CHAPTER 214: CHAPTER 215: THIS? THIS IS LIKE BEING REWARDED BY THE HEAVENS THEMSELVES

"Exactly how you like it," Cyrus said, his voice low and calm as he handed the steaming bowl to Isabella, carefully wrapped in thick animal hide to protect her hands.

Isabella took it with both palms and looked up at him from where she sat on the thick log. The fire nearby crackled, casting a soft orange glow across his sharp cheekbones and bare, muscular chest. She couldn’t help but smile—because Cyrus never got anything wrong.

"Thank you," she said, grinning at him like he’d just gifted her the moon. And in this world, maybe he had. Her stomach had been grumbling for hours, and the smell alone had nearly made her cry. Now that the bowl was in her hand, warm and fragrant, she wasted no time. She scooped a spoonful and took it straight to her lips.

The moment the rich, earthy flavor hit her tongue, her eyes fluttered shut.

A low moan escaped her, shameless and satisfied. "Gods, Cyrus... you know I’ve been starving all day. This? This is like being rewarded by the heavens themselves." She barely swallowed before taking another bite. "You’re simply the best," she said between slurps, licking her lips with delight.

Cyrus, who had been standing silently nearby, swallowed—though not food.

His gaze shamelessly followed the trail of her tongue as it flicked over her lips. His eyes lingered just a beat too long before he suddenly turned his face away, a flush creeping up his neck. He shifted awkwardly on his feet, hands brushing over his animal skin skirt as if trying to distract himself. But it was too late—Isabella hadn’t missed that look. Not that she said anything.

And not that she understood what she felt about it.

Just then, the faint sound of footsteps rustling through dry grass reached them, and both turned at the same time. Isabella lowered her spoon. Cyrus subtly shifted in front of her, as he often did when something unknown approached.

But it wasn’t a threat.

It was Ilyana.

She walked with that slow, graceful ease of a woman who didn’t rush for anyone. Her long, wavy hair was tied loosely with a strip of vine, and the simple cloth she wore flowed with each step. She stopped a few feet away, her eyes moving from Isabella to Cyrus.

Isabella’s brows rose.

She peeked behind Ilyana, expecting—well, dreading—to see her twin IsoIde trailing behind with that usual sour look on her face. But there was no one.

Her shoulders relaxed a little.

"Isabella," she greeted, her voice soft and warm as the early morning sun. A gentle smile bloomed on her face, as if truly pleased to see her.

Isabella returned it with equal warmth, lips parting in a beam that softened her features.

"Ilyana," Isabella greeted with a warm smile, motioning for her to come closer. Ilyana returned the smile gently and stepped near, pausing beside Cyrus.

"Cyrus," Ilyana said, much softer now. Her voice was so sweet and delicate it almost made Isabella blink. She tilted her head slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she looked up at him.

Cyrus dipped his head politely, his mouth lifting in a subtle smile.

Isabella, halfway through another mouthful, paused with the spoon still hovering near her lips.

Oh.

Oooooh.

Her eyes flicked from Ilyana’s demure smile to Cyrus’s bashful one. She lowered the spoon slowly, carefully, like it was carved from fragile bone and might snap if she moved too fast. She didn’t say anything. Not yet.

Instead, she returned to her soup, pretending it was the only thing she cared about. But now every taste felt a little less exciting.

It’s not like she minded, really. Ilyana was sweet. Soft-spoken. Nothing like her awful twin. If anyone deserved someone like Cyrus, it was her.

Still... the way Ilyana looked at him. The way he looked back.

Cyrus had never once mentioned wanting a mate. He barely spoke to the other women. She was so used to having his quiet, dependable warmth all to herself that this sudden possibility caught her off guard.

She must’ve just gotten used to him. That was all. His kindness, his attentiveness. He always cooked her food the way she liked it, always looked after her when she didn’t ask, always made sure she ate first even when food was scarce.

Yes. That was it.

Totally normal to feel... weird... when that attention started to shift.

"So, Ilyana, why are you here?" Isabella asked sweetly, breaking the silence while scooping another bite into her mouth. Her tone was light, not a single note of suspicion, though her eyes flicked up to watch every movement.

Ilyana folded her hands behind her back and tilted her head. Her eyes dropped to the soup in Isabella’s lap like a curious little pup. "Well... everyone caught a whiff of the wonderful smell from this direction, and IsoIde and I were curious."

"I’m guessing IsoIde had a sudden change of heart when she realized it had something to do with me," Isabella added, voice dry and amused.

Ilyana’s eyes lit up. "Yes, yes!" she said, nodding with surprising excitement. "Exactly! How did you know?"

"I just know love," Isabella replied, waving a hand like it was common sense. She tilted her head toward Cyrus without skipping a beat. "Would you mind dishing out some soup for her, Cyrus?"

As always, he nodded without a word, turning on his heel to retrieve another bowl.

Ilyana’s eyes followed him like a sunflower chasing sunlight. A soft sigh puffed from her lips, almost involuntarily, and Isabella caught it. Oh, she caught it all right. Every single dreamy blink.

And suddenly, her soup didn’t taste quite as good.

Not bad, of course. Cyrus didn’t do bad. But maybe it could’ve used a little more salt. Or a little less perfect timing.

Still, she leaned back on the log and smiled.

Everything was fine.

Totally fine.

Except now her ears were slightly pink. Her chest slightly tight.

She would bring them together if it came to it. Absolutely. She wasn’t one of those petty girls. Not her.

She’d just... need a few more bowls of soup to fully adjust. Maybe five. Maybe ten.

Cyrus returned with another bowl wrapped in animal hide, holding it carefully. His fingers brushed against Ilyana’s as he handed it to her. She blushed.

Isabella’s jaw clenched around a particularly large mushroom. (Poor mushroom)