Chapter 384: Chapter 384: Do you really think your king can win against me?
The sound of Zyran’s laugh rippled through the square like a stone dropped into still water.
It wasn’t a normal laugh. Not the kind that came when someone told a joke or tripped over their own feet. No—this was low, rich, and dangerous. A laugh that always, always meant something was about to go horribly wrong.
Isabella’s spine stiffened instantly. She knew that laugh. She’d heard it enough times to know trouble was about to unfold. And sure enough, Zyran straightened, his smirk growing wider as his voice rang out over the crowd.
"Look at this!" Zyran’s voice boomed across the festival square, smooth and theatrical, spreading his arms wide like he’d been born for the stage. He might as well have had a drumroll behind him. "Three men—our glorious king, our gentle teacher, and, of course, myself—fighting for one woman. And who is she? The one and only Goddess Isabella!"
The villagers gasped in unison, like a badly-trained choir. Some women clutched their necklaces, others grabbed the arms of their mates, and one old man nearly choked on his palm wine.
And then, like wildfire, their shock caught and turned into chaos.
"Choose, Lady Isabella!" someone shouted from the back.
Immediately, heads started nodding, whispers sparking like fire in dry grass.
"Of course! She must choose!"
"It’s the only right thing!"
"On the night of the Moon Goddess, no less!"
Because of course, everyone knew what Zyran was slyly hinting at. The Full Moon Festival wasn’t just a party. No, tradition said it was the best night for mating blessings. Which meant, in their little beast-brain logic, what could be more proper, more sacred, than Isabella choosing right now?
The energy in the air thickened, buzzing with excitement. Some villagers were clapping, others pounding their chests in agreement, the chanting swelling—
And then, from the corner, one very unhelpful voice cut through:
"It is even best if you take all three of them tonight! That way, you will surely bear fruit by the next morning!"
The crowd gasped again—then half of them cheered.
"Yes, yes, she would be blessed three times over!"
"Triple the strength! Triple the cubs!"
"The Moon Goddess herself will smile upon it!"
Isabella froze.
Her smile twitched, her jaw clenched, and inside her head she was screaming:
These people are all mad. They are all mad. Absolutely insane. Completely and utterly gone.
They were advising her to take this three men at once, wasn’t that the same as pushing her to her death?!
She forced a laugh that sounded more like she was choking. "Ha... ha... ha... what?"
But no one heard her. They were already chanting louder.
"Choose! Choose! Choose!"
"Yes, choose!" another voice rang out.
"Pick your man tonight!"
And before Isabella could even raise a hand to silence them, the chanting began.
"Choose! Choose! Choose!"
It rolled over her like a tidal wave. The women were grinning, eyes sparkling with gossip. The men were pounding their fists against their chests. Children squealed, half-understanding what was happening but loving the noise of it all.
Isabella panicked. Her hands flew up in front of her. "Wait—wait, hold on!"
But no one held on.
"Choose! Choose!"
Her heart slammed in her chest. She spun, desperate for an escape route, but the circle around her had closed tight. The entire village was in on it now. She spotted Ophelia near the front—sweet, innocent Ophelia—and without thinking, Isabella bolted toward her.
"Save me!" Isabella hissed, diving behind the poor girl like she was a human shield.
Ophelia blinked, startled, her hands fluttering uncertainly at her sides. "Um...?"
"Don’t just stand there! Hide me! Block them!" Isabella shoved her lightly, crouching behind her slender frame. "You’re supposed to protect me!"
Ophelia looked at her, horrified. "I—I can’t stop them!"
"You’re no help at all!" Isabella wailed, tugging at her friend’s arm like a child begging their mother to carry them.
The villagers howled with laughter, delighted by the spectacle. Isabella could feel her face heating, not from embarrassment, but from sheer disbelief that this nonsense was even happening.
And then, because apparently fate wanted to see her suffer, a bold young beastman pushed his way forward from the crowd.
He looked about her age, broad-shouldered and brimming with misplaced confidence.
"Why waste time chanting?" he said, grinning. "Let the three of them settle it the beastman way—with a duel!"
The crowd roared. Fists shot into the air. Feet stomped against the packed earth.
"Yes! A duel!"
"A fight for her hand!"
Isabella’s jaw dropped.
"What?!" she screeched. "Are you all insane?!"
The young man raised his hand proudly, basking in the attention. "We all know who the winner will be anyway—our king, of course!"
The crowd cheered in agreement.
"Long live King Kian!"
"Victory to the lion king!"
Kian didn’t move, but Isabella swore she saw the faint twitch of a muscle in his jaw.
And then—of course—Zyran had to open his big mouth again.
"Do you really think your king can win against me?" he drawled, his grin wicked. "What a shame. I’d almost pity him."
The crowd gasped as if lightning had struck the square.
Isabella slapped a hand over her face. "Oh my god. Oh my actual god. This cannot be happening."
But it was. Oh, it was.
The chanting resumed, this time with even more gusto. "Fight! Fight! Fight!"
She whipped her head toward the bold villager who had started this nonsense, glaring at him with all the fury she could muster. If looks could kill, the boy would’ve been ash on the ground.
And apparently, his mate thought so too.
A furious-looking woman stormed out of the crowd, grabbed the beastman by his ear—his actual animal ear—and yanked it hard enough to make him yelp.
"Do you want to piss her off?!" she shouted, shaking him like a misbehaving pup. "Don’t you know when to shut up?"
The man winced, his face crumpling as the crowd roared with laughter. "Ow—ow, love, stop! Not in front of everyone!"
"Of all my mates, you’re always the one embarrassing me!" she snapped, dragging him back into the crowd. He sulked instantly, his shoulders slumping, ears flat against his head like a scolded cub.
Isabella gawked at the scene, half-horrified, half-amused despite herself.
"You see?!" she cried, throwing her hands up. "This is exactly why I said this is crazy! I am not going to let three men fight over me like some sort of—"
Her words froze.
Because when she turned, her eyes met Cyrus’s.
He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t even glaring at Zyran or Kian.
No—his gaze was calm. Steady. Soft, even. And he was looking only at her.
"If this is what you want, Isabella," he said quietly, "then I’ll fight for you."
The square went silent.
Her heart stopped.