Chapter 351: Chapter 351: Pig meat or ox meat
The person who entered was Ophelia, but she wasn’t alone. Glimora was in her hands, and the little white beast seemed to be eating a fruit, a gift from Ophelia herself.
Well, she was eating the fruit happily, chewing with her tiny mouth moving up and down, eyes squinting in pure delight. That was until she suddenly sensed her nemesis. Slowly, the little beast paused mid-bite, her joy freezing in place.
Zyran, who had been sitting leisurely on one of the newly made wooden tables, gently got up.
Ophelia noticed the sudden change in the air. She looked down at Glimora, confused. Just moments ago, the cute fluffball had been perfectly happy, munching away, but now she looked tense, almost murderous. Ophelia’s brows knitted as she followed Glimora’s eyes, only to find those bright blue eyes locked on one person—Zyran.
Zyran didn’t seem bothered by the sharp glare aimed at him. He turned to Cyrus instead, his voice calm, smooth, as if nothing unusual was happening at all. "Pig meat or ox meat?"
Cyrus, who was busy with the pot, answered without hesitation, "Ox meat."
Then, calmly, Zyran’s lips pulled into a smile before his figure disappeared in the blink of an eye.
That was the exact moment Glimora lunged, her tiny body bursting with pent-up energy. But thankfully, Ophelia was faster. She hugged the little beast tightly to her chest before she could launch herself across the room.
"Glimora, what is wrong?" Ophelia asked, her voice genuinely concerned. Her wide eyes stared at the wriggling beast, who was still trying to get free. She didn’t understand what had come over her.
Helpless, Ophelia looked at Cyrus for assistance, but all Cyrus gave her was an "I don’t know" look. His face remained calm as always, but his silence said it all—this was Glimora’s own battle.
Cyrus’s gaze moved past Ophelia to the entrance. His eyes sharpened slightly. "Who is standing behind the wall?"
Ophelia blinked, startled, before answering quickly, "Oh, it’s Valen. He’s with me. I told him not to walk in since he doesn’t have your permission yet. And... and I know if Kian found out, he wouldn’t be so pleased."
Cyrus held her gaze for a moment, then gave a small nod. He didn’t say anything else and simply returned to what he was doing. He continued arranging things on the wooden counter, his movements steady and precise. With a soft flick of his fingers, he used a little of his magic to preserve the food and hold its temperature, making sure everything would be perfect when it was time to serve it to Isabella.
Ophelia watched him, a small smile tugging at her lips. Still petting Glimora, who hadn’t fully calmed down and was still glaring around as though searching for Zyran, she approached Cyrus. Her voice was soft but filled with curiosity. "If you don’t mind me asking, what are you making? I’ve never smelled anything like this before... not once, in all the time we’ve been cooking for Isabella."
Her eyes shone as she inhaled the rich, sweet aroma.
Cyrus glanced at her. The corners of his lips softened, his usual calm expression gentling even more. "I am making coconut buttermilk," he said. "Remember when Isabella spoke of it?"
Ophelia’s throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, nodding quickly. Her eyes grew brighter, sparkling with recognition. "Yes, yes, I do remember! I remember how much Isabella loved talking about it. She called it a dessert. It’s very sweet, right?"
Cyrus nodded again, acknowledging her words.
Ophelia smiled fondly, her gaze turning dreamy. "Isabella always talks about it. It’s one of those foods she always mentioned, and she told us she’d teach us how to make it one day. But... how did you make it? I thought the ingredients were hard to get." Her voice dropped as she tilted her head, concern creeping in. "Don’t tell me you went to where those bees are again... you’ll get hurt. And you know it. She warned you. If she finds out, she’ll definitely scold you."
Cyrus let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and calm. "Yes, I know. But it seems Isabella craves it more than she lets on. She wants it... more than she says."
Ophelia’s lips parted slightly at that, and a soft "oh" escaped her mouth. She smiled again, though this time it carried something gentler, more thoughtful. Her gaze lingered on Cyrus as she quietly admired him.
In her heart, she couldn’t help but think he was such a nice man to Isabella. He was patient, caring, and thoughtful in ways others often overlooked. And perhaps—just perhaps—he would make such a wonderful mate. If only... if only his kind wasn’t hated so much.
She let out a tiny sigh. The thought twisted inside her. She didn’t want Isabella to be unhappy if she mated with someone like Cyrus, but it would be such a good thing. Yet, she also knew how cruel people could be. If Isabella chose him, others might look down on her, maybe even fear her. And Isabella... Isabella would never like that.
So Ophelia only hoped in her heart. She hoped Isabella would find someone good, someone precious, someone just like Cyrus.
Cyrus, of course, noticed how quiet Ophelia had gone. He turned his head slightly, his calm pink eyes resting on her with a touch of amusement.
She didn’t notice at first, her lips pursed, her eyes fixed on the pot where some of the buttermilk still remained.
Seeing her so stiff and focused, Cyrus’s smile widened slightly. He already knew. Ophelia loved food. She loved it so much, she didn’t even need to say it. She didn’t need to ask—her eyes already betrayed her.
"What is the problem? Do you want to have a taste?" he asked, his voice breaking the silence.
Ophelia blinked, snapping out of her trance as if waking from a dream. Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment, but she still looked up at him quickly and nodded.
...
Mini story:
Behind the scenes in the palace kitchen, Isabella leaned against the doorway with her arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold. Glimora was wriggling in Ophelia’s arms, squeaking like a spoiled child because Cyrus wouldn’t let her taste the buttermilk.
"Unbelievable," Isabella muttered, shaking her head. "That little beast acts more like me every day."
Ophelia gave her an awkward smile, cheeks red as she whispered, "She’s... very determined, my lady."
Cyrus, calm as ever, stirred the pot and said without looking up, "Rules are rules. Isabella first."
Zyran’s voice drifted from somewhere unseen, teasing, "What a lucky queen, to be worshiped even in desserts."
"Shut up!" Isabella shouted toward the air, her face heating.
Glimora squeaked louder in agreement, glaring around for Zyran.
Ophelia sighed, cuddling the furious fluffball. "Sometimes, I don’t know who’s harder to handle—her or you."
Isabella smirked. "Both. Definitely both."