The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 605: You all insist on treating me like something sacred
The sun had already moved behind the stone palace, leaving Zyran’s room dim. Only a small beast oil lamp flickered on the stone wall.
Zyran lay on a pile of fur, hugging a pillow as if it were a person. His legs were stretched in a relaxed pose, and his golden earrings reflected the firelight.
He should be napping.
Instead, the air in front of him suddenly sank into darkness.
A patch of shadow on the floor rippled like water. It gathered silently, climbing up the wall to form the vague outline of a jackal’s head.
A low, strange voice sounded in his mind.
"Master. Report."
Zyran’s smile disappeared. The usual lazy charm in his eyes faded, replaced by something sharp and ancient.
He slowly sat up and flicked his fingers. A faint black light circled his wrist, sealing the room.
"Speak."
No one in this village knew that far away, underground, there was a city that belonged to him. No one knew he was not just some shameless pervert who loved teasing Isabella, but the son of the god of the underworld, Anubis.
They only saw his pretty face and loose tongue.
It was better that way.
"Movement from the divine realm," the shadow messenger reported. "Several strange beasts tried to cross near your mortal territory. We eliminated one. Two escaped toward the First City’s direction."
Zyran’s brows lifted slightly.
"Divine beasts?" he asked lazily. "Or something else?"
"Not pure divine beasts. Their scent is mixed. Like something corrupted them."
Zyran’s long fingers gently tapped his knee.
In his mind, he saw the First City’s thick walls and arrogant rulers. He also saw an old, hungry gaze that did not belong to any mortal.
An ancient demon that should have been sealed.
He had suspected for a long time that someone in the First City was playing with things they should not touch. Now it smelled even worse.
"Anything about the First City contacting the poacher routes?" Zyran asked. "Or Duskspire. Or Fangridge."
"The slave routes are busy. The names match what the poachers said before they were taken. Duskspire. Fangridge. Dukespire. We are still tracking the handlers."
Zyran thought of Isabella’s rounded belly and the way she had glared at those poachers.
He had wanted to break their necks on the spot.
He did not do it. Only because a certain pregnant woman with a soft heart and sharp tongue did not like that.
Troubles. She really loved picking them up like shiny stones and keeping them in her pocket.
"Strengthen the borders around my city," Zyran said softly. "If anything from the divine side smells wrong, report it. As for the First City, keep watching. Do not act yet."
"Yes."
The jackal head bowed. The shadow slowly melted into the floor and disappeared.
The room became ordinary again.
Zyran leaned back on his furs and let out a long breath. The lazy smile returned to his lips, but his eyes were still cold.
He had a hidden city in the mortal world. That already broke several rules in the divine realm. If certain gods found out especially his father, they would not only skin him, they would try to drag Isabella into it as well.
He looked toward the window.
Outside, the village was lively. The smell of roasted meat, fresh grains, and fruit drifted in.
Tonight, Isabella had ordered everyone to prepare a small festival before the first snow fell.
A harvest festival.
Zyran’s lips curved.
He did not plan to tell her anything yet. She was already busy making herself the center of every storm.
He would watch for her in the dark. If the divine realm wanted to make trouble, they could start by stepping on his land first.
He would be waiting.
That night, the stone palace square was filled with light.
Bonfires burned in several spots. Beastmen in animal skin skirts moved around, bringing out roasted meat, steaming roots, grilled fish, and the new crops that had just been harvested.
Someone had draped colorful fabrics between two tall trees, making a simple banner. Children ran under it barefoot, faces dirty, eyes shining.
The air was filled with laughter, smoke, and the smell of food.
Isabella sat on a sturdy wooden chair raised on a flat stone. Her rounded belly was supported by soft fur. Someone had even carved a small footstool for her.
"Sit, sit," Cyrus nagged for the third time as he adjusted the fur behind her back. "If you get tired, tell me. If your waist hurts, tell me. If your legs hurt, tell me."
Isabella rolled her eyes.
"Do you want me to breathe for you too?" she said.
Cyrus paused.
"...If I could, I would," he said seriously.
Isabella could not help but laugh.
This snake.
On her left, Zyran sauntered over with a wooden bowl. His hair had been loosely tied, revealing a pair of long earrings. Under the firelight, he looked especially charming.
"Little goddess, try this," he said. "Glimora roasted this meat with your new spices. If it is good, praise me. If it is bad, blame Glimora."
Glimora, not far away, let out an unhappy growl.
Isabella took a bite. The meat was tender and fragrant. Her eyes curved.
Before she could speak, a shadow fell over them.
Kian stood in front of her chair. He was not wearing any special clothes, just his usual animal skin skirt, but his tall figure and serious face naturally gave off a cold pressure.
The previous him would be patrolling, checking the guard lines, and staring into the dark forest.
