If her eyelashes moved too slowly, he would probably start preparing herbs. If she breathed too deeply, he would likely call half the palace. If she sighed, he might carry her straight into the fire because he thought warmth could fix everything.
Zyran was still sitting beside her, holding her hand like he had been assigned a very sacred task and was pretending he did not care about it. His red eyes moved lazily toward Cyrus, but his fingers did not let go of Isabella’s hand.
"She is alive," Zyran said. "I know you were worried I might ruin her in the few breaths you were gone."
Cyrus placed the basket down beside the bed and imdiately looked at him. "You did not scare her?"
Zyran’s expression beca offended. "I kept her entertained."
Isabella nodded seriously. "He did. Very badly, but he tried."
Zyran looked at her. "You laughed."
"I laughed because you were ridiculous."
"That still counts."
Cyrus let out a small breath that was almost a laugh, but he swallowed it quickly because he still had too much worry in him. He moved closer, placed the covered bowl on the low stool near the bed, and touched Isabella’s forehead with the back of his fingers.
His hand was warm.
Too warm in a way that made her feel safe even while she wanted to scold him again for being so nervous.
"You’re still a little hot," he said softly.
"I am always hot," Isabella replied without thinking.
Zyran imdiately made a sound.
Cyrus paused.
Isabella realized what she had said and turned her face slightly away. "Do not start."
Zyran leaned closer with a grin already forming. "I said nothing."
"You breathed like you wanted to say sothing."
"That is because I have many beautiful thoughts."
"Keep them ugly and quiet."
Zyran placed one hand on his chest. "You wound while I am helping you through a sacred mont."
Isabella stared at him. "You are sitting beside holding my hand and making comnts."
"And doing it beautifully."
Cyrus’s mouth moved again, but this ti he could not fully hide the smile before he bent down and started sorting through the things in the basket. Isabella noticed the smile and felt better for so reason. If Cyrus could still smile, even a little, then maybe the world was not ending yet.
He took out the warm cloth first and shook it open. Then he folded it and placed it near her lower back. His movents were gentle and slow, and every ti he had to touch her, he looked at her face first as if asking permission without words.
The pain had eased for now.
It was still there, but only in the background, sitting low in her stomach like a warning rather than a scream. She had not gone into labor yet, not properly. There were no strong waves forcing her body to work. There was only pressure, tightness, and the strange feeling that sothing inside her had started preparing without asking her first.
Cyrus seed to know this too.
He helped her shift a little onto the softer furs, then tucked a folded hide beneath her side so her stomach would be supported. His palm rested over the heavy curve for a mont, and his eyes lowered with that serious, almost prayer-like look he got whenever he felt the babies move.
Isabella watched him. "If you stare at my stomach like that again, they might start charging rent."
Cyrus blinked.
Zyran laughed at once. "Your children are not even born, and you already want paynt from them?"
"I am carrying them. That is work."
Cyrus’s eyes softened. "It is."
The way he said it was too sincere.
Isabella’s smile faded a little, and for one mont she looked at him without teasing. "I know you are scared."
Cyrus’s hand stopped on the fur.
Zyran’s grin also lessened.
Isabella sighed and looked at the ceiling. "I am scared too, but if the two of you keep looking like I am going into war with my stomach, I will start feeling worse."
Zyran imdiately lifted his brows. "You are going into war with your stomach."
Isabella turned her head slowly.
He corrected himself at once. "A beautiful war."
"That did not help."
"A graceful battle."
"Worse."
"A royal delivery of tiny criminals?"
This ti Isabella laughed, and because the laugh was sudden, she had to hold her stomach with her free hand. Cyrus imdiately leaned in with worry, but she waved him away while still laughing.
"I am fine," she said. "See? This is what I an. You are both terrible at comforting , but at least one of you is funny."
Zyran pointed to himself. "Obviously ."
Cyrus looked at him. "She laughs at too."
Zyran smiled. "Out of pity?"
Cyrus gave him one very calm look.
Zyran raised both hands. "Alright. The snake has teeth today."
Isabella smiled through another slow breath. The room was warm, the fire was steady, and even though her body felt strange, the two males beside her were trying so hard that it made her chest feel soft. Cyrus kept checking things, touching her gently, asking about the pressure, and giving her little sips of warm sweet water. Zyran stayed close, pretending he was only there because he was bored, but whenever Isabella’s face tightened, his red eyes sharpened imdiately and his hand held hers more firmly.
At one point, another small tightening ca.
It was shorter than the one before, but it still made Isabella close her eyes and breathe through it. Cyrus imdiately placed one hand on her stomach and the other near her lower back, pressing softly in a way that eased so of the discomfort. Zyran, who had been mid-sentence about how the babies might inherit Cyrus’s clinginess and ruin everyone’s sleep, stopped at once.
"Breathe slowly," Cyrus murmured.
Isabella inhaled, then exhaled.
Zyran looked at her face and tried to speak normally. "If you crush my hand, I will be brave."
Isabella opened one eye. "You will complain."
"I will complain bravely."
The pain eased, and Isabella let out a breathy laugh again.
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