The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 540: That is mate behavior

The moment Isabella told him off and marched into the stone hut, Osiris stood outside like a kicked puppy who did not understand why lightning had struck him specifically.

She had insulted him many times, but hearing her realize he liked her cooking had done something strange to him. Something warm. Something embarrassing. Something he immediately pretended he did not feel.

And yet, instead of following her inside to continue annoying her like usual, he turned away.

He had someone he needed to find.

The spirit man.

The one who called him Prince.

Prince of the Phoenix Clan.

Those words had been echoing in his skull like distant thunder.

So Osiris walked through the village, past the glowing stones and floating lantern-bugs, until he reached the clearing where the spirit man had been earlier.

He found him near a shallow pond, sharpening a curved stone blade that glowed faintly with blue light. The man’s body shimmered at the edges like smoke wrapped around bones. His hair flowed without wind, and his eyes held the calm wisdom of someone who had outlived too many stories.

Osiris approached, trying to look confident even though his heart was pounding.

The spirit man noticed and immediately bowed his head slightly. "My Prince."

Osiris froze.

He was still not used to hearing that.

"Do not call me that," Osiris said awkwardly. "I do not even remember being anyone’s prince."

The man looked up with sympathy softening his face. "Memory loss is a cruel burden. But your wings, your aura, even your eyes... they resemble your father’s. I could never mistake you."

Osiris swallowed.

He did not know how to feel.

Proud?

Uncomfortable?

Confused?

Yes. All of the above.

"What are you doing," Osiris finally asked, nodding at the shimmering blade.

"Sharpening for the night," the spirit man said. "The dark hour approaches. We must be prepared. Night creatures roam freely then."

Osiris winced slightly. He remembered the night creatures. He remembered none of his past life but remembered those bastards entirely too well.

The man set his blade aside and patted the rock beside him. "Sit, Prince Osiris. Ask what you wish."

Osiris hesitated, then sat stiffly.

"The woman with you," the spirit man said mildly. "She is your mate."

Osiris choked. "She is not."

The man blinked like he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. "My Prince. She nearly stabbed half the village when she thought you were in danger. That is mate behavior."

Osiris made a sound of deep, offended confusion. "She would stab me first."

"That is also mate behavior."

Osiris stared at him. "Your village needs therapy." (Hmm sounds like something Isabella would say)

The spirit man chuckled softly, but his expression soon shifted, becoming more serious and more ancient.

"You came because you have questions," he said.

Osiris nodded. "You said something earlier. That you recognized me. And... that I was a prince."

"You are a prince," the man said gently. "Prince of the Phoenix Clan. Son of the Fiendness King. One who carried the ancient flame."

Osiris felt something inside him tremble.

He did not understand why.

He did not even know this father the man spoke of.

But the words hit him in a place he did not know existed.

"Then tell me," Osiris said quietly. "Why am I here. Why am I like this. Why... why do I not remember anything."

The spirit man sighed, the air around him rippling faintly with emotion. "Because your clan was attacked."

Osiris stiffened instantly.

The pond beside them rippled violently, reacting to his sudden shift in aura.

"What do you mean attacked," Osiris asked, voice dropping low.

The man looked at the ground. "Nearly destroyed."

Osiris went still.

Even the forest went quiet.

Even the mountain seemed to hold its breath.

The spirit man continued, voice heavy. "The Fiendness Clan was one of the greatest clans on this mountain. Their bloodline was nearly divine. The Phoenix flame is sacred. But it made your clan hunted. Envied. Feared."

Osiris felt a pulse in his chest. A strange ache.

Like he had lost something he never got to meet.

"Who attacked them," Osiris asked.

"We do not know," the man said honestly. "The news spread all over the mountain. The Fiendness Clan was slaughtered. Survivors fled. And the prince..." He looked up at Osiris. "They said the prince died. The child who took thousands of years to be born. A miracle."

Osiris stared at him.

He could not breathe.

He could not think.

It felt like someone had tied stones to his heart and dropped it into the pond beside them.

"But," Osiris managed to say, "I am alive."

"Yes," the man said. "Which means someone rescued you. Hid you. Or someone betrayed you. The truth is lost."

Osiris clenched his fists.

"So I am the last," he whispered.

"We do not know that," the man said gently. "Some say the survivors fled far from the mountain. Others say they built a new settlement. But no one has seen them. No one knows the truth."

Osiris stared at his reflection in the pond.

He did not see a prince.

He saw a man who had lost everything he did not even remember having.

He forced himself to breathe.

"What else do you know," Osiris asked.

"Nothing more," the spirit man said with regret. "Only what the roaming spirits whispered and what passing clans reported. The tragedy happened many, many years ago."

Osiris nodded numbly.

The man placed a hand on his shoulder. "Be careful, my Prince. You are being hunted. Someone wants the last Phoenix extinguished."

Osiris closed his eyes.

He stayed quiet for a long moment.

Finally, he nodded. "Thank you."

He stood.

The man bowed deeply. "May your flame return in full."

Osiris walked away, but his steps were heavier now.

His thoughts darker.

Something inside him felt... cracked.

He wanted to remember.

He wanted to know why.

He wanted to know who.

But no matter how hard he pushed, his mind felt like a locked room.

He could only walk.

Walk until the village lights came into view again.

The moment he reached the hut, he paused outside the door.

He could smell food.

Isabella’s cooking.

Warm. Spiced. Perfect.

The kind of smell that made his stomach clench and his chest feel warm.

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, forcing his face back into that annoyingly carefree expression he always wore around her.

She did not need to see his sadness.

Isabella would mock him.

Or worse, she might worry.

He did not want that.

So he straightened his posture.

He rolled his shoulders.

He pushed everything deep inside.

He lifted the curtain slightly.

She was sitting on the floor with Glimora, bowls of steaming stew in front of them.

The firelight made her glow.

He stood there, completely silent, watching her for a moment he pretended he did not take.

Then he stepped inside.

Isabella turned her head slowly, like the goddess of judgment herself.

Osiris gave his most sheepish, pitiful smile.

"I am hungry."