint but sharp.

Fear.

"You pulled away from me last night," she said quietly. "You looked at your hands like you were disgusted with yourself. You don’t do that. Not unless something is wrong."

Cyrus swallowed. His throat bobbed hard.

He wanted to deny. He wanted to smile gently and say she was overthinking. He wanted to say it was nothing.

But he knew Isabella.

If he lied, she would smile sweetly, then corner him again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, until the truth fell out whether he wanted it to or not.

So he lowered his head.