"OW! OW! Why did you hit ?!"
Osiris rubbed his head like he’d been struck with a boulder. "You’re always hitting ! This is abuse! This is actual phoenix abuse!"
"I’m always hitting you because you’re stupid," Isabella snapped, arms crossed.
"I’m not stupid! I just don’t have anywhere to sleep! I need sowhere to rest..."
He spread his arms dramatically like he was about to collapse from heartbreak. "My wings are tired, my back is sore, and my soul is emotionally bruised. I need comfort."
Isabella looked him dead in the eye, her voice dry. "Oh, really? Then co. Co sleep on my head."
Osiris blinked. "Huh?"
"Sleep on my head!" she repeated louder, waving her hand at her scalp like she was inviting a bird to nest there. "Since you’re so pitiful and broken and have nowhere else to sleep, why don’t you just crawl onto my head and make a ho there? You wanna balance your flaming feathers on my skull too?"
Cyrus let out a quiet cough.
Osiris frowned. "That’s sarcasm."
"Wow. Did the braincell finally wake up?" Isabella narrowed her eyes and pointed at the bed Osiris had thrown himself onto like it was a personal mattress showroom. "Osiris. You are a grown man. Why the hell do you keep disturbing like this?!"
"Well," Osiris shrugged lazily, "you’re the one who brought here."
That sentence hit the air like a thrown rock.
Cyrus’s hand paused mid-stir. He didn’t say anything, but Isabella caught the way his eyes darkened just slightly. His jaw tightened. He picked up another herb and focused harder than necessary.
Isabella’s heart squeezed.
She turned back to Osiris and lowered her voice. "Osiris, leave. When I’m done here, I’ll arrange a room for you to stay in."
"I can just stay here," Osiris said casually, glancing around the space. "Besides, on the mountain, we were always sleeping together, right?"
Silence.
Instant regret.
The way he said it. The tone. The timing. The implication.
Isabella’s soul almost jumped out of her body.
Her face exploded into flas. "Wh-Wh—! W-WE DID NOT—!"
Osiris gave her a pointed look. "Oh? Didn’t we share a blanket that night when it was snowing and—"
"YOU ABSOLUTE SCAMMING FEATHERBALL!" Isabella screeched, grabbing the nearest pillow and hurling it at him. "You know what?! You’re sleeping outside today! I don’t care if you’re a phoenix or a roasted chicken, you’re getting kicked out!"
"Hey! That’s uncalled for—"
"UNCALLED?! You’re out here giving people the wrong idea like I was your cozy forest side chick!"
"I was just telling the truth! We did share warmth—"
"I will set you on FIRE."
"Joke’s on you. I am fire."
Cyrus’s hand trembled.
He couldn’t take it anymore.
He set the mixing bowl down with a soft clack and stood up slowly, his back perfectly straight, his voice calm but firm. "I will have a room prepared for you, Phoenix."
Isabella blinked.
Osiris blinked.
Cyrus’s eyes were steady, but there was steel under the warmth. "Do not stress my mate."
The room fell silent.
Osiris opened his mouth, closed it, then awkwardly coughed and rolled off the bed like a scolded child. "Fine, fine. No need to get territorial."
Isabella’s chest swelled with so many feelings she nearly exploded. Cyrus had stood up for her. Soft, sweet, innocent Cyrus, who rarely raised his voice unless a flower was dying or soone was bleeding, had actually stepped in and defended her like a true serpentine husband!
She wanted to run to him and throw her arms around his neck and kiss him in front of the whole world.
So she did half of that.
She marched over, stopped right in front of Osiris, and pointed furiously. "You heard what he said, good-for-nothing bird. Now leave. Why are you still on my bed? Why are you still in my room?! You think just because you have feathers and flas you can squat anywhere you want?! Go nest in a tree!"
Osiris crossed his arms and looked like he wanted to argue, but then saw Cyrus’s quiet glare behind her and thought better of it. "Tch. Fine. But I’m choosing the biggest room."
"You’re getting a tiny room," Isabella snapped.
"You can’t limit a phoenix’s wingspan!"
"Watch !"
Osiris stomped dramatically out of the room like a child told to sleep on the couch. His skirt swished behind him like a defeated peacock, and his hair caught on the doorway curtain, making him curse under his breath.
The mont he was gone, the room finally returned to peace.
Cyrus let out a small breath and quietly picked up the herbal jar again.
"I am done," he said softly.
Isabella turned and looked at the table.
Everything was ready.
The leaves had been crushed to the right consistency. The healing salve glowed faintly under the torchlight. The tools were cleaned and arranged in the exact order she preferred. Every little thing she had asked for was laid out neatly without a single flaw.
Even the necessary materials she had risked her life for was laid out.
She walked up to him, her voice tender. "Cyrus... thank you."
He turned to her and bent slightly, brushing a kiss across her forehead with warm, steady lips.
"You don’t have to thank ," he whispered against her skin. "I’ll always do anything you want."
Isabella had only turned away for a mont to pack her herbs, but when she turned back around, Cyrus was already beside her, his hand gently holding hers.
His fingers didn’t just hold...he cradled. Soft, careful, reverent. His thumb brushed the back of her hand like it was sothing sacred. "You’ve been working so hard lately. I don’t want your hands to hurt," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
Her heart skipped. She looked up. His eyes were so sincere.
"You’re always thinking of everyone else," he added, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Let think of you."
Her entire face turned pink. "Cyrus..."
He smiled. "You’re beautiful when you blush."
"Stop saying things like that," she muttered, trying to hide her face.
"Why?" he tilted his head, smiling sweetly. "It’s all true."
She bit her lip. "Let’s go."
Cyrus nodded and quietly picked up the tray.
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