CHAPTER 423: CHAPTER 423: CYRUS, WHERE IS SHE?

The air was too still that morning. Even the stone walls seemed to hold their breath.

Kian left his sister’s chambers with the dull ache of sleeplessness still sitting behind his eyes. The corridor stretched ahead, washed in the pale light that filtered through narrow slits in the palace walls. Every few steps, he caught himself listening—half expecting to hear Isabella’s sharp laugh echo down the hall, or that soft hum she made when she was thinking.

Nothing.

No chatter.

No footsteps.

No sound at all.

It was wrong.

He told himself he wouldn’t go near her room. He wasn’t ready for that—for her eyes, the questions, the unspoken why did you do it? that would live between them forever. He’d already failed her once. Better to stay away.

But the silence dragged at him like a hook.

He stopped outside her door. The faintest breath of air came from the crack beneath it—warm, uneven, alive. Someone was in there. His body tensed. Instinct, the part of him that never slept, stirred.

He pushed the door open.

The sight that greeted him was not what he expected.

Cyrus sat on the cold stone floor, chest bare, his body caught between man and beast. His tail was coiled tight around him, trembling, and the mass of his red hair writhed softly—the strands alive, hissing faintly, each snake’s eyes wet and shining. They looked at Kian when he entered, a dozen little faces of grief, before drooping again, sinking back against Cyrus’s shoulders.

Kian froze in the doorway. The air in the room was thick, almost suffocating. He could taste something heavy in it—salt, grief, and something else that made his stomach twist.

"Cyrus?" His voice came out rough, unused.

Cyrus didn’t answer at first. His gaze was fixed somewhere far away, the faint rise and fall of his chest the only sign he was still alive.

Kian stepped closer. "Where’s Isabella?"

At that, Cyrus’s head lifted just slightly. His eyes were dull, rimmed red. "She went out," he said softly. "She’ll be back."

It was too calm. Too rehearsed.

Kian’s brows furrowed. "Out? At dawn?"

No answer.

He took another step, his feet scraping against the floor. He’d known Cyrus long enough to read the smallest tells—the flicker of a throat muscle, the hitch in his breathing—and every single one screamed lie.

"Cyrus," Kian said, his tone low, warning. "Where is she?"

Cyrus didn’t look at him. Didn’t even flinch.

"She’ll be back," he repeated softly—too softly. The words were brittle, fragile things that cracked in the air the moment they left his mouth.

He blinked once, his lashes trembling, and a small, broken laugh escaped him before he could stop it. His voice wavered, quiet, as if he were speaking more to himself than to Kian.

"She said I shouldn’t come after her."

Another shaky breath.

"She said she didn’t want to see me again... that I should leave."

His fingers dug into the floor, the veins in his arms tightening. His eyes weren’t really seeing anything now—they were distant, lost somewhere in the memory of her voice, her face twisted with anger and fear.

"She said she hated me," he whispered, barely audible, like the words were blades he was forcing himself to swallow.

A pause. His throat bobbed.

"She said she never wanted anything to do with me again."

Each word seemed to take something out of him. His snakes stirred weakly, coiling tighter against his shoulders as if trying to comfort him, their little hisses sounding like quiet sobs.

"I thought..." His lips trembled, and his voice cracked just slightly. "I thought if I stayed here, she might change her mind. That she’d come back and see I was still here waiting. But..." He let out a dry, humorless laugh. "She told me not to wait. And yet I can’t move. My body won’t let me."

He finally turned his head, meeting Kian’s gaze with hollow, red-rimmed eyes that looked like they hadn’t closed all night. "She’ll be back," he said again—but this time, it wasn’t conviction. It was hope pretending not to be grief.

And somehow, that made it even sadder.

Something cold slithered down Kian’s spine.

Cyrus never let her go anywhere alone. He hovered like a shadow, protective, quiet, patient—but never absent. The man would sooner face a pack of wild beasts than let Isabella walk out unguarded. So what could make him sit here like this—broken, half-changed, trembling?

The smell hit Kian then.

It was faint but unmistakable—sweet and sharp all at once, laced with magic. His beast stirred violently beneath his skin, recognizing the scent for what it was.

Mating.

The walls of the room seemed to close in around him. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, the snarl building low in his throat before he even realized it.

His eyes darkened, blue bleeding into black.

He took a slow breath, forcing his claws not to extend, forcing the fury down, but it was already too late. His senses were sharper now, crueler. The whole room reeked of her. Of them.

He could see it—her hair tangled on the sheets, the faint scent of tears mixed with the raw magic of a completed bond.

And Cyrus—this man he’d never trusted, never liked—sat there like a ghost of himself, red hair writhing, snakes weeping quietly as if they carried the weight of a sin he couldn’t undo.

The sight made something ugly coil inside Kian’s chest. Not jealousy. Not even anger—something darker. Because for once, Cyrus didn’t look smug or saintly. He looked destroyed.

And that only made Kian’s fury burn hotter.

Kian’s jaw tightened until it hurt. "What," he said quietly, dangerously, "did you do?"

Cyrus didn’t move. His snakes hissed weakly, curling closer to him like frightened children.

That silence was answer enough.

The fury that lived in Kian’s chest flared bright and violent, roaring against the cold control he’d built his entire life upon. His hands curled into fists. The ground beneath him cracked, faint hairline fractures snaking through the stone as his power stirred.

The lion inside him wanted blood. Wanted to tear, to punish, to reclaim.

But he didn’t move.

He just stood there, breathing hard, his shadow stretching long and dark across the floor.

The smell of their bond clung to the air like a taunt.

And for the first time since that night, Kian felt something inside him truly break.