The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

Cyrus stood in front of the newly fitted door as though it were some strange beast. His tall frame blocked most of the moonlight spilling into the room, the pale silver outlining the sharp edges of his jaw. For a long moment, he didn't move, didn't even blink, and Isabella found herself holding her breath, waiting for him to speak.

He was always like this—so calm, so steady, like a river that looked peaceful on the surface but carried hidden depth underneath. His silence wasn't empty; it was full of thought. And as Isabella watched him, she wondered again how anyone could call Cyrus a monster.

Just because he was born of the snake tribe? Just because his eyes sometimes glowed too sharp, or because his stillness unnerved people who didn't understand it? To them, maybe he was dangerous. But to her? She had never felt safer in her life than when he was near.

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting faint shadows across his cheekbones. Finally, he stirred, his voice deep and quiet. "So… this is what a door looks like." He didn't look at her at first, just kept his gaze pinned on the wooden frame like it had presented him with some unsolvable puzzle.

When he finally turned to her, his expression softened, just enough to make her chest ache.

Isabella let out a startled laugh. "What? You want to build one for the whole village?"

She'd only meant it as a joke. A playful jab to fill the silence. But then he nodded.

Her smile slipped right off her face.

"You've always said," he continued, his voice steady but quiet, "that you wanted to share everything you've made with the village. The food, the recipes, the things you've crafted. Why not start with this?" His hand gestured vaguely at the door. "Something simple. Something everyone can use."

Her throat went dry.

He didn't stop there. "I'll help you do everything," he added, almost like a vow. "You don't have to stress yourself with this one. I've watched you, learned from you. Perfectly. If you want…" he glanced back at the door, eyes narrowing in that thoughtful way of his, "I can study it tonight. Figure out how it's built. What it needs."

He said it so matter-of-factly, like it was nothing, but each word landed heavy in Isabella's chest. Her gaze locked on him, wide and shimmering, as though he'd quietly pried her heart open and looked straight in.

She hadn't expected this. Not from him. Not this kind of… devotion.

Her eyes lingered on his face, drinking in the serious line of his mouth, the way his shoulders stayed loose even as he spoke about hard work. There was no arrogance, no need to prove himself. Just a quiet willingness.

Her heart felt warm and fuzzy, an irritatingly sweet ache that spread through her chest.

"You…" She tried to speak, but her voice cracked, and she hated that. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "You'd really do that? Stay up all night just to study a door?"

His gaze returned to her, calm as ever. "If it helps you, then yes."

Simple. Direct. Like it wasn't even a question.

Isabella pressed her lips together, biting down on the smile threatening to escape. Her shoulders drew in slightly, as if trying to contain the jittery warmth bubbling in her chest.

Cyrus didn't even notice—or maybe he did, and he was too kind to call her out. He just kept standing there, posture straight, hands relaxed at his sides, as if he were waiting for her to dismiss the idea or accept it.

And all she could think was how absurd it was that anyone could look at this man, this gentle giant offering to build doors for villagers, and see a monster.

Her eyes prickled, and she blinked them clear, quick to cover it with a crooked grin. "You're ridiculous, you know that?" she muttered, shaking her head at him.

But the warmth stayed in her chest, spreading like honey.

Cyrus didn't press her. He just stood there in that quiet, patient way of his, waiting. His gaze was steady, not demanding, not urgent — simply… present. Isabella felt the weight of it, like the room itself was holding its breath for her answer.

She looked down instead, pretending her whole focus was on Glimora. The little beast's snowy fur slid soft and silken beneath her fingertips as she ran her hand slowly over her back. Glimora gave a sleepy little huff and nestled closer into her arms, her tiny body melting into drowsiness, tail twitching once before it stilled.

Isabella smiled faintly, her fingers never stopping their gentle strokes. Anything to buy herself a moment. Anything to calm the swirl in her chest.

But she couldn't avoid him forever. Not Cyrus.

Lifting her gaze at last, she found him still watching her, those strange pink eyes steady in the low firelight. "But I can't let you do that alone," she said softly, the words spilling out like a confession. "It'll be too stressful."

For the first time, something flickered across his face — a brief shadow of disapproval, or maybe stubbornness. He shook his head slowly, firmly. "No," he said, voice quiet but unyielding. "It won't. I'll teach them. They'll learn. It isn't hard for us, beastmen, to pick things up."

She blinked at him, lips parting, caught between wanting to argue and not knowing how. He sounded so certain, so grounded, that her protests shriveled in her throat. All she could do was look at him, really look at him — the strong lines of his face, the way his shoulders held no arrogance, only quiet conviction.

And then, before she could stop herself, she smiled. A genuine, unguarded smile that broke free without her permission.

It hit him like an arrow to the chest.

Cyrus's heart gave an involuntary jolt, then another. Pride swelled inside him, fierce and unshakable, at the thought that he had put that expression on her face. That he was the reason Isabella looked that happy, that warm, even for just a heartbeat. He felt a rush of something so intense it nearly unmoored him, but he steadied himself, keeping his posture composed even as his insides betrayed him.

"Thank you," Isabella whispered. The words were soft, sweet, but they sank deep, as if each syllable carried weight. Her eyes didn't waver from his. "Thank you so much for everything you've been doing for me. I really… I really appreciate you. So, so much."

The sincerity in her tone burned through him.

Cyrus gave the smallest shake of his head, a faint tilt, like her gratitude was unnecessary. "No," he said quietly. "It's fine. Truly. I will always be here for you."

Something about the way he said it left no room for doubt, no space for her to question. It wasn't a promise; it was a fact.

Isabella's lips parted again, but no words came. She didn't need them. Neither did he. Their silence stretched, heavy and full, as if the two of them were realizing something in the same breath but neither was ready to name it aloud.

Her heart thudded against her ribs, wild and unsteady, while his remained calm but undeniably strong — steady enough to hold them both.

Finally, Isabella lowered her eyes, gathering herself. She smoothed her palm down Glimora's fur one last time before lifting her gaze again. Her voice, when it came, was gentle. "You should be quick," she murmured, almost teasing, but soft at the edges. "Go to bed for the night."