The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 94: Okay, now, now, leave my hut alone. I don’t really like peasant energy

Chapter 94: Chapter 94: Okay, now, now, leave my hut alone. I don’t really like peasant energy

Kian’s jaw tightened as his gaze drifted back to Cyrus, whose hands had dropped to his sides, his face neutral—but Kian wasn’t fooled.

And worse? There was a soft smile tugging at Cyrus’s lips. A sweet, almost harmless smile.

Kian’s stomach twisted, an unsettling feeling gnawing at him.

He never liked snakes.

But what he hated even more was how, for some strange reason, he suddenly cared about this entire situation.

"Listen, I get it, okay?" Isabella gestured grandly, her voice rising with that persuasive, almost mesmerizing tone that made people listen. "To you, Cyrus is a stranger. You don’t know him. He could be dangerous."

A few villagers nodded, their expressions unsure.

"But do we just assume the worst of every outsider?" She spun on her heel and pointed at a man in the crowd. "Johan, did anyone force you into the palace when you first came to the village?"

Johan blinked, confused. "Uh... no? And my name isn’t Johan," he muttered, a little offended by the random name choice.

"Exactly!" Isabella whirled back to Kian, her hair flipping dramatically as she faced him. "And don’t even get me started on the double standard! If he were some helpless-looking girl, would we be having this conversation? No! We’d be offering her hides and meat!"

More murmurs of agreement followed.

"Look at him," she gestured toward Cyrus, who stood silent and unreadable. "Does my poor brother look like someone who plans to destroy this village? No! He’s just as confused and helpless as the rest of us!"

Someone in the crowd muttered, "She’s got a point."

---

Meanwhile, Shelia, who had been watching from the sidelines, couldn’t help but smirk.

Her expression? Priceless.

Her thoughts? Unbelievable.

Her brother was jealous.

She felt it in her gut. She knew it.

She immediately turned to Ophelia, eager to share her discovery, but—

Ophelia?

The adorable cinnamon roll was too busy nodding enthusiastically to Isabella’s speech, her innocent eyes practically glowing with admiration.

Shelia sighed. This girl.

She reached up to lightly facepalm herself. Fine. She’d update Ophelia later. Right now, she was going to enjoy witnessing Kian actually feel something for once.

Because oh, this was getting good.

---

Isabella pressed on. "Also! Logically speaking—if he was a threat, wouldn’t forcing him into the palace be a terrible idea? You want to keep an unpredictable, possibly skilled fighter in your own home?"

A few villagers frowned, reconsidering their stance.

While all this unfolded, Kian’s sharp gaze trailed down to Cyrus’s hands.

No beast stripes.

A rare flicker of unease settled in his chest. That was odd. That was suspicious.

"And let’s not forget the ethical angle," Isabella added, her voice softening just enough to tug at the villagers’ emotions. "If we claim to be better than those corrupt city leaders, then we need to act like it. We don’t punish people for merely existing."

Silence.

A heavy, thoughtful silence hung in the air.

Then—

One by one, the villagers started nodding.

Ophelia was nodding so hard she looked like she might pass out.

Even Shelia looked impressed.

Isabella smirked internally.

Checkmate.

Kian, however, remained unreadable, his mind elsewhere. That was, until Isabella stepped closer.

Unintentionally too close.

And that’s when his unreadable expression cracked.

Her heart-meltingly blue eyes were locked onto his.

His chest tightened with something strange.

Something he refused to acknowledge.

Cyrus, on the other hand, had made a vow in that very moment—a vow to remain loyal to Isabella, to stand by her side no matter what. There was a deep, undeniable trust in her. He could feel it in the way she looked at him, the way she spoke, as if she would always fight for him, never turning her back.

It was a stark contrast to how his master had treated him back in the city. His master had seen him as nothing more than a tool, a possession to be used and discarded at will, a mere instrument for the whims of someone more powerful.

But today? Everything had shifted. Isabella had done what no one else had ever done for him—she had treated him like more than just a thing, more than just an object to be manipulated.

And in that moment, Cyrus made a promise to himself. He would serve her. He would start a new, simple life in this village, free from the constraints of the city’s cruelty.

His purpose now? His purpose would be to protect her, to be there for her, to be her unwavering ally, no matter the cost.

"Fine, he will stay with you," Kian finally said slowly, his voice almost reluctant, but there was something in the way he looked at Isabella—he didn’t want to upset her. Not really.

Isabella’s face lit up with a dazzling smile, her eyes twinkling as if she had just won a grand victory. "Yay!" she exclaimed, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. She spun around to face Cyrus, her voice high and bright, "Did you hear that, brother?!"

Cyrus only gave a slight nod, his lips quirking into a small smile, the barest hint of something unreadable flashing across his face. He gave a soft, almost amused hum. "Hm."

Isabella beamed at him, her joy infectious, and Kian couldn’t help but notice how the simple exchange made something stir deep in his chest.

Isabella—had stood up for this stranger like no one ever had. And the strange thing was, it made Kian feel things. Unsettling things. Things he was certainly not prepared to deal with.

He watched as Isabella waved her hand, shooing the villagers away with the nonchalance of someone who was used to being adored. "Okay, now, now, leave my hut alone. I don’t really like peasant energy," she said, her voice light, almost playful, yet there was a certain authority in the way she carried herself.

The men—who had been somewhat intimidated by her earlier bravado—turned and shuffled off reluctantly. But Kian noticed that none of them seemed truly upset. After all, Isabella was undeniably beautiful, her presence almost ethereal, like a goddess standing among mere mortals. Even the most begrudging of them couldn’t resist the magnetic charm she exuded.

"I think we should go pick out some fruits before we come back," Shelia said lazily, strolling over to Ophelia, her tone laid-back but her eyes flickering with mischief. "Plus, Isabella said she’ll be teaching us how to cook today."

Ophelia’s eyes widened at the mention of cooking. "Oh! Yes, she also said I should pick some herbs and spices!" Her voice pitched higher, a touch of excitement creeping into her words as the memory clicked.

Shelia raised an eyebrow and leaned closer to Ophelia. "And you haven’t done it yet?" she whispered with exaggerated shock.

Ophelia nodded, her face turning pink with embarrassment. "I...I forgot."

Shelia’s scolding tone was light, but the words were clear. "What are you waiting for? You really want Isabella to start scolding us for hours on end?" She nudged Ophelia playfully as the younger girl scrambled to grab a basket from Isabella’s hut, giggling nervously.

Kian watched them for a moment, his lips twitching into a faint smile. They were so carefree, so... innocent. He didn’t have time to think about it too much, though. He gave Cyrus one last lingering glance before turning to leave. But just as he stepped away, he felt a sudden, warm tug on his hand.

Isabella’s fingers closed around his, light but insistent.

Her skin was warm. Soft. He could feel the faintest pulse of her heartbeat through her delicate touch. A shock of something... electric shot up his arm.

And suddenly, Kian couldn’t move.

He froze. The warmth of her skin, so unexpected, made his chest tighten. His heart, thudding, betrayed him in that moment. He wanted to pull away, but something in the depth of her gaze held him there. Something dangerous—and yet, not unwelcome.

What the hell was this?

And just like that, the simple act of her holding his hand had rattled him in ways he could neither explain nor control.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words stuck in his throat.