Isabella’s cheeks were on fire. Not the normal pink flush, no. This was red-alert tomato mode, the kind of blush that could power an entire village if soone bottled it. She buried her face in her hands like maybe, just maybe, if she couldn’t see Kian, he couldn’t see her either.
"Why... why didn’t you say anything?!" she snapped finally, peeking at him between her fingers.
Kian, anwhile, sat calm in the grass beside her, back straight, shoulders wide, the tall reeds bowing in the wind around him as though nature itself couldn’t decide whether to worship or run. He turned his head slightly, watching her ltdown with those steady, blue eyes.
"Say anything about what?"
Her jaw dropped. She yanked her hands down from her face and glared at him like he had just insulted her entire bloodline. "About them! About those won staring at us like we’re the main show of so ridiculous festival play! You knew they were watching, didn’t you? You—you just sat there! You didn’t even warn !"
Kian tilted his head, expression unbothered. "Warn you about what?"
"Warn about what?" Isabella repeated, voice climbing in pitch like she was about to break the sound barrier. "Warn about what? Are you—are you actually insane? You let sit here, all cuddled up with you, when half the village is over there whispering and pointing! Do you want them to carve it into the walls as history?!"
Kian’s gaze softened a fraction. "Yes. What is wrong with that?"
Her mouth opened. Nothing ca out. She tried again. Nothing. For once, Isabella—queen of snark, mistress of cobacks—was speechless. She waved her hands around like she was physically trying to grab the words out of the air.
"You—! I—! It’s just—!"
And then Kian leaned in. Slowly. Deliberately. The world tilted. The reeds bent away as though they were in on the secret. The grass sighed. Even the air felt thicker, like the earth itself knew what was coming.
"Kian..." she whispered, though it was more like a squeak than her usual sharp sass.
"Yes?" His voice was low, smooth, the kind of voice that should co with a warning label: Danger, may cause heart explosions.
And then he kissed her.
Not a simple brush of lips. No. This was a deep, soul-snatching, breath-stealing kiss. The kind of kiss that should be illegal in at least seven kingdoms. His hand cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer, while his other arm wrapped firm around her waist, anchoring her like she might float away otherwise.
Isabella’s thoughts? Gone. Completely gone. She forgot the village, the won, the grass, the wind, even Glimora, who had popped her head up on Isabella’s lap, eyes wide like, Mama what is happening here?? Again?
Her body went hot, her heart drumd against her ribs like it wanted out. She clutched at Kian’s chest, not because she wanted to push him away (absolutely not), but because she needed sothing solid to hold onto before she lted straight into the soil.
The kiss stretched on and on, the world spinning and narrowing down to the warmth of his mouth, the firm pressure, the taste of him. It wasn’t fair, really. He was too good at this. Too steady. Too consuming.
And then—
"Your... your majesty, Kian..."
A shy female voice.
Both Isabella and Kian froze. His eyes snapped open instantly, narrowing, sharp as a blade. Cold, lethal. That was not the look of a man who appreciated interruptions.
Isabella, on the other hand, bolted upright, practically flinging herself backward out of his arms like a cat caught stealing fish. Her face was crimson, hotter than before, her lips tingling, her whole body trembling like she’d been struck by lightning.
She whipped her head toward the voice.
Four young won stood a few feet away, their skirts fluttering in the breeze, their eyes wide, their mouths covered as though they had just stumbled onto the most scandalous sight of their lives. Which, in a way, they had.
Isabella’s stomach dropped. She wanted to die. No, she wanted to evaporate. She wanted the earth to open up, swallow her whole, and kindly spit her out sowhere far, far away—preferably a dinsion where no one knew her na, her face, or the fact she had just been caught kissing the cold, terrifying King Kian like so desperate lovestruck maiden.
Her blush deepened, impossible though it seed. Her hands flew up to cover her face.
Glimora, traitor that she was, climbed onto Isabella’s shoulder, tail flicking, eyes glittering with amusent. The little beast gave her mama a smug look that said, Hehe now it’s your turn to be uncomfortable
Kian didn’t move. His hand, which had been holding Isabella’s waist a second ago, rested lightly on the grass, fingers curled slightly as though restraining himself. His gaze fixed on the four won.
It was cold. Flat. The kind of gaze that could freeze a man solid mid-breath.
The won trembled under it. One even shuffled a half-step back. But still, they stood rooted, their eyes flicking between Kian and Isabella like they had just discovered the juiciest gossip to ever exist.
Isabella groaned behind her hands. "Oh my god. Oh my actual god. Kill now. Right now. Kian, stab . Please. End my suffering."
Kian turned his head slightly toward her, one brow raised. "Why would I stab my woman?"
Her hands dropped just enough for her eyes to peek out, horrified. "Kian! Not the ti!"
He simply leaned back a little, crossing one leg casually over the other, looking every inch the composed king lounging in a adow, as though being caught making out in broad daylight was nothing at all.
anwhile, Isabella’s soul was combusting.
She lowered her hands, forced a weak, wobbly smile at the girls. "Uh... hey. Fancy seeing you here. Beautiful weather we’re having, right? Lovely, sunny, perfect for, um..." She waved vaguely at Kian, "...photosynthesis."
The girls blinked. One stifled a giggle.
Kian’s lips curved—just barely. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but Isabella caught it and glared daggers at him.
She wanted to yell. She wanted to crawl into a hole. She wanted to do literally anything except sit here with evidence of that kiss still warm on her lips while four strangers stared like they had front-row seats to a forbidden romance drama.
The breeze shifted. The reeds rustled. Sowhere in the distance, a bird chirped as though mocking her misery.
And Isabella, clutching Glimora like a shield, thought very seriously about whether she could get away with faking her own death.
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