The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 541: I am hungry

Osiris stood in the doorway like a starving bear begging for scraps.

Except the scraps were made by a woman who wanted to throw him off a cliff.

The small stone hut they had been given glowed faintly from the bioluminescent moss lining the inner walls.

Soft cool blue light reflected off the smooth stone floor. Strange vine-like roots hung down from the ceiling, swaying gently like they were alive.

Outside, faint forest noises whispered through the cracks. A cool mountain wind hummed low, almost musical.

The air smelled like soup.

And Isabella’s annoyance.

She sat on a woven mat by the fire pit, Glimora curled beside her like a fuzzy gremlin queen. A pot of stew simmered beside them, steam curling up in soft spirals. Isabella had already served herself and her beast, both bowls fragrant with herbs she found earlier.

The moment Osiris whispered, "I am hungry," the air changed.

Isabella didn’t look shocked.

She didn’t look impressed.

She looked tired.

Spiritually tired.

She stared at him with the exact face someone would make if a mosquito kept returning after being slapped into another dimension.

"Oh my god," she muttered, rubbing her forehead. "Did I not tell you to go and hunt something. Or... I don’t know. Eat tree bark."

Osiris stepped inside dramatically, hand on his chest like she just slapped him with holy water. "I do not eat tree bark."

"You can start today," Isabella said calmly, blowing on her soup.

He blinked slowly. "It is not food."

"It is food if you are hungry enough."

Glimora nodded in agreement.

Osiris looked betrayed.

By both of them.

Isabella raised her spoon again, lifting a steaming bite, and Osiris watched it travel to her lips like a man watching his last hope disappear down a well.

"I am hungry," he repeated because repetition was clearly his weapon of choice.

"I am finishing this," Isabella said, not even looking at him. "And I am finishing the one in the pot too."

Osiris frowned. "But you do not eat much."

She slowly turned her head, eyes narrowing like knives sharpening themselves.

"Watch me."

And she did.

She ate.

She ate like it was her final mission on earth.

Like she was a warrior fighting for respect.

Every spoonful was done with passion, vengeance, pettiness, all wrapped in aggressive cuteness.

Osiris... stared.

He watched her lips part, watched the warm steam kiss her cheeks, watched her chew with actual determination. She ate like she was proving a political point against the universe.

She even fed Glimora between bites, gently placing pieces in the small beast’s mouth while continuing to glare at Osiris, as if to say:

"You see this. This is how serious I am."

And Osiris?

He didn’t get angry.

He didn’t even feel petty.

Instead, something in his stupid phoenix heart softened.

He could tell her appetite was growing.

He could tell she needed more food than before.

He remembered what the spirit man said earlier about pregnant women... especially those carrying serpentine children.

He wasn’t offended at all.

If anything...

He felt protective.

Maybe he should start hunting.

Bring her real food.

Give her more meat.

More berries.

More fish.

More of everything.

Maybe he should make sure she never ran out of meals.

He didn’t understand why he thought that.

But the thought sat inside his chest like a warm ember.

Meanwhile, Isabella was still in her villain arc.

When she finished her bowl, she lifted it slightly toward him as if mocking him.

He stared.

She stuck her tongue out emotionally, dumped more stew into her bowl, and kept eating.

When she noticed him staring, she misinterpreted everything like a queen.

"I do not care if you are hungry," she snapped. "You will find what to eat today."

Osiris blinked slowly. "It is not like I was even really hungry either ways."

The lie was so weak the vines on the ceiling stopped swaying from secondhand embarrassment.

Isabella rolled her eyes so hard her soul almost exited her body.

"Good," she muttered, scooping the last bits of stew. "Stay hungry then."

She got up, dusted her hands, grabbed the cooking pot, and sighed heavily.

"Perfect. Now I need to wash this."

She reached toward the pot, completely done with life.

But Osiris stepped forward quickly.

He touched the pot gently just before her fingers wrapped around the handle.

Isabella froze.

"What," she said. "What is it."

Osiris looked at the pot.

Not her.

Not at her furious eyebrows.

Just the pot.

He swallowed once.

"Let me wash it for you."

The hut went silent.

The forest outside... stopped.

Even the glowing walls dimmed like they were shocked.

Glimora looked up from her bowl like, wait, did he just offer labor? Voluntary labor?

A tiny root slipped out of her mouth.

Even the fire popped once in disbelief, like it choked on its own flame.

Isabella’s brain froze.

Her expression remained blank for half a second before her soul began screaming inside her skull.

Because Osiris didn’t wash things.

Osiris didn’t do chores.

Osiris didn’t even know what a chore was unless it was being annoying.

He was a prince.

A phoenix prince.

A spoiled, arrogant, large, wingless bird prince.

And now he was offering to wash her pot.

She stared at him.

He stared at the pot.

She blinked slowly.

He kept looking at the pot like it was a sacred treasure he had to protect.

Isabella’s mouth opened.

Then closed.

Then opened again.

She didn’t even know what was happening anymore.

The man who earlier tried to convince a village elder to lie so they could share a room... was now offering domestic service.

Her life had become a fever dream.

A soft breeze drifted through the crack in the wall, brushing her hair gently.

Somewhere outside, a spirit child giggled faintly, unaware of the madness unfolding inside this hut.

Osiris shifted slightly, waiting.

Waiting for her answer.

For her reaction.

For the storm.