The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 567: Why are you so pale?

It hadn’t even been a full minute since Cyrus laid Isabella onto the bedding when she spoke, voice steady but urgent. She didn’t even warm the spot before trying to get up.

"I need to attend to Shelia. Immediately."

She had just returned to the village, barely had time to breathe, and she was already putting everyone before herself again.

Cyrus’s eyes darkened on the spot. He didn’t like it. Not even a little. In his mind, Isabella should be resting. Eating. Sleeping. Being taken care of. Being... his.

But Isabella was Isabella. Once she decided something, stopping her was like trying to stop a river with your palm.

So Cyrus did what he always did when he couldn’t stop her. He went with her, and he made sure she didn’t have to carry the weight alone.

"Then let me help you prepare everything."

The words landed clean and firm.

Isabella, who had already shifted her weight to stand, froze mid-motion. Her lashes fluttered. The corner of her lips lifted, a small smile betraying her heart before her mouth could pretend to be strict again.

Of course he offered. Typical Cyrus. Always the same. Always reliable. Always there.

"Okay," Isabella said softly.

She walked to the wooden table Cyrus had crafted, and began placing down everything she had struggled to gather over the past month. Moonpetal Lily. Ashvine root. Small packets wrapped in cloth. Each item carried the scent of danger and distance.

At least i won’t be going back to suffer anytime soon

Isabella smiled thinking of everything she had managed to gather.

Her gaze drifted around the stone room without meaning to.

It was huge, solid, and warm. There were new shelves, smoother corners, better storage.

Even the bedding looked thicker. Tiny changes, quiet improvements has been made. It looked way more comfortable than before.

Cyrus.

Isabella’s chest tightened. She should thank him. She would. After Shelia. After this.

She cleared her throat and snapped back into healer mode. "Don’t crush any of them yet. Just put them into their respective bowls. It’ll be easier when I treat her."

Cyrus nodded once. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t complain. He simply started arranging everything with those steady hands of his, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

And as usual, he did it perfectly.

Not just correctly, everything else was also neat and precise. Every bowl lined up like a trained formation. Even his expression was relaxed, a faint smile was on his face the entire time, like preparing medicine for Isabella was some kind of happiness. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

Isabella stared at him and felt like kicking herself.

How could she ever think this man would hurt her?

He had clearly been in love with her all this while. Quietly. Stubbornly. With that terrifying kind of devotion that didn’t need words. And she... she had put him through so much.

Gratitude rose so sharp it almost hurt.

Everything would’ve stayed warm and peaceful if Isabella’s eyes hadn’t caught something off.

Cyrus’s face was pale.

Not "tired pale." Not "long day pale." The kind of pale that made a healer’s instincts scream. In this world, that color meant one thing.

Spiritual energy depletion.

Isabella frowned. She hadn’t noticed earlier. They had been overwhelmed earlier. But now that her breathing had steadied, she saw it clearly.

She glanced around the stone room again.

Yes, there were new things. But none of this required spiritual energy. Woodworking demanded physical strength, not essence. Building and crafting drained muscles, not spirit.

So why did he look like he’d been wrung dry?

A cold thought slid into her mind. Maybe he encountered danger while she was away. Or a fight?

Her eyes stayed locked on Cyrus.

He was still smiling and working like he was the happiest man in the world. Still so ridiculously happy to be useful to her again, like being by her side was all he needed.

That made it worse.

Isabella couldn’t hold it in anymore.

"Cyrus," she called.

He was almost done arranging the bowls. His hands paused.

Isabella’s voice sharpened. "Why are you so pale?"

Cyrus froze completely.

The room went silent.

Then panic flashed across his face, before he could shove it back under that calm mask of his.

Isabella’s suspicion hardened into certainty.

So he really was hiding something.

Cyrus didn’t want her to know he’d been transferring protection into the necklace he gave her, pouring his spiritual energy into it until it was thick with safeguard. He had done it quietly, the way he always did.

He also wasn’t sure how she’d react. Isabella wasn’t the type to accept sacrifice with a smile. She would scold him. She would worry. She might even be angry.

So he did what he always did when he wanted to protect her feelings. He lied.

He shook his head, and the usual gentle smile returned, "It’s nothing. I’m fine. Just tired from all the work I’ve been doing in the village."

Isabella pouted immediately.

This man really thought she was some dumb female.

If she didn’t care about him, she wouldn’t even bother pressing. She’d just let him lie and deal with his consequences alone. But she cared. That was the problem.

"You must either think I’m dumb," Isabella said, voice rising, "or you don’t take me seriously."

She stood up, annoyed enough that her movements were sharp.

The moment Cyrus heard the accusation and saw her rising, his whole body tensed. His smile vanished. His eyes turned alert, like she was about to walk into danger right in front of him.

He stood up instantly.

He didn’t let her take another step.

Cyrus reached out and guided her back down like she weighed nothing. His hand settled carefully on her waist.

"Don’t," he said, voice low, possessive in that quiet way that left no room for argument. His thumb pressed lightly as if to anchor her in place. "Sit."

Isabella’s anger bumped into his calm and faltered, because his touch carried a message her heart understood too well.