Isabella turned toward the sound, already knowing who it was. No footsteps she’d ever heard had the gall to sound that confident. Steady. Cold. Regal.
And there he was. Kian.
He stepped into view like the moon had personally lit his path, the last threads of sunlight glinting off his toned chest, smooth and sculpted like it had been carved with care by so ancient forest god. His bare torso glead with a faint sheen of sweat from the heat of the day, every defined line of muscle visible beneath his perfect looking skin. His abs—by the ancestors—were sharp enough to cut through the clay walls behind her hut. His white hair, short and tousled from his journey, caught the light like fresh snow, only adding to the divine-in-the-wrong-way thing he had going.
And of course, that icy air around him was ever-present, wrapping around his form like an invisible mantle of authority. Most people would buckle under the pressure. But not Isabella. Oh no, not her.
Because when his silver eyes landed on her, that cold aura thinned. Barely. A flicker, like a shadow hesitating in the sun.
And Isabella?
She gawked. No sha. Not an ounce.
"Damn," she muttered under her breath, then louder—so loud even the birds seed to stop chirping—"Boo, you fine."
The two beastn standing as guards near her hut visibly twitched. One of them—a young lion beast with wide eyes—whispered to the other, "Did she just say that to our king?"
The other one nodded stiffly, eyes darting like he expected lightning to strike. "Is she not scared of getting beheaded?"
Isabella didn’t even blink at them. "Don’t worry," she said offhandedly. "He can’t behead . I’m too pretty for that."
Kian had paused a few feet away, one prefect brow raised ever so slightly in amusent, though he said nothing.
Instead, Isabella took a step forward, holding out a small round clay dish, carved at the edges with faint tribal marks. Inside it sat a shiny, blue-colored lump—slightly textured and rounded at the top.
"Soap," she announced like she’d just gifted him the sun itself. "I finally made soap. Feel free to cry."
Kian tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking down to the humble creation with a single nod of acknowledgnt. Then, wordlessly, he stepped forward.
Isabella’s eyes widened as he kept approaching. "Wait—hold on, why’re you—"
Without warning, he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest.
Her breath whooshed out as her face smashed gently into those hard, cold abs. "Eiiie—hey!" she squeaked, sounding very un-regal and very much like soone whose brain had montarily short-circuited from sudden contact with a very, very handso man. "Sir! Sir, you’re gonna give heart palpitations!"
She tilted her head back dramatically, gazing up at him. "If you wanted to cuddle, you could’ve just said so."
He didn’t smile. Instead, his expression remained unreadable, blue eyes focused and calm. He looked down at her like he was inspecting a problem he couldn’t solve.
"Uh," Isabella blinked. "You’re not about to end , right? Because I promise I wasn’t trying to seduce you. That was just my default setting."
Still silent.
Then he finally spoke. "Hold on tight."
"What do you —"
The ground disappeared.
There was a whoosh, like the world inhaled—and suddenly the humid air shifted. Cool mist kissed her face, her legs wobbled, and the scent of minerals and sweet moss replaced the earthy scent of her hut.
The next thing she knew, her feet were touching soft stone.
A hot spring.
They were in a hot spring.
Glowing plants hung low from the trees, casting golden light over the clear pool. Steam swirled gently off the water’s surface, dancing into the moonlight that filtered through the canopy above. The water looked almost unreal—so still, so blue, it could’ve been glass.
Isabella’s jaw dropped. Then her stomach flipped.
"Oh my god—oh my god—I’m going to throw up," she stamred, stumbling backward, hands on her knees. "You can’t just teleport a girl with no warning! I almost left my spirit in the hut!"
Kian stood a few feet away, serene as ever, arms crossed over his chest. "Don’t throw up," he said calmly. "You’ll contaminate the water."
Her head snapped up. "Excuse ?"
He didn’t even look at her. "This is a sacred spring. I don’t need it slling like regret and lunch."
Isabella narrowed her eyes. "You’re joking."
He gave her a sidelong glance. "Am I?"
She glared. Hard. The audacity.
But just as she opened her mouth to clap back with sothing properly dramatic, she caught it.
The sound.
A low chuckle.
Soft, rare, like thunder muffled behind velvet clouds.
Her eyes widened slowly. "Did you... just laugh?"
Kian didn’t respond. But his lips twitched.
Isabella blinked. Once. Twice. Then—
Isabella blinked again, slower this ti. Her mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.
"Oh my god," she breathed, pointing at him like he’d just sprouted a second head. "You’re not Kian."
Kian arched a brow.
She took a step back, dramatically clutching her chest. "Who are you?! A demon? So kind of sexy imposter? Oh gods—my Kian would never laugh. He broods. He glares. He teleports people without warning! He doesn’t chuckle like so—so flirtatious forest fae!"
Kian stared, still silent.
"I demand answers!" she gasped, spinning in place as if expecting another Kian to erge from behind a tree. "You possessed my Kian! Give him back! Give back my emotionally constipated winter king!"
She kept spiraling, now pacing dramatically along the edge of the spring, arms waving. "Where’s the stone-faced royalty who looks like he hasn’t smiled since the womb? Huh?! What have you done with him?! I was just getting used to his terrifying presence and now—now this—this chuckling demon man shows up with abs and charm and—"
Kian took a step forward.
Isabella’s words died instantly.
She blinked up at him, swallowed hard, and slowly backed up half a step.
His chest was right there—so close she could count the droplets of water clinging to his skin. His eyes locked onto hers with the intensity of a predator who’d just heard one too many jokes.
Suddenly, her voice dropped to a whisper. "Okay... noted. Possessed or not... still terrifying."
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