By evening, the sky outside had already turned dark again.
Winter nights always ca too quickly in this beast world. One mont there was still pale light on the snow, and the next mont the whole village had sunk into a cold blue darkness, with only firelight from stone houses and wooden halls glowing against the white ground. The wind outside kept brushing against the palace walls, and every now and then, snow slid from the roof with a soft heavy sound that made the room feel even warr by comparison.
Isabella sat near the fire, wrapped in thick furs until only her face and hands could be seen properly.
Cyrus was with her.
He had been with her almost the whole evening, and although he did not say much, his presence was impossible to ignore. His red hair fell loosely over one shoulder, and his pink eyes kept watching her with the kind of quiet care that could make a person feel loved and smothered at the sa ti. His lower body had changed into his red python tail again because he said it was easier for him to move around her that way, but Isabella knew better. It also let him curl near her and keep her warm without having to ask.
He had prepared more food for her earlier.
Soft at, warm soup, a little fruit mashed with sweet roots, and one bitter thing she had pretended not to taste because she already knew what it was for.
Suppression.
Now that Bubu had opened its greedy little mouth and told her the truth, Isabella could no longer pretend she did not notice.
Every careful bowl.
Every strange herb.
Every ti Cyrus watched her swallow like the whole world depended on that one bite.
He had been hiding it all in plain sight.
At first, Isabella had been quiet because she wanted to think.
But the more she thought, the angrier she beca.
Cyrus was still moving around her gently, still touching the fur near her feet, still checking whether the fire was strong enough, still asking if her back hurt, as if he had not been carrying a secret about her own body and their children without telling her.
Finally, when he ca to sit beside her again and reached out to rub slow circles over her stomach, Isabella looked at him.
"Cyrus."
He lifted his eyes at once. "Mm?"
His voice was soft.
Too soft.
That annoyed her even more because he looked so sweet that it was almost unfair.
She stared at him for a mont and then asked, "When were you planning to tell ?"
Cyrus’s hand stopped.
That tiny pause told her everything.
He knew.
Of course he knew what she was asking about.
For one brief mont, his face remained calm, but Isabella had already learned him too well to be fooled by that. His pink eyes dimd slightly, his fingers curled against the fur, and the guilt that had been hiding under his gentleness finally showed itself.
He lowered his gaze. "You know."
It was not a question.
Isabella gave him a sweet smile.
A very dangerous one.
"Yes, I know."
Cyrus looked at her again, and the pain in his eyes beca more obvious. "Who told you?"
Isabella folded her arms over the fur covering her chest. "Does that matter?"
He was silent.
Naturally, it did not matter.
The problem was not how she found out. The problem was that she had to find out from sowhere else.
Cyrus seed to understand that too, because he lowered his head again and said quietly, "I did not want to lie to you."
Isabella let out a short laugh. "That is funny because you still did."
His body went still.
That hit him hard.
She saw it.
For one second, her heart softened because Cyrus looked like she had slapped him. But then she rembered the headache, the strange pain in her stomach, the way Zyran and Cyrus had looked at each other, and the way everyone had been treating her like a beautiful clay pot about to crack.
So she refused to soften too quickly.
"You fed things without telling what they were really for," she said. "You watched my body and my food and my sleep like you were guarding so secret, and every ti I asked, you looked at with that soft face and acted like everything was fine."
Cyrus’s throat moved.
He looked guilty.
Very guilty.
And because he was Cyrus, he did not beco defensive. He did not snap back. He did not try to make her feel unreasonable. He only sat there quietly and took every word because he knew he deserved them.
"I thought I could control it," he said after a long mont.
Isabella stared at him. "Control what?"
Cyrus looked at her stomach.
His hand moved as if he wanted to touch her again, but he stopped himself halfway because he knew she was angry and he had no right to act too comfortable yet.
"The blood," he said.
The room felt quieter after that.
The fire crackled softly. Outside, the wind dragged snow against the wall in a long whisper. Inside, Isabella’s face beca still.
Cyrus continued, and his voice was low. "There is demon blood in ."
Although Isabella already knew, hearing him say it himself still made the truth feel heavier.
He looked at her carefully after saying it, as if so hidden part of him was waiting for disgust, fear, or rejection.
That made Isabella even more annoyed.
Because did he truly think that was her problem?
Did he truly think she would look at him like a monster?
She wanted to scold him again, but the look in his eyes held sothing old and wounded, and for one mont, she rembered what he had once been through before he ca to her. She rembered that he had been used, kept, controlled, and treated like sothing useful instead of soone loved.
So she kept her voice sharp, but she did not make it cruel.
"I know."
Cyrus’s eyes widened slightly.
Isabella raised her brows. "And before you start looking at like that, I am not angry because you have demon blood. I am angry because you hid it from ."
Cyrus looked at her for a long mont.
Then sothing in him seed to break softly.
The tension in his shoulders dropped a little, but the guilt did not leave. If anything, it beca worse because now he understood fully that she was not rejecting him. She was hurt because he had kept her away from the truth.
"I do not know everything," he said.
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