The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 542: So it took you THIS long to realize you should be giving me princess treatment?
The glowing hut hummed softly, the faint blue light from the moss giving everything a dreamy, underwater shimmer.
The fire crackled low beside Isabella’s cooking pit. The stone walls kept the mountain wind out, but she still felt a chill run down her spine.
Not from the cold.
From Osiris.
Because the bird-brain had just said:
"Let me wash it for you."
Her pot.
HER pot.
The pot she cooked with.
The pot she guarded like her firstborn.
The pot this phoenix idiot never touched unless he was smelling food.
Isabella stared at him with the expression of someone who had just watched a wild wolf politely fold laundry.
"What are you planning?" she asked slowly.
Her voice wasn’t soft.
It was suspicious.
Sharp.
Accusing.
Osiris blinked at her, hands still wrapped around the pot. "I am not planning anything."
"Liar."
"I just realized," he tried again, ignoring her, "that since you are pregnant, it would not be manly of me to leave you to work."
Silence.
Isabella’s soul left her body, went to the ceiling, kicked its feet in the air, circled back and sat beside her ghost whispering, Did he really just say that?
In her head she screamed:
So it took you THIS long to realize you should be giving me princess treatment?
Idiot.
Featherless.
Bird.
But outwardly?
She stepped back like he was contagious.
"No. No. You have been possessed."
Osiris frowned. "What."
"You are not Osiris," she declared loudly. "The Osiris I know would never say something helpful, something logical, something caring. You are a demon wearing his skin. Let go of my pot, demon."
Osiris merely stared at her.
His face said: You’re insane.
"Well?" Isabella demanded. "Release it. I will throw salt water at you."
"I am not possessed," he said flatly. "You will sit down. I will work."
Her jaw dropped.
Her hands flew to her hips.
"Oh? So now you are trying to say I am weak. That is what you are trying to say."
"What," Osiris said, blinking slowly. "When did I say that?"
"I read between the lines."
"There were no lines," he muttered.
But she was already on a roll.
A dramatic, fiery roll.
"You think because I am pregnant, I cannot stand? You think I am helpless? You think I am some wet leaf that needs to be carried everywhere? You think—"
"I did not say ANY of that."
Her voice rose. "I can do everything myself. I can fight ten monsters. I can climb cliffs. I can drag YOU up a mountain. I am not weak."
Osiris stared at her like she was an unstable campfire.
"I never said you were weak," he said quietly. "Not once."
"You implied it. Your face IMPLIED it."
"My face is my face."
"Your FACE is rude."
Their argument spiraled instantly.
Back and forth.
Round and round.
Insults from her side.
Confused denial from his.
Glimora sitting nearby chewing on a vegetable root like a tired mother watching her two chaotic children fight again.
At some point Glimora even slapped her tiny paw on her forehead.
Isabella and Osiris didn’t notice.
"Give me the pot," Isabella said, reaching.
"No."
"Give me the POT."
"No." 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞
"You are useless."
"You are dramatic."
"You breathe too loudly."
"You glare too loudly."
"That does not make sense."
"Neither do you."
"That does not make sense either."
She lunged for the pot.
Osiris jerked it away.
Her fingers brushed his hand, he panicked, she panicked harder, Glimora covered her face.
Then Osiris snapped.
Not loudly.
But suddenly.
He stepped forward.
Snatched the pot from her hands and placed it on the ground.
Isabella opened her mouth to scream at him.
But he didn’t give her the chance.
He scooped her up.
Off the ground.
In a bridal carry.
Bridal.
Carry.
Her scream shattered the hut.
"PUT ME DOWN! PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW! OSIRIS YOU WINGLESS PEACOCK—"
"No."
"What do you mean no—PUT ME—"
"You will rest," he said firmly.
His tone changed.
It wasn’t the whiny Osiris she was used to.
Not the stupid one.
Not the dramatic one.
This tone was deeper.
Stronger.
Firm.
Commanding.
Her eyes widened despite herself.
He carried her across the room like she weighed nothing, set her on the soft straw bed, and stepped back.
"As far as I am by your side," Osiris said, looking down at her, "you are under my protection."
Silence.
Isabella stared.
Osiris stared back.
Even the moss paused its little glowing twinkle like wait what is happening right now?
This was not the Osiris who irritated her.
Not the Osiris who poked her forehead.
Not the Osiris who ate all her fruit.
This was...
A man.
A phoenix prince.
A dominant, protective force she had never seen before.
Her heart thumped once.
Hard.
Osiris turned to leave with the pot.
Isabella snapped out of her trance.
She sat up quickly. "Excuse me? Who told you I am fragile? Who told you I cannot move? I swear if I get off this bed I will—"
He looked over his shoulder with a bored face. "If you argue..."
She froze.
"If you say one more word," he continued calmly, "I will kiss you."
Isabella blinked.
Her lungs malfunctioned.
Her brain forgot language.
Osiris leaned slightly closer.
"And I will kiss you so hard... you pass out."
Her face turned red.
Bright red.
The kind of red that could power a lighthouse.
"You shameless bastard!" she squeaked, kicking her legs under the blanket.
Osiris smirked.
A slow, cocky, victorious smirk.
He had won.
He knew it.
She knew it.
Glimora knew it.
The hut knew it.
The mountain spirits three villages away probably knew it.
Still smirking, Osiris gathered the pot and bowls into his arms.
He walked to the doorway.
Paused.
Looked back at her again.
"You better rest," he said simply.
Then he left.
The moment the curtain dropped back into place, Isabella’s entire face twisted. She glared at the empty doorway, fists shaking, and hissed every insult she knew under her breath.
"Stupid featherless bastard... talking about kissing... kiss your own ancestors... idiot... arrogant... smug..."
She fell back onto the straw bed like a dramatic corpse, slumping and sulking angrily at the thin blanket as if it personally offended her, muttering curses until her breath ran out.
