The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 99: I’ve learned a lot... about your cooking

"Oh no, Luca," Isabella gasped, her eyes wide with mock horror at the way he had phrased the question. It was almost too much, even for her. "Who should we kill?" It was a serious question, but the delivery was so deadpan that she couldn’t stop herself from blinking. She paused for a second, feeling the weight of the absurdity sink in. "You know what...never mind."

Luca simply nodded as if he hadn’t missed a beat, his face as serious as ever.

Opehlia, ever the sweet one, leaned in toward Luca, her voice barely above a whisper. "It means to serve," she said, her words as innocent as they could be.

Shelia raised an eyebrow at her, leaning in as well. "He wouldn’t understand," she whispered back with a knowing smirk.

"Stop whispering, girls," Isabella said, trying her hardest to fight off the creeping exhaustion. She could already feel the strain in her shoulders. Glimora, who had been happily rolling in the grass nearby, immediately scampered back to her, clinging to her side. Isabella glanced down at the little creature, offering her a tired smile as Glimora snuggled up against her with an understanding look. "You guys don’t make this easy, do you?"

The group, however, was oblivious to her fatigue. They were all far too focused on their own confusing thoughts.

Opehlia was standing with a beaming expression, practically vibrating with eagerness to help, while Shelia’s sassy air was ever-present. Luca, of course, stood stoic and serious as if he had come here to study ancient scrolls, not cook. Cyrus was just...well, there, quiet and too still. Isabella could feel the weight of his gaze, but it was so intense she wasn’t sure if he was deep in thought or wondering if she’d slip on the mess they were about to make. It was all so overwhelming.

"Alright, listen up," Isabella said, trying to calm herself down. "We are going to learn how to cook today, and that’s final. No more distractions. Let’s start with the basics."

She held up a bundle of herbs in her hand, staring each of them down. "These are essential. The right herbs and spices will make or break a dish, understand?"

Opehlia nodded eagerly, her wide eyes gleaming with excitement. "I’ve seen herbs used in potions before! This’ll be fun!"

"It’s not about potions, Opehlia," Isabella said with a sigh. "This is food. You use these herbs to enhance the flavor, not just for magic."

Opehlia’s face fell a little, but she still nodded enthusiastically, as if to reassure herself.

Shelia rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Oh please, I know this already. Just tell me when to throw them in."

"When to throw them in?!" Isabella echoed, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "There is a technique! You can’t just dump them in like it’s a magic spell. Some herbs need to be added at the start, some at the end, and others need to be boiled down to extract their flavors. You have to be precise."

But it seemed her words went in one ear and out the other. Shelia already had a handful of dried thyme and was getting ready to toss it into the pot.

"Wait!" Isabella nearly yelled, but Shelia was already halfway through her action. "No! You—"

It was too late. The thyme scattered into the pot, splashing the contents with a soft crackling sound.

"Shelia!" Isabella cried, her hands lifting in disbelief. She could feel the beginnings of a headache creeping in.

"What?" Shelia shot back, unbothered. "It’s just thyme. It’ll taste fine."

"It’s not fine!" Isabella snapped, stepping closer to the pot and inspecting it. "This isn’t how you do it! You have to steep it, release the oils slowly—" Her voice trailed off as Shelia blinked, unfazed.

With a confused look Shelia said "Well, I thought it was ready. And I don’t see what the big deal is."

Isabella: "...", she doesn’t have the time to give a speech today.

"It’s fine," Isabella grumbled, rubbing her temples. "Just... just don’t touch anything else for now. Let me handle it."

Luca was standing to the side, still intensely focused on the whole process, but entirely serious about every move he made. "Shouldn’t we focus on the meat next?" He asked, his voice low and calm.

Isabella turned to him, lips pressing into a thin line. "We’re not even halfway there yet, Luca!"

"I was just suggesting," Luca murmured, unfazed, completely unaware of the escalating chaos.

"You know what? Fine, let’s do it your way," Isabella snapped, her patience all but gone. She turned to the raw, bloody meat on the stone slab—and immediately recoiled. "Ugh! This is why I hate this part! It’s disgusting!" She pinched her nose, glaring at the slimy texture, the dark red juices oozing onto her fingers. "I was not built for this. I should be sipping fruit juice on a throne, not—this!"

Luca, ever serious, ignored her theatrics and picked up a sharpened stone. "Should I cut it into chunks?"

Isabella’s jaw dropped. "Luca, no! Absolutely not! Do I look like a savage to you? You don’t just hack at it like you’re fighting an enemy!" She dramatically wiped her hands on a leaf, still grimacing. "You have to—ugh—slice it thin! Neatly! With precision! So it cooks properly and doesn’t turn into a chewy nightmare!"

Luca, unfazed, simply nodded. "Thin slices. Understood."

Isabella groaned. "I hate this era so much." She whispered under her breath.

She grabbed a knife and demonstrated, showing him the correct technique. Luca nodded attentively, though he still didn’t seem entirely convinced. Meanwhile, Opehlia kept fidgeting, and Shelia was now stirring the pot of herbs she had ruined.

Isabella could feel the heat rising in her face. "We need to move faster! This is not how you cook!" she yelled, but it was too much to ask. She had explained so many times already, and it seemed like nothing was sinking in.

She was exhausted. She hadn’t even realized how much time had passed until she glanced up and saw the sun blazing mercilessly overhead. The heat pressed down on her, making her limbs feel heavier by the second. She could barely stand. Her body screamed in protest, and she was fairly certain that by tomorrow, she wouldn’t even be able to drag herself out of bed.

A few moments of silence passed as Isabella sat back down with a deep sigh. "Okay, okay, look. We need a new approach," she muttered to herself. "I can’t teach them all at once. I’ll have to show them, but I can’t waste any more resources."

She almost felt like crying. "I’ve done so much, and they’re still—"

That was when Cyrus spoke.

It was soft, almost too quiet to hear, but it broke through the tension like a sudden gust of wind.

"I think...I think I can help," Cyrus said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Isabella froze, eyes wide. She hadn’t heard him speak this much ever.

"You... can help?" she repeated, blinking.

Cyrus nodded, his gaze meeting hers. "I’ve learned a lot... about your cooking."

Isabella stared at him, incredulous. This quiet, serious man had been so still, so silent. And yet here he was, offering to help her. She wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or suspicious.

"Really?" she asked, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

"Really," Cyrus confirmed, his expression calm, but there was an earnestness in his eyes. "I’ll show them what to do."

Isabella blinked, then sighed in exasperation. "Well, I’ll be damned... looks like today’s not a total loss after all."

And with that, they all turned their attention to Cyrus.