"Plus, he sleeps at the far end of the room, so there’s nothing wrong with that," Isabella added quickly, her voice just a bit too high-pitched.
Zyran didn’t respond right away.
He just smiled.
The smile of a man who knew far too much. A slow, lazy smirk that said, I know exactly where you sleep, what ti you yawn, and how many tis you roll over before you pass out. That smile was saying a whole thunderstorm of bad things, and Isabella’s instinct scread at her that he wasn’t guessing. He knew.
Her instinct scread at her—Abort mission. That smile ans he knows things. Things no thunderbolt can fix.
"Fine, then I want the room next to yours," Zyran said, voice smooth, like he was asking for a cup of tea instead of preparing to ruin her life.
Isabella rolled her eyes so hard her neck almost snapped. "Of course you do."
Before she could open her mouth to give him the kind of answer he absolutely deserved, Kian cut in. "I already stay in that room."
The words dropped like a rock.
There was a second—just one tiny second—of stunned silence.
Because excuse her?
Isabella’s head whipped toward Kian so fast her golden hair smacked against her cheek. She blinked up at him, confused. Since when?! Her room was in the quietest corner of the palace wing. No one lived close. No one dared. She’d made sure of it.
Zyran blinked.
Because what???
That was the boldest, most unapologetic lie of the year.
But Kian? Her precious emotionally unavailable lion? He didn’t even look at her. His sharp jaw was clenched tight, blue eyes cold and locked directly on Zyran. The tension between the two of them? Nuclear.
Isabella caught on imdiately. Ah. So this was a bluff. A territorial bluff.
And she? She would play the hell along.
"That’s right," she said cheerfully, a little too cheerfully if you asked anyone sane. She turned to Zyran with an exaggerated nod and clasped her hands behind her back like a proud sidekick. "He already stays there."
Her golden hair bounced like she was in a shampoo comrcial.
Zyran, however, was not clapping.
No, Zyran was staring at both of them like they had personally betrayed the gods.
Now, let’s be clear. Zyran wasn’t mad that Isabella had lied. If she’d done it all on her own, he would’ve clapped. Hell, he might’ve written her a poem about it, he’d have let it go. Probably even found it cute.
But Kian? Kian?
Zyran’s nostrils flared just barely.
Kian had lied to him. Kian, who acted like he was above everyone else, had the audacity to fabricate living arrangents just to keep him away?
And worse? Isabella had taken his side like so proud little wife.
The betrayal was personal.
If Kian said the room to Isabella’s right was his, then surely the room on the left must be empty, right?
"If you stay in the room on the right-hand side," Zyran said, voice suddenly calm and polite—too polite, "that ans the one on the left-hand side is free, right?"
But he wasn’t looking at Kian.
He was looking directly at Isabella, like a cat daring a canary to keep lying.
The way he said it was so casual, but the subtext was clear:
Lie again, sweetheart. I dare you.
Isabella’s brain went into overdrive. Sweat blood at the back of her neck.
Quick. Think, think, think.
"My friend Ophelia stays there!" she blurted, clapping her hands together in fake innocence. "Yep! That’s her room!"
Zyran didn’t blink.
He just tilted his head.
One beat. Two. And then—
"Oh, you little liar."
Isabella flinched.
"Ophelia sleeps next to you," he said sweetly, smiling like the devil just found out where she hid her soul. "On a separate fur. You even tuck her in."
Her eyes widened. "How did you—"
"How did I know?" Zyran echoed, eyes twinkling like a cat who just knocked over a thousand-year-old vase. "I don’t know. I’m just really good at finding things out."
He shrugged like it was no big deal, like he hadn’t just exposed her whole sleeping chart.
Isabella stared at him in horror.
She stared at him like he had just admitted to being a forest spirit—or worse, a closet-dwelling spy.
Was he a demon? A feral cat in human skin? A stalker god?
Or—worse—was he actually just that good at this?
How did he know all this?
Kian, anwhile, had gone absolutely still.
Kian, who had remained silent, was visibly seething now. His jaw flexed as he looked away from Zyran and down at Isabella. His hand curled slightly at his side, like he was stopping himself from yanking Zyran back by the collar.
He didn’t trust the man. Not one damn bit. And every ti Zyran opened his mouth, that fact cented harder.
But Kian wasn’t one to back down. Ever. And if the ga was bluffing, he’d bluff until it bled.
And the more he thought about it, the more the strategic part of his mind twisted it into sothing logical. If Zyran did get a room, maybe it was smarter to keep him close where he could be watched... instead of roaming freely and being unpredictable.
That didn’t an he liked it.
But it made it harder to argue.
Still, Kian wasn’t the type to go back on his word. He’d said he stayed next to Isabella. Now he’d have to make it true.
Zyran’s smile widened. "Seems like I’ll be winning this round again," he said, voice dipped in honey but aid like a dagger. His gaze lifted, t Kian’s directly.
For a mont, the air went still.
Isabella, standing between two apex predators pretending to play house, suddenly felt very much like a prize lon at a village fair.
She looked up at Kian, and her stomach sank.
Yep. She saw it. She saw the mont he caved.
She lost.
Zyran was getting the room next to hers.
Oh. Hell. No.
Was she the only sane person here?!
Because let’s be real—this man? This Zyran? This full-ti chaos generator and part-ti seduction expert? Should not be within sniffing range of her bedroom.
She took a breath, prepared to launch into a well-earned explosion, Her lips parted. "Okay, wait—"
But Zyran, ever the nace, cut her off before she could even inhale properly.
"Also," Zyran added, raising a finger and cutting her off before she could even get going, "just making myself clear: if you decide to have a change of room, I’m coming with you."
He grinned.
Isabella froze.
Her fingers twitched.
Her entire soul paused.
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