It was night already, and the festival was in full bloom.
The village was alive—music pounding, drums echoing, voices rising into the night air. Torches lit up every corner, laughter bounced off the walls, and smoke from the roasted at curled into the sky.
It reminded Isabella of the day she first stepped into this village.
Back then, they’d also been celebrating sothing. Except, if she was being brutally honest, it hadn’t been nearly this nice.
The night she first ca? Ugh. Gosh, she wouldn’t lie—they had looked a ss. Dirty, slly, completely unkempt. Like they hadn’t discovered soap yet. Barbarians, plain and simple.
But now? Tonight?
Two months of her influence and—wow. The glow-up was insane. They looked better. Slled better. Acted better.
Isabella sat back proudly, sipping her drink as she surveyed the scene. Yep. This was her legacy. She, singlehandedly, had dragged these savages halfway toward civilization. She deserved a crown just for that.
Oh, and the at. She couldn’t forget the at.
Perfectly spiced, perfectly juicy—thanks to her and Cyrus, of course, who had taught them how to actually season food. And paired with whatever it was they were drinking—she was 80% sure it was palm wine—the whole thing was chef’s kiss.
Honestly, she was having fun. She was laughing with Ophelia and so of the other girls, joking, eating, tossing little bites of at to Glimora, who purred happily at her feet. For once, things felt light. Easy.
Until.
Two shadows cut through the crowd.
And just like that, all the attention shifted.
Not because Isabella looked good tonight. (Though she did. She knew it. Everyone knew it. She looked stunning.) But this ti, the attention wasn’t about her beauty.
It was about the two n walking straight toward her.
Kian. Their one and only lion king.
And Cyrus. Sweet, perfect Cyrus.
Her heart gave one violent thump, and she swallowed hard.
If it had just been Cyrus, no one would’ve blinked. He was always at her side. People were used to it. But Kian? The lion king himself stepping into this little corner of the festival? That was a spectacle.
And the worst part?
Both n had sothing in their arms, wrapped in animal hide.
The village buzzed. Whispers sparked imdiately. Heads turned, eyes widened, mouths opened.
"Are they..."
"Both of them? At the sa ti?"
"Moon Mother save us, what’s about to happen?"
Isabella could practically feel the drama radiating through the crowd.
Her curiosity spiked instantly. She stood, brushing off her dress, and walked toward them. Her heels clicked softly against the dirt, her steps light, graceful—but her mind was racing.
Her eyes darted between Kian and Cyrus, then down to the fur-draped bundles in their hands. Then back up again.
"What’s this?" she asked, blinking up at them, her tone caught between curious and nervous.
Neither answered.
They just looked at her. Then, at the sa ti, they moved.
They pulled back the animal hides in one fluid motion.
Gasps rippled through the crowd, and Isabella herself froze, breath catching.
"Oh my..."
Her eyes widened.
Kian’s gift glead first. Jewelry for her arms and ankles, crafted from a stunning mixture of blue and white flowers. The design was sharp, elegant, ethereal. The texture was harder, more solid, the kind of thing that scread durability and strength.
It was regal. It was bold. It was Kian.
Isabella’s hand shot out on instinct, lifting one of the pieces carefully. It was so pretty. Too pretty. Her lips parted as she breathed, "It’s beautiful."
But before she could linger too long, Cyrus’s creation caught her eye.
His was different. Jewelry again, but softer, more flexible. A necklace woven with red and baby pink flowers, delicate yet intricate. And another piece—one ant for her hair, designed to be placed on her head and fall back in a gentle cascade.
It was tender. It was gentle. It was Cyrus.
Her heart squeezed as she picked it up, fingers brushing over the petals. She couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips. "This is so, so pretty," she said, her voice soft.
Both n watched her intently.
Kian, his piercing blue eyes unreadable but sharp. Cyrus, his warm gaze holding quiet hope.
And Isabella?
She stood caught between them, clutching both gifts in her hands, her chest tight, her mind screaming one thing loud and clear:
They both expect to choose.
But instead of choosing, Isabella decided she would take them both.
Because honestly? They were both beautiful creations. How could she possibly pick one over the other? Both n had poured themselves into these gifts, and it showed. Rejecting either one would feel cruel—like stabbing soone in the heart with the very thing they had made for her.