Tonight, he surprisingly sat down beside her.
"I already checked the perimeter," Kian said. "You can relax."
Isabella raised an eyebrow.
"Oh? Our Lion King is sitting still?" she teased. "Did winter freeze your legs?"
Kian’s lips twitched slightly.
"Do you want me to stand up again?" he asked coolly.
"Sit," Isabella said at once. "Sit and look handsome. It suits you."
Kian: "..."
On the right side of the square, Osiris stood near another bonfire.
He wore a cloak of light feathers over his shoulders. Under the firelight, his eyes were especially bright. A few children clung to his cloak, tugging at the feathers and giggling.
"Brother Osiris, show us fire, show us fire!"
"Again, again!"
Osiris sighed softly, but a smile still hung on his lips.
He flicked his fingers. A small flame jumped from his palm, dancing in the air like a lively bird. The children let out amazed cries.
Cyrus, Kian, and Zyran glanced over.
They all turned back at the same time.
None of them called Osiris over.
They did not push him away, but they did not invite him in either. It was a vague line, drawn without words.
Osiris felt it.
He put out the flame with a gentle puff of air and looked over at Isabella’s direction.
From where he stood, he could see her profile lit by the fire, laughing at something Zyran had said. Kian was sitting straight beside her, like a silent mountain. Cyrus leaned close, adjusting her fur again.
Osiris’s hand slowly tightened inside his cloak.
They still did not accept him fully. He understood why. He came later. He was not from their village. He brought his own secrets and bloodstains.
He lowered his head and smiled to himself.
It was fine. As long as he could stand somewhere near her, it was enough.
Isabella felt a stare.
She turned her head and saw Osiris looking away quickly, pretending to show another small flame for the children.
She watched him for a moment.
He laughed loudly when the children clapped, but the corners of his smile were a little stiff.
Isabella’s heart tightened slightly.
These stupid males. Jealousy had eaten their brains. They were guarding her like she was some sacred egg, and at the same time refusing to let anyone else touch the nest.
She said nothing.
She stored this feeling in her heart, like carefully placing a stone in a pouch.
As the night deepened, the festival became livelier.
Several beastmen shifted into animal form to show off for the children. A huge tiger rolled on the ground, pretending to be a lazy cat. A wolf ran around with three children on his back, tails wagging.
Someone started drumming on a hollowed log. The rhythm made people’s blood boil.
"Dance, dance!" Zyran suddenly grabbed Isabella’s chair and turned it a little. "Look, your people want to play. Smile more. You are the goddess of this village. If you frown, all their hearts will tremble."
"Whose fault is that?" Isabella said. "You all insist on treating me like something sacred."
"Because you are," Zyran said without hesitation. "Do you not see it?"
His eyes swept over the crowd.
Refugees and original villagers mixed together, laughing and eating. Guards on the outer circle held spears but their expressions were relaxed.
Children ran around her chair, chasing Glimora’s tail as the little beast flicked it proudly.
In this stone age world that still lived by the law of teeth and claws, this small valley glowed with warmth.
Isabella’s heart softened.
She leaned back. The firelight reflected in her eyes.
If she did not protect this place, who would?
Her gaze unconsciously drifted to the hilltop watchpoint in the distance.
A thought suddenly popped into her mind.
If patrolling teams could quickly pass information during an attack, the chances of everyone surviving would be much higher. But shouting through the forest was slow and noisy.
What if the villagers could write simple marks and send wooden boards, leaves, or stone tablets through runners?
What if she divided the valley into sections and taught them symbols for each area, each beast group, each danger?
People from outside would not understand. Her people would.
Her eyes lit up.
Bubu, who had been quiet for a while, floated in her mind and sighed.
[Host is smiling at nothing again. That expression looks dangerous.]
Isabella ignored her.
She lowered her head slightly and smiled to herself, already planning which stubborn males and quick learning women she would drag in as her first students.
At that moment, a familiar presence leaned on the arm of her chair.
Zyran squinted at her, clearly catching her private smile.
"Why are you grinning like a lunatic?" he asked. "Did you see a handsome man? Is it me?"
Isabella slowly turned her head and gave him a look.
"I was just thinking," she said sweetly, "that if the world is full of idiots, I should write some words on their heads so they know where to stand."
Zyran laughed.
"Our little goddess is crazy," he announced loudly. "Listen, everyone, she is thinking about strange things again. I am afraid one day she will write on our foreheads, left side belongs to her, right side belongs to her."
Several nearby beastmen only laughed.
"If it is for the goddess, writing is fine."
"Write as much as you want."
Kian glanced sideways at her.
Cyrus looked puzzled, but his eyes were obedient as always.
Osiris, from not far away, watched her smile and sighed softly.
He thought honestly.
Even if she really wrote on his forehead, he would probably let her.
