"I never said you talk too much," Kian began, arms folded loosely as he leaned against the cold stone wall, one leg resting over the other. "I simply said you tend to talk too much when you’re mad."
Isabella froze mid-step. Her slipper scuffed against the dusty floor as she whipped her head around to face him. "Oh, thank you for the correction, Lord Shadow and Silence. What a generous, precise observation."
She gestured dramatically at the empty room with both arms as if she were hosting a tour of the Palace of Emotional Injustice. "And what exactly about this entire situation should make feel calm and composed, hmm? Your sister is practically at death’s door, my emotions are on a seesaw, my chest’s been tight since I saw Shelia like that—I can’t breathe properly, I swear, and don’t even get started on—Glimora!"
Kian blinked. "What about her?"
"She LEFT !" Isabella snapped, pacing again. "Left for Cyrus! Just like that. No loyalty. No hesitation. Just—’Oh yes, sir, take away, you gentle giant.’ Didn’t even look back to see if I was okay!" (I doubt that’s what really happened... but who knows?)
"She’s a baby beast," Kian said flatly.
"She’s a traitor," Isabella fired back, pointing a finger at the door like Glimora was still standing there, sipping betrayal from a teacup.
Kian didn’t reply. His mouth twitched slightly, and Isabella caught it.
"Was that a SMIRK?" she gasped, putting a hand on her chest. "Are you smirking at right now?"
"It wasn’t—"
"It was. It absolutely was. I’m out here losing my mind, and you, the man who kept your own sister’s tragic condition a secret like it was so forbidden royal recipe—are SMIRKING at ."
She turned on her heel and started pacing again, throwing her hands up with every new thought. "I an, seriously, what were you thinking?! Do you know how bad she looks in there?! I’ve seen stead vegetables look healthier. You let her rot! Rot! And then you have the audacity to say I talk too much?! I only talk too much because I care!"
Kian, previously smug, suddenly stilled. His arms dropped slightly from their folded posture.
His face softened.
"You care?" he asked, voice barely louder than the faint crackle of the wall torch.
Isabella blinked. The pace in her step faltered. She looked up, her lips parting.
"Well... of course, I care."
Silence wrapped around the room like a warm cloth pressed to a bruise.
She looked down again, suddenly fiddling with her fingers. "What, did you think I’m just here for the free drama? That I stord into the heart of a crumbling, weirdly humid castle in my sparkly robe for the thrill of it?"
She sniffed once, more annoyed than emotional. "She’s not just your sister, Kian. She’s mine too. She’s Opehlia’s. She’s Luca’s. She’s Cyrus’. She belongs to all of us. To this village. To . And you—you just locked her away like so broken piece of furniture you didn’t want anyone to see."
Kian’s jaw tensed.
"I didn’t hide her because I was ashad," he said, voice quiet but firm. "I hid her because I knew she only had ."
"Well, that’s where you’re wrong," Isabella snapped, spinning around again, stepping closer to him now. "She doesn’t only have you. She has , too, okay? She has Opehlia, who’s probably going to cry until she breaks the floor. And she has Cyrus, who’d probably try to cook up a lung out of leaves and mountain stones if he had to. And she has the ENTIRE VILLAGE, because she’s kind and sweet and helpful and—"
She didn’t notice how close she was now.
"—And I’m tired, and I’m scared, and I don’t know how to fix her, and I don’t even know if I can but I’m going to try anyway because that’s what people do when they care. They don’t hide things. They—"
She barely saw him move.
One second she was ranting, and the next, Kian’s hand was at the back of her neck, the other cradling her jaw, and his mouth was on hers.
Isabella gasped.
Her first instinct was to push—just out of sheer shock—but the mont he deepened the kiss, her knees softened. Her hands gripped his arms tightly, and her brain turned into a flickering candle.
His lips were warm and demanding. Not forceful, but possessive—like he’d been holding this back for years and now had no intention of stopping.
He kissed her like she was made of secrets and fire, and he’d finally figured out the language.
Isabella’s eyes fluttered closed. Her heart? Sowhere near her ears. Her breath? Now a wish.
When he finally pulled away, she realized she was still holding onto the side of his neck, her thumbs brushing against his jaw without her noticing.
Her lips parted, dazed.
Her face was flushed, and her thoughts had scattered like leaves in a windstorm.
And then... he had the nerve to speak.
"I like when you talk too much," he murmured against her lips, thumb brushing her cheek. "It fills the silence I didn’t know I hated."
She blinked up at him.
For the first ti in her entire life, Isabella had no coback.
No sharp jab. No dramatic hand wave. No full-body rant.
Just... blinking. At his face.
His infuriatingly calm face.
Kian didn’t look smug.
Didn’t look regretful.
Didn’t even look surprised by what he just did.
He just looked—there. Present. Still. Like he’d finally made a move he’d been holding back forever.
"I..." she started.
And stopped.
Because what exactly was she supposed to say?
Thank you for that kiss that short-circuited my brain like lightning through wet toast?
How dare you kiss when I was in the middle of a perfectly good ltdown?
Or perhaps the more accurate: Do it again but slower?
Her lips still tingled. Her knees were questionable. Her thoughts were non-existent.
"Why..." she tried again, frowning now, searching for words as her hand slowly lifted and pressed to her chest, as if to physically calm the erratic beating of her heart.
Kian tilted his head slightly, his voice lower than before—like it might crack the silence if he dared speak too loud.
"You were spiraling," he said simply.
Isabella furrowed her brow. "So you kissed ?!"
"You needed to stop talking."
A pause.
She stared.
"...So you kissed ."
He blinked once. "It worked, didn’t it?"
Her jaw dropped. "That’s your logic?! That’s—" She stopped again. She didn’t even have the energy. Or the will. Or the vocabulary to fight that.
Her hand slowly rose to her lips like they’d just been robbed and needed to file a report.
Kian stepped back half a pace, giving her room. Not because he was scared. But because she looked like she might explode—or lt. He wasn’t sure which. Possibly both.
Isabella swallowed, eyes scanning the floor like it might hold an answer. Then she slowly looked up again.
"You...you don’t kiss people."
"I just did."
"You don’t even like people."
"I like you."
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