The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 539: Every time you say you are hungry, you look directly at my hands like I am your Stone Age personal chef
Isabella stared at Osiris like she had just discovered a new species of idiot. Which, honestly, she kind of had. Because it hit her. It hit her so hard she almost dropped dead right there.
He was not helpless.
He was not incapable.
He was not oppressed.
He was not some delicate little featherless prince who could not roast meat. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢
He simply wanted to eat her food.
Her. Food.
Her eyes widened slowly. Her pupils shrank. A twitch formed at the corner of her lip.
Osiris blinked in confusion. "Why are you staring at me like that."
"Oh my god," Isabella whispered. "Oh my actual god."
"What," he asked again.
She pointed at him. "You. You are the problem."
Osiris frowned. "I do not understand."
"You never understand," she snapped. "You understand nothing. You live to annoy me. You breathe to irritate me. Your entire existence is built around making me cook for you."
Osiris crossed his arms at her accusation. "That is not true."
"It is true," Isabella said, stepping closer. "Every time you say you are hungry, you look directly at my hands like I am your Stone Age personal chef."
Osiris made a noise. "I do not do that."
"You do," she said. "You absolutely do. Do not lie to me."
And as usual, their energy instantly shifted into that familiar, chaotic back-and-forth rhythm. Like they were born to fight. Like the universe created them specifically to drive each other insane.
Osiris scoffed. "You are imagining things."
"I am imagining nothing," she said. "You want me to cook for you because you like my food."
"So," he muttered.
That one little word. So.
It was the final straw in Isabella’s sanity.
She threw her hands in the air dramatically. "Exactly. So. So you admit it. You useless walking giant. Oh my god."
Osiris opened his mouth, but she snapped her fingers in his face. "Do not talk to me. I need space from your stupidity."
"I am not stupid," he argued.
"Yes you are," she said.
"I am not," he insisted.
"Osiris," Isabella said calmly. "Sweetie. Honey. Giant evolutionary mistake. You are stupid."
Glimora made a soft squeak of agreement from Isabella’s shoulder.
Osiris gasped. "You taught her that."
"She learned on her own," Isabella said proudly. "My daughter has taste."
Osiris glared weakly. Isabella glared harder. If glares could kill, they would have been buried three times by now.
Finally, Isabella huffed loudly, spun around, and stomped into the hut.
Osiris followed two steps behind her like a lost goose. "Where are you going."
"Inside," she snapped. "Away from you."
"But I am hungry," he said.
She slammed the wooden curtain aside and walked in. "Eat bark," she called behind her. "Or air. You are a beast man. Adapt."
He stood outside with the most offended expression she had ever seen. "I do not eat bark."
"I do not care," she said from inside. "Go catch a rabbit. Wrestle a boar. Punch a tree. I am busy."
He glared at the closed doorway like it had personally wronged him, arms crossed, stomach growling loud enough to echo through the tiny hut. "Unbelievable," he muttered. "She feeds a baby beast and not me." Then his stomach growled again, louder, and he kicked a pebble in pure betrayal.
The room they had been given was carved with smooth stone. Walls curved upward like a natural dome. Glowing plants hung from woven nets on the ceiling, giving the whole place a warm, soft light.
The floor was covered in thick moss that felt like a giant forest mattress. It smelled good too, like pine and something sweet. The sound of the forest outside drifted in gently, creating a calm atmosphere that Isabella desperately needed.
"Better than that stupid lagoon," she muttered as she set her bag down.
Glimora hopped off her shoulder and curled near the wall, humming softly.
The hut had one raised stone platform that was obviously meant to be the bed. Isabella’s eyes immediately claimed it.
"You sleep on the floor," she whispered like a threat, imagining Osiris hearing it through the walls.
She stretched her back a little, rubbing her small belly. The faint bump was definitely there. Cooking would distract her mind. It always did.
She brought out her clay pots, wooden spoon, spice powders, her little bundle of herbs she collected from the mountain, dried meat she kept in her inventory, a small fire crystal to start heat, and a smooth flat stone to use as a cutting surface.
Even though it was the Stone Age era, she looked like she was about to shoot a cooking show.
She set the fire crystal in a shallow pit. Flames gently licked upward.
"Perfect."
The smell of the forest blended with the soft warmth of the fire, relaxing her.
She sliced some root vegetables, humming softly. Glimora peeked at her with glittering eyes. Isabella tossed a small piece to her. Glimora chomped happily.
She added herbs to the pot, letting the steam rise in fragrant waves.
The smell filled the hut. Earthy. Warm. Comforting. It reminded Isabella of home. Or rather, of the home she wished she had. A peaceful one. A gentle one. Not the one she grew up in.
Her heart felt heavy for a moment.
Cyrus flashed in her mind.
She blinked fast. "No. We are not thinking about him."
The stew simmered, bubbling softly.
She tasted it.
Perfect.
She filled a bowl for herself.
Filled a smaller bowl for Glimora.
She sat cross-legged on the moss floor and sighed contently.
Then she heard footsteps.
Then she heard breathing.
Then she smelled him.
Osiris.
The stupid giant.
He stepped into the doorway with that sheepish, adorable, punchable smile.
His hair was a little messy.
His eyes were bright.
He looked like a puppy who knew he was not allowed on the bed but still climbed on it.
"I smelled food," he said softly.
Isabella froze.
She turned her head slowly, like a goddess preparing to smite a fool.
Osiris’ smile grew. "I am hungry."
