Chapter 349: Chapter 349: Then I am sorry, my queen
She should have been fierce. She’d planned it, rehearsed it in her head—the glare, the sharp voice, the list of offenses delivered like arrows. But when he asked, "Why is my Bella mad at me?" the words melted in her mouth and refused to harden again.
Her cheeks went hot.
Her hands fidgeted against each other, thumbs brushing restlessly, the little movements betraying her nerves even as her lips tried to form the words she’d forgotten.
She rocked heel to toe, a tiny sway that made the strands at her temples brush her jaw. Even the morning air felt thick, warm with the scent of crushed herbs lingering from earlier, sunlight spilling across stone and fur as if the room itself was listening.
Kian saw everything. He always did. His blue eyes, usually a winter sky, gentled—warmer now, softer at the edges, as if a fire had been lit behind them. Something eased in his chest he didn’t have words for; it was not his way to name these things. It was only a warmth that traveled from his ribs to his throat, then settled there, stubborn.
"Speak," he said quietly. Not a command. An invitation.
She inhaled, pressed her palms flat to her skirt, and tried again. "So... yesterday night," she began, voice small and pink-cheeked, "before bed, I noticed you moved into the room next to mine." Her eyes flicked up, then down. "And you did not notify me. Not a word." The last three words hit the air like pebbles tossed in a pool, ripples of indignation chasing them. "It was so—so painful to find out like that. You didn’t even tell me you were changing rooms."
The corner of his jaw flexed. He stood still for a heartbeat, then did something almost no one had ever seen him do.
He crouched.
He lowered himself until his eyes met hers, until the difference in their heights vanished and the morning light painted both of them the same gold. He rested one forearm on his knee, the other hand open at his side, as if to show he carried nothing sharp. When he spoke, it was steady and without pride.
"Then I am sorry, my queen," he said.
She forgot how to breathe for one startled heartbeat. My queen. It struck like a warm hand closing around her spine, lifting her. Pride bloomed through her chest so swiftly she almost smiled too wide. Almost. She bit it back and tried to keep her face sensible, reasonable, not utterly drunk on two small words.
He went on, voice the same calm water. "I should have thought of you first, and told you I was moving in."
She blinked fast, once, twice, as if she could clear the delight from her eyes before it betrayed her. Her mouth tugged at the corners anyway. No. Absolutely not. She cleared her throat, shook her head like she could rattle the softness out. She even pushed at his shoulder—gently, very gently, which ruined the effect entirely.
"No," she said, trying for stern and landing somewhere in the vicinity of stubborn-adorable. "No, I am not going to be easily swayed by your sweet words again. So—back up."
He tilted his head, studying her as if she were a puzzle carved into bone. "Really?"
"Yes." She nodded too hard, hair bouncing. "Yes, I am not going to be." Her mouth worked as she hunted for all the right angers. "It was so—so, so, so painful to find out myself."
A sound broke low in his chest, almost a laugh but not careless—more like the sound of a man finding something inevitable. He straightened, the lines of his body falling back into their usual quiet power. "I did it," he said, light as a leaf falling. "Because I do not trust Zyran being so close to you."
She groaned up at the ceiling like the roof had personally offended her. "Gosh, that man again." Her hands flew in helpless circles. "Stop calling his name. He is so frustrating." She jabbed a finger at Kian, then at the door, then at the universe. "Why did you even let him in the palace? That is another offense. And reason. I am so mad at you."
Kian didn’t blink away. He didn’t argue or deflect. His answer came simple, smooth. "You are right to be mad."
She stared. He stared. The silence stretched.
"Oh my gods," she burst, throwing her hands up. "You’re so annoying. Why are you not arguing back?"
Kian’s lashes dipped once. This—this, he did not understand. He could navigate blades in the dark and men who lied with sweatless faces. This? The direction of her anger? It moved like water around stones. He gave the smallest blink, as though adjusting to sunlight. "Do you wish me to argue?"
"I—" She clamped her mouth shut. Did she? Maybe. Possibly. Not really? Ugh. She dragged in a breath, chest rising high, shoulders dropping with the exhale. The room filled her lungs: warm air, smoked wood, the echo of last night’s fire, and—sweetness. There it was. Something syrup-soft still hanging in the air, the faintest trace of honey and crushed leaves clinging to the furs.
Cyrus.
Her thoughts tripped, rearranged themselves. She looked back at Kian, the line of his shoulders, the way his hand flexed once then went still again, like he was keeping himself from reaching for her out of respect—or fear—of what she wanted from him right now.
"So you’re really planning on keeping me in this room," she said, narrowing her eyes, "watching over me until Cyrus gets back?"
He didn’t need words for that one. He nodded once.
She let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-surrender, and poked him in the chest, because poking him was sometimes the only power she had left. "Gosh, you’re all the same." She made her voice deep, mocking, hand on her hip. "’I don’t like him, I don’t trust him, we are not on the same side.’" She flapped her hand. "Please. You act like you hate each other, but secretly? Nuh-uh."
Something like confusion ghosted through his gaze. "What is ’nuh-uh’?"
She leaned in with scandalous confidence and tapped the tip of his nose. "Baby, ’nuh-uh’ means ’nuh-uh.’"
His mouth twitched—barely. He shook his head, and the sliver of humor slid away like a fish into deeper water. His face settled back into the lines the world expected from him: focused, unyielding, a quiet cliff above a restless sea.
"Cyrus told me," he said, tone returning to that measured calm that could hold a room still, "that you are ready to introduce the recipes and other things to the village."
Color shot up her throat so fast it made her dizzy. Her hands flew uselessly to her cheeks; they were burning. She nodded.