Chapter 383: Chapter 383: I swear, Moon Mother is testing me with you.
The crowd hushed before Isabella even had time to blink. The whisper that had carried across the firelit square silenced laughter, silenced music, silenced even the hiss of meat fat dripping into the flames.
"Oh my," Zyran said, his voice dripping satisfaction, "it compliments your curves beautifully."
Of course it was him.
Of course.
Isabella turned, and there he was—Zyran, leaning lazily against one of the tall posts strung with lanterns, a smirk carved across his handsome, infuriating face. His long hair was swept back, glinting in the firelight, his eyes holding that reckless sparkle that told everyone he was about to cause trouble.
"Zyran..." Isabella muttered under her breath, clutching the jewelry closer to her chest. She didn’t even get the chance to finish before he was already moving toward her.
And not slowly, no. He strolled right through the gathering like he owned the entire festival. People scuttled out of his path, some shaking their heads knowingly, others watching wide-eyed, whispering that the shameless beast had finally lost all sense of fear.
He stopped right in front of her, his gaze dropping to the delicate necklace Cyrus had made. "Pretty," he said, reaching out as if it already belonged to him. "But you’re wearing it wrong."
Isabella blinked. "Excuse me?"
Before she could protest, his hand closed gently—but far too boldly—around her wrist. He tilted her hand up, studying the jewelry like he was the craftsman himself. Then, without asking, without even hesitating, he slid the necklace free from her grasp and began arranging it over her shoulders.
The audacity.
The shamelessness.
The utter nerve of this man.
"There," Zyran murmured, his fingers brushing against the curve of her collarbone as he adjusted it. "Much better. Only I know how to decorate you properly, Lady Isabella."
The crowd gasped so loudly you would think the Moon Mother herself had descended.
Isabella’s eyes went round as saucers. Her brain short-circuited. She opened her mouth to shout at him, to scold him, to—well, honestly, maybe smack him upside the head—
But then she felt it.
Kian.
The temperature dropped ten degrees in an instant.
Slowly, Isabella turned her head, and sure enough—there he was, standing behind her, his arms folded, his jaw clenched, his blue eyes burning like frozen fire.
Predator mode: activated.
If looks could kill, Zyran would’ve been six feet under. No—scratch that—he would’ve been vaporized, erased from existence, ground into dust.
Kian didn’t even speak. He didn’t need to. The murderous intent radiating off of him was so strong the villagers shuffled back, giving the three of them a wide circle like they were clearing space for an execution.
And of course, that was exactly when Cyrus returned.
He came walking back, calm as ever, holding a tray stacked with steaming meat skewers and a jug of palm wine. His eyes were warm, his expression gentle—until he saw it.
Isabella.
Zyran’s hand still lingering near her chest, adjusting the necklace like some smug tailor.
Kian looming behind them, his entire aura screaming violence.
Cyrus froze mid-step. The tray in his hand tilted dangerously. His lips pressed into a thin line. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced with something sharp, something restrained but furious.
The air went nuclear.
Isabella felt the pressure building, like she was standing between three storms about to collide. She could practically hear the villagers holding their breath, waiting for the explosion.
And she thought to herself, Nope. Not today. Not at my festival.
She slapped Zyran’s hand off her shoulder, planted her hands on her hips, and glared at all three of them.
"Okay. Stop. Right. There."
Her voice cracked like a whip.
Kian blinked at her. Zyran arched a brow, amused. Cyrus tightened his grip on the tray.
Isabella took a step back, narrowing her eyes at the lot of them. "Do you all want me to spell it out? Because fine, I will. This—" she motioned wildly at Kian, then at Cyrus, then at Zyran "—is embarrassing. You three look like overgrown children fighting over candy. And guess what? I am not candy!"
"Oh, But you are candy" Zyran cut in smoothly, his tone flirty and utterly shameless.
The villagers snorted, some failing miserably to cover their laughter, others quickly clapping hands over their mouths, terrified Kian would hear them.
Isabella’s mouth dropped open. She pointed at him like she’d just spotted a rat in her kitchen. "See? This is exactly what I mean! Shameless. Absolutely shameless. I swear, Moon Mother is testing me with you."
The laughter doubled, and even a few elders coughed into their cups to hide their chuckles.
Isabella wasn’t done. Oh no.
"Kian," she snapped, stabbing her finger at him. "You cannot keep pulling me away like I’m your personal doll every time someone breathes near me. I thanked you, didn’t I? I even kissed you on the cheek, for Moon Mother’s sake! What more do you want? Blood?"
His gaze sharpened, blue eyes narrowing with the kind of weight that made Isabella’s breath hitch even as she rolled her own eyes.
"And you, Cyrus," she said, turning to the man who stood stiffly with his tray. "You don’t get to go all quiet and noble either. You made me something beautiful, and I love it. But that doesn’t mean you get to stand there with those sad puppy eyes and guilt-trip me until I melt into a puddle. It’s manipulative, Cyrus! Manipulative in the sweetest, most unfair way possible."
Cyrus’s brows rose slightly. A laugh almost broke through his composure.
"And you—" Isabella rounded on Zyran, jabbing him square in the chest. "You don’t get to just stroll in here like some fashion god, rearrange my jewelry, and pretend you’re the only one who knows how to ’decorate’ me. Newsflash, Zyran, I am not your mannequin!"
The crowd erupted into muffled laughter.
Zyran only smirked wider, utterly unbothered. "Mannequin? No. But you are the masterpiece."
Gasps. Whispers. A scandalized elder somewhere dropped her cup.
Isabella groaned and dragged her hands down her face. "Moon Mother give me strength."
Then she straightened, crossing her arms. "Listen carefully, all three of you. If you don’t cut this out right now—if you don’t stop glaring, growling, and fighting like I’m some prize to be won—I swear to the Moon Mother herself, I will leave you all standing here and go spend the rest of the night partying with the women."
The square fell silent.
The threat landed.
Whispers spread through the villagers like wildfire. They glanced nervously between the men, waiting for an explosion, waiting to see who would break first.
Kian stiffened, his pride wounded. Cyrus’s lips pressed together, torn between amusement and frustration. Zyran...
Zyran let out a low, amused laugh.