And besides... she wasn’t blind. She knew how Kian and Cyrus were with each other. Their relationship was complicated enough. If she picked just one, the tension tonight would explode into a full-on war. Accepting both? That was the only way to keep the peace.
At least for now.
So she smiled brightly and, unable to contain her excitent, she rose up on her toes.
Imdiately—like it was instinct—Kian’s arm wrapped around her waist, firm and unyielding. He pulled her closer, his towering fra lowering slightly to et her.
Her heart skipped.
She leaned in and brushed a quick kiss against his cheek, whispering softly, "Thank you so much."
Kian’s jaw tightened under her lips, and for just a fraction of a second, the icy king looked almost human.
Isabella dropped back down on her heels, her face warm, her fingers clutching the jewelry like they were priceless treasures. Her smile lingered, her chest bubbling with joy.
But then she froze.
Because out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cyrus.
He was still watching her, still smiling softly, his eyes filled with warmth and patience. And Isabella’s heart twisted.
Oh no.
She couldn’t just leave him hanging like that. She had thanked Kian with a kiss—how could she not do the sa for Cyrus? That would be unfair. It would feel wrong. Both n had gone through the sa effort. Both had given her sothing priceless.
So, biting her lip, she turned back toward Kian and gave him a quick glance.
Then she motioned gently for Cyrus to co closer.
The mont she did, the atmosphere changed.
Kian’s eyes darkened instantly. His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her firmly into his chest, his expression sharp enough to cut.
He stepped between her and Cyrus with predatory precision, and his voice ca out like frost.
"She says thank you for your gift."
The tone was so cold, so final, that Isabella gasped out loud.
The crowd around them shifted, whispers sparking like little fires. Nobody dared speak too loudly, but the air was heavy with excitent. They were watching history unfold, and every villager knew it.
Cyrus’s jaw tightened, though his smile remained. He didn’t argue—not directly. But the flicker in his eyes told Isabella he was not happy. Not at all.
Still, his voice was calm as he said, "If you’re hungry, I’ll go get so food and sothing for you to drink."
It was such a simple offer, but it carried weight. A reminder: I can take care of her too.
Isabella nodded quickly, desperate to cool the fire in the air. Her heart was pounding from the tension, but she forced a smile, silently thanking him.
When Cyrus’s lips curved warmly at her in response and he finally walked away, she turned imdiately back to Kian, peeling herself out of his hold.
Her eyes narrowed.
"What is wrong with you?" she hissed, glaring up at him. "Why didn’t you let thank him properly?"
Kian’s expression didn’t flinch. His icy gaze bore down on her as he replied evenly, "You can thank him without getting so close to him, can’t you?"
Her jaw dropped.
"Even though he went through a lot to make this for too?" she shot back, her tone sharp.
Kian’s lips thinned. "I also went through a lot to make this for you."
"Exactly!" Isabella threw her hands up. "That’s why I gave you a kiss on the cheek. I should’ve given him one too!"
Kian’s eyes narrowed further. His voice dropped low, the kind of voice that made the crowd shift uncomfortably even though he wasn’t speaking to them.
"No. Your kisses are only for . Don’t go around sharing them."
Isabella gasped dramatically, one hand flying to her chest as if she were clutching a string of pearls (fake pearls, obviously, but still).
"Excuse ?" she said, her tone dripping with mock outrage. "Did I just hear you correctly? Are you claiming my kisses now like property?"
Secretly, though, her heart fluttered. She hated to admit it, but there was sothing about Kian when he was like this—so possessive, so absolute—that made her stomach flip. Not that she’d ever tell him that. Oh no. He would never hear the end of it if she did.
She opened her mouth, ready to roast him properly, when she noticed sothing.
Kian’s gaze had shifted. His eyes weren’t on her anymore.
They were locked on sothing behind her.
Her frown deepened. Oh, she knew that look. She didn’t even need to turn to know who it was.
And right on cue, she heard the voice.
"Oh my, it complints your curves beautifully," Zyran drawled, his tone dripping with delight, his words carrying far enough for everyone nearby to hear.
Isabella froze.
Of course. Of course he would pick this mont to appear.
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