Chapter 374: Chapter 374: Tsk, don’t look at me like that
Isabella blinked at Kian, head tilting, her blonde hair spilling down one shoulder as the breeze played with the ends. "The moon?" she repeated, brows knitting together in confusion. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
The field stretched out before him, alive in ways the stone walls of the palace never were. Grass rippled like a restless sea under the wind’s push, each wave catching the gold of the sun.
Birds hopped in the distance, pecking at the soil before darting off, their wings cutting sharp arcs through the air. From where he sat, Kian could even hear the faint chatter of women gathering farther off, their voices a mix of laughter and secrets carried thinly by the breeze.
The world here was soft, restless, alive—and for a moment, it felt like it was moving only around Isabella.
His knee brushed against hers, not quite accidental, not quite intentional either, and he looked at her with those deep, unreadable eyes that made her feel like he was peeling back her layers one by one.
"Once every year," he began, voice low, calm, but so steady it pulled her into silence, "every city, every village, every tribe holds a celebration in respect of the Moon Mother."
Isabella blinked again. "...The Moon Mother?"
"Yes." He didn’t flinch, didn’t break eye contact. His thumb brushed absently against the rim of the wooden bowl still in her hands, as though even the bowl itself was too close to her not to claim some piece of his touch. "The one who watches over our world at night. The one who blessed beastmen with strength, with blood, with form."
"Ohhh." Isabella dragged the word, her lips curling with mischief. "So what you’re saying is... you people all throw a party for the moon because she stares at you every night. Romantic." She clutched Glimora tighter to her lap, the little beast rolling lazily but flicking her tail in agreement. "Tell me more, almighty storyteller."
Kian’s lips twitched, but he didn’t rise to her teasing. His gaze remained locked on her face, and his body leaned closer, his shoulder nearly brushing hers. "It is said," he continued, voice deepening, "that long ago, when the world was young, the skies were empty. No sun. No stars. Only darkness. Beastmen wandered without strength, without form, cursed to fall to stronger creatures of the earth. Then the Moon Mother descended. She took pity on us. She lit the night with her glow, so that we would not be lost. She bled silver into the rivers, so our bodies would heal quickly. And she carved her mark into the hearts of beasts, so that when the time came, they could rise on two legs and stand as men."
Isabella’s lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the solemnity in his tone. The wind ruffled his hair, strands brushing over his sharp cheekbones, and he looked like a portrait painted by gods—so serious, so intense, so very Kian.
She leaned back just a little, trying to escape the spell he wove with his words. "Wow. That’s... dramatic."
Kian blinked once, slow, heavy-lidded. "It is truth."
"Truth," she echoed, snorting softly. "Or bedtime story? I mean—come on, you really expect me to believe some cosmic lady bled silver into rivers? What is this, myth or recipe?" She giggled, shaking her head, her hair brushing against his arm.
Kian didn’t laugh. He didn’t even twitch. He just kept looking at her, eyes steady, unreadable. That made her laughter falter.
"You don’t actually believe that... do you?" she asked, half-joking, half-curious, resting her chin on her hand.
"Why wouldn’t I?" he said simply. His large hand brushed over the grass beside her hip, fingers close enough that she felt the warmth radiating from his skin. "I believe it because I carry her gift. We all do. You, too."
"Me?" Isabella sat straighter, blinking hard. "Excuse me? How exactly do I, a very normal, civilized, hot, stunning, amazing girl—"
"You forgot modest," Glimora squeaked, tail flicking as if she’d spoken. Isabella tapped her nose and rolled her eyes.
"—have anything to do with your Moon Mother’s bedtime stories?" Isabella finished, pouting.
Kian leaned forward slightly, and his shadow spilled over her face. "You live among us. You breathe our air. The Moon Mother’s blessings run through the world you walk on. You are part of it now, whether you admit it or not."
Her mouth went dry. Why was it that whenever he said things like this, he looked like he was about to kiss her into silence?
She snapped out of it quickly, shaking her head, cheeks warming. "Sure, sure. That’s real cute. But let’s be honest, you’re not celebrating her, you’re celebrating because you beastmen love an excuse to eat meat, drink, and wrestle each other half-naked in the moonlight. Right?"
Kian’s lips curved—barely. It wasn’t a laugh, but it was something. A ghost of amusement. He tilted his head, watching her like she was more fascinating than the stars. "If that is what you think, then so be it."
Her jaw dropped. "So you admit it!"
"No," he corrected calmly, leaning back onto his elbows in the grass, long legs stretching out beside her, the picture of masculine ease. "I admit nothing. But perhaps... there is nothing wrong with enjoying both blessings and celebration."
She puffed out her cheeks, annoyed by how effortlessly attractive he looked lounging like that, muscles shifting under his tunic as though sculpted to torment her specifically. She yanked Glimora up, holding her like a shield. "Tsk, don’t look at me like that."
Kian raised one brow. "Like what?"
"Like you’re trying to make me believe in fairy tales."
He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned forward again, his hand sliding over the top of her head in one smooth motion. His fingers brushed through her hair as he pressed a kiss against her crown. It wasn’t demanding, it wasn’t rough—it was quiet, reverent, so soft it made her heartbeat skip.
Her lips parted, and she stared at the grass, at Glimora, anywhere but him. "You really believe this, huh?" she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
"I do." His voice hummed against her scalp, steady and sure. "It is real."
She exhaled sharply, then laughed, because that was easier than admitting his words made something flutter deep in her chest. "You’re impossible," she muttered, resting her head against his shoulder despite herself.
His arm came around her waist with a naturalness that stole her breath, pulling her snug against his side. Glimora squished between them with an indignant squeak, but even she didn’t wriggle free—choosing instead to glare at Kian as if to say, Fine. But only because Mama looks happy.
For a while, there was silence. Just the breeze, the warmth of his body, the way his thumb brushed lazy circles against her hip as though he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
Then Isabella squinted into the distance. The group of young women she’d noticed earlier were now clustered closer, their voices carrying with the wind. They were giggling. Whispering. Pointing. At her. At them.
"Uh..." Isabella narrowed her eyes. "Is it just me, or are those women... staring at us?"
Kian didn’t even look. His lips brushed the top of her head again, his voice rumbling low and amused. "They have been staring for the past fifteen minutes."
Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "What?!"