Chapter 376: Chapter 376: Excuse me? Did you—did you just—?!
"Why disturb me?" Kian finally asked, his tone cold as usual.
The four young women standing before Isabella straightened so fast their spines practically clicked. It was clear how much they respected their king... but it was also very, very clear how much they feared him.
They exchanged panicked looks, their lips twitching, eyes darting to one another like a flock of startled birds.
None of them dared speak.
Instead, they began a frantic silent argument—heads tilting, eyes widening, mouths shaping soundless words.
"You go first!" one mouthed.
"No, you!" another insisted, eyes bulging like she’d rather be eaten alive than speak to Kian.
The third girl gave the tiniest shake of her head, lips forming: "Not me, I’ll die."
The fourth, the smallest of the group, looked like she might faint on the spot. She pressed her hands together, muttering silent prayers to the Moon Mother for divine rescue.
Isabella sat cross-legged on the grass, Glimora draped lazily across her lap like a smug fur blanket. She arched a brow, intrigued. They looked to be about her age—young, nervous, and extremely bad at hiding their little gossip session.
She herself hadn’t turned to look at Kian since he spoke. But the way the girls were staring at him—like he was both the most terrifying and most beautiful creature alive—made her unsettled and curious.
So she turned.
And instantly wished she hadn’t.
Her eyes widened.
Kian wasn’t just staring. He was glaring at the poor girls like they were long-lost enemies who had crawled out of the grave to stand before him. His icy blue eyes glinted like sharpened blades, his jaw set so tight she swore she heard the crack of bone.
For a moment, Isabella actually thought he might execute them on the spot.
"Kian!" she hissed. She slapped his arm lightly—well, lightly for her; on anyone else it would’ve stung. "Don’t look at them like that!"
His gaze flicked down immediately, attention snapping to her.
And to her utter shock, he looked... confused. As though of all the things he’d expected—fear, trembling, begging—he had not, in fact, expected a scolding slap from her.
He raised one brow, the faintest crease forming between his brows.
Only Isabella would dare glare at him like that without fear of repercussion.
Understanding that she clearly didn’t like his glare, Kian didn’t argue. He didn’t even bother to defend himself. He simply dropped the thought of those girls and kept his gaze firmly locked on Isabella instead.
Since she had brought his attention back, why waste it elsewhere?
Isabella blinked, startled when she realized he wasn’t looking away. At all.
Her stomach flipped. He was watching her now, not with icy detachment but with that unreadable focus of his—like she was the only thing worth his time.
She rolled her eyes with exaggerated drama, muttering under her breath. "Men in this world... secretly psychopaths. I’m convinced."
But when she turned back, the four young women had noticed. They had been whispering again, their heads together, eyes darting between her and Kian.
The moment Isabella’s sharp blue gaze landed on them, though, they straightened like guilty children. They stopped gossiping instantly, plastering on awkward smiles.
"You can speak," Isabella said, adjusting herself on the grass. She pulled Glimora closer, who blinked at the girls with the most unimpressed feline expression imaginable.
The tension lifted a little. Isabella’s tone wasn’t sharp like Kian’s. The girls relaxed, shoulders sagging in relief.
Finally, after one last desperate round of silent rock-paper-scissors via eyebrow flicks, one girl stepped forward.
She bowed nervously. "My lady... today our small village holds the celebration of the Full Moon Festival. Tonight. We came to ask if you would... join us in preparing."
She fidgeted with her hands, clearly struggling not to blurt the words too quickly.
Isabella tilted her head, confusion flickering across her face. Seriously? All that whispering, all that silent drama, just to ask her to get ready with them?
She almost told them no—she could obviously dress herself. But a thought struck her. Maybe this wasn’t as simple as she thought.
While Isabella pondered her reply, Kian’s face darkened.
Of course. He had been planning to spend every stolen moment with Isabella before the festival began. His duties already robbed him of most of their days, and now these women dared come to snatch her away?
His jaw tightened. His fingers curled faintly in the grass, the movement precise, restrained.
There was no flare of rage, no outward sign of jealousy—only the sharp stillness of a predator watching prey step too close. He did not need to shout or snarl; the weight of his silence was enough.
The women clearly had no idea they were walking into a death sentence.
"You should really join us, my lady!" another girl chimed suddenly, stepping forward with far more enthusiasm than sense. Her eyes shone as she clasped her hands dreamily. "It is said that when a lady joins in the preparation for the Full Moon Festival, the Moon Mother blesses her with beauty and fertility. So when you mate with our king, you will—"
She didn’t finish.
The girl beside her elbowed her hard in the ribs. Too late.
The words had already spilled into the air like oil on water.
Silence.
Absolute, horrifying silence.
Even Glimora froze mid-tail flick.
Isabella’s jaw dropped. Her whole face went red. Not just pink. Red.
Kian went still. His head tilted the slightest degree, his blue eyes narrowing to slits. The temperature of the entire field seemed to plummet.
The girls froze, trembling like prey under the gaze of a predator. Even the wind seemed to hush, the grass bowing low as if afraid to rustle in his presence.
But Isabella—too close, too tied to him—caught the flicker no one else did. The faint curve at the corner of his mouth that wasn’t quite a smile, wasn’t quite a snarl. His gaze didn’t sharpen only in anger; it darkened with something heavier, hungrier.
He hadn’t missed that word. Mate.
It lingered in the air like smoke, curling between them, a dangerous secret only he seemed to savor. To anyone else, his silence screamed fury. But Isabella felt the heat beneath the ice, the pleased glint in his stare—as though the slip of a village girl had confirmed something he’d already decided long ago.
And that thought made her skin prickle more than his glare ever could.
Cyrus wasn’t here, but Isabella wished he was, because maybe—just maybe—he could dig a hole for her to climb into.
She stammered. "Excuse me? Did you—did you just—?!"
The enthusiastic girl clapped her hands over her mouth, horrified.