The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

She let out a scoff. Then another. Then one more for good measure as she stared Zyran dead in the face.

His twinkling, bright red eyes shimmered with amusement, and that crooked little smile of his? Unbothered. If anything, he looked flattered.

Isabella blinked slowly, the way one does when trying not to slap someone out of sheer spiritual necessity.

Then she turned to Kian, eyes pleading for sanity. "Hah. Crazy," she said with an airy, disbelieving laugh. "He's crazy, Kian." She pointed a finger—half at Zyran, half in the direction of the moon like it might back her up. "I won't be staying anywhere near this man. This… feral demon with boundary issues and stalking tendencies. I draw the line here."

Zyran gasped like she'd just told him his dog died. "Feral? Boundary issues? Baby," he placed a hand to his chest, expression dripping with mock hurt. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"I'm going to sleep," she snapped, whirling around with a stomp that could've registered on the Richter scale. Her blonde hair whipped behind her like the dramatic curtains of a soap opera. "Don't follow me. Don't talk to me. And if I see even one shadow that looks like your stupid smirking face, I'm lighting the whole Palace on fire."

"Fair," Zyran nodded, watching her retreat with pure, starry-eyed admiration. "Absolutely fair."

Then he sighed. Loud. The kind of sigh a poet might write a whole sonnet about.

"She's so beautiful when she's homicidal," he murmured, eyes locked on her angry strut. "God, I love her so much."

Kian, who'd stayed silent this whole time, gave Zyran a look like he was deciding which bone to break first.

Zyran, finally remembering there was a massive six-foot-something Lion King still standing beside him, turned with a slow blink. "Oh. You're still here?" His voice was genuinely curious, like he'd found a forgotten sock under his bed.

Kian took a slow, deliberate step forward. The bare soles of his feet kissed the cold stone with the kind of promise that made small animals scatter. He leaned in, close enough that Zyran could count the individual flecks of silver that shimmered in his icy-blue eyes in his predator eyes.

"If you so much as breathe wrong in her direction," Kian said, his voice low, almost quiet, like the hush before a kill, "I'll tear your head from your body and use your skull to feed the wolves. I don't care how powerful you think you are. I will end you—slowly."

The threat hung in the air, icy and clean. It didn't matter that Zyran was a walking fire hazard with glowing eyes and a devil's grin—Kian meant every word. And anyone who knew him well enough knew he never bluffed.

Zyran tilted his head. Then, without a trace of fear, he grinned.

"Ohhh," he drawled. "A jealous threat from the big, stoic king. That's hot."

Kian's jaw ticked.

"I'm serious," he growled.

"So am I," Zyran whispered, then winked. "But thanks for the warm welcome, sweetheart."

Kian looked like he was weighing the pros and cons of breaking a diplomatic treaty just to sock him.

Eventually, he turned without a word, the edges of his fur skirt brushing against his legs as he stalked back into the night—like a storm given human form.

Zyran watched him go with a pleased hum.

"Well. That could've gone worse."

Then he stretched, slow and satisfied, his broad chest rising beneath the open collar of his cloak. He ran a hand through his unruly dark hair, tousling it even more, before casually slipping into the palace like he owned the place.

"Ahhh," he sighed again, dramatically. "This is going to be so much fun."

He started whistling a soft, obnoxiously cheerful tune as he walked, feet tapping against the stone in rhythm. It sounded like a lullaby laced with chaos.

Behind him, a guard tripped on nothing and dropped his torch.

Somewhere in the distance, Isabella screamed into a pillow.

And the moon watched it all, silently amused.

...

"I hate him, Glimora. I hate him," Isabella seethed, storming back and forth across the room like a tiny, furious storm cloud with golden hair.

Each step she took sent the furs on the ground shuffling, and the small pebbles near the fire pit rattled under her bare feet. She jabbed an accusatory finger toward the small white ball of fluff perched near the fire.

Poor Glimora, who had been sniffing at a roasted root in peace, froze mid-chew. Her ears perked up as if to say, Girl, what did I do? But she didn't complain. No, Glimora was loyal. She gave a slow, solemn nod like a wise old sage, instantly taking her mama's side—though she had no idea what the drama was about.

"He's so—UGH!" Isabella kicked the air. Then she punched it. Then she spun and slapped the air behind her like she was in a full-on street fight with an invisible spirit named Zyran.

"He drives me insane! Like—he's so smug, and annoying, and flirty, and he walks like he owns the whole palace even though he just got here!" She kicked the woven mat near the sleeping corner, but it only flipped a little and flopped back down like it had accepted its fate.

Glimora tilted her head, chewing slowly, as if trying to decide whether this was the right moment to attempt dinner or if death was imminent.

"And those stupid red eyes!" Isabella flung both hands up dramatically. "They're always sparkling like he knows something. Like I'm the punchline of his joke, and the joke isn't even funny!" She paused only to shoot a dirty look at a patch of air that looked suspiciously like it had been kissed by Zyran's aura.

The fire crackled in the silence that followed.

"I can't believe he's getting a room next to mine!" she exploded again, circling the room so quickly she nearly stepped on Glimora, who dodged like a seasoned survivor. "Like—how?! How did that even happen?! Did I fall asleep for five minutes and miss the council meeting where we all collectively decided to throw me into a pit of chaos and flirting and illegal levels of charm?!"

At this point, she was actually fighting the air. Arms flying. Legs kicking. One stray slipper went flying across the room and smacked into the wall with a soft thwack. Glimora ducked.

"God!" Isabella bent over with her hands on her knees, panting like she'd just fought a bear. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair a wild halo around her head, and her eyes full of manic betrayal. "He makes me feel like I'm going insane!"

Glimora hesitated, taking one cautious step forward. Her tiny legs made no sound against the stone floor as she padded closer. Another step. Then one more.

She stopped right by Isabella's trembling calf.

And instead of doing her usual thing—leaping dramatically into Isabella's arms and licking her chin like a feral squirrel on sugar—Glimora gently pressed her small head against Isabella's leg. Just one soft nudge. Quiet. Comforting. Like a tiny therapist in fur.

Isabella, who still had her head hanging low like she was mourning the death of her sanity, peeked up slowly through the blonde curtain of her hair. She looked down.

Two deep, understanding blue eyes stared back up at her.