Chapter 369: Chapter 369: Why would you—
She ignored him and settled closer under his jaw, tail looped like a smug necklace.
"Cute," Isabella whispered, then pretended she had said nothing when Zyran cut her a look that said do not call me cute furniture.
Time stretched. Steam curled; sunlight slid across the boards; the scent of coconut and honey softened the room. For a rare moment, nothing hurt. Feeding something that did not want to kill him—yet—was not the worst task he had drawn.
He placed the last bite against Glimora’s tiny mouth. She accepted it like tribute, then licked the tip of his finger once, fast, as if signing a contract he was not allowed to read. Zyran blinked, startled. The room felt different by a hair, as if a line had moved one breath toward friend and one breath from enemy. He did not trust it, but he felt it. He looked away first.
Reluctantly he faced Glimora, who sat like a queen on a stolen throne. He reached for the big bowls, scooped out her portion, and set it into a smaller bowl. Slowly he lifted a morsel and held it near her mouth. Glimora sniffed, decided it passed, and ate. She even leaned forward for more. A second bite. A third. She chewed with focus, then tapped his cheek with a paw as if to say, Again, servant.
Everyone else kept eating. Once in a while, Cyrus added to Isabella’s plate—another spoon of rice, a sliver of roast, a small scoop of greens. Kian did the same, silent and steady, as if building a wall of food around her so no hunger could sneak through. Zyran was stuck feeding Glimora, which he did not like, but he kept going because Isabella’s mouth kept curving when the beast behaved.
When Isabella was finally full, she set her spoon down with a soft clack. "I’m done," she told them. "I don’t want to eat more."
Kian frowned at once. "You eat too little," he said. "You should eat more so you add weight."
Silence tripped. Isabella’s gaze darkened. Her lips pressed flat. Across the table Cyrus shot Kian a look that said: Brother, that was a trap. Why step in it?
"Do you not like me the way I am?" Isabella asked, cool. "You think I am too lean? Wait—do you think I’m ugly?"
Kian blinked like she had thrown a bucket of cold water at him. He only meant well. He only meant health. He did not understand how his words had put him in a burning house. "No," he said, sincere. "I did not mean it that way. I meant you should eat more so you will be more healthy. I only meant well for you."
"So you think I am not healthy enough," Isabella said. "That is what you are saying."
Kian stared at her, at the table, at his hands. A strange feeling crawled over him—uncertainty. One wrong word and he would be in deeper trouble. He had never felt like this. Normally he did not care what people said or felt. But with Isabella, everything was different. With Isabella, he felt like if he slipped, he would be scolded. By her. The idea made his chest tight in a way battle never did.
He looked at Cyrus. Cyrus looked down at his food with intense interest, pretending not to see, because if Isabella glanced up and caught them signaling, they were both dead.
Zyran could not help the small smirk that pulled at his mouth. He enjoyed Isabella being mad at Kian. He took quiet notes never to mention weight around her, just in case it was his turn next. He was feeling wise and safe—until Isabella looked up and nailed him with a stare.
"Why are you smirking?" she asked. "You think this is funny? Okay, now you’re on his side. You think I am too lean too? You think I am too— do you know what they call this? They call this body shaming. You guys are body shaming me."
The three men froze. They had never heard a term like that before. Kian and Cyrus stared, blank. Zyran’s brows leapt, then crashed. He was confused. He had not said anything. Did he not have the right to have a face? Why was he being attacked for a smirk he earned with silence?
Also—him, of all people? He thought Isabella’s body was the best body in all the realms. If they were going in that direction, everything about Isabella was perfect to him. How could she even say that? How could she think that? Zyran cleared his throat and slowly looked down at his food, choosing life.
Glimora sensed Isabella was mad, and the little beast decided she knew exactly what to do to make Mama proud. These men always put Mama in distress. Today Zyran would be the example. (This was a lie. She just wanted to frustrate Zyran and get revenge for last night’s soup. Also she did not like him. At all.)
Glimora began to move. Slow. Silent. She flowed from one of Zyran’s shoulders to the other, a white ribbon slipping behind his neck. Her legs made no sound. Her tail brushed his jaw like a warning.
Isabella did not notice; she was still fuming, replaying Kian’s sentence and deciding how many lectures he would receive. Zyran did not think much of the shift. Oh, well, he thought, and kept holding the small bowl for his unwanted passenger.
Then Glimora’s tail flicked. One smooth motion. A soft sweep across Zyran’s nose.
He snorted, coughing out a bit of fur, eyes narrowing in a sharp glare at the tiny monster. His pride was already sore from Isabella’s earlier jab. He had been scolded in front of Cyrus and Kian, when Kian should have been the one receiving fire. "Why would you—" he started at Glimora, ready to deliver a lecture on manners.
before he could even complete his statement? Glimora let out a fart in his mouth and his eyes widened.