Chapter 42: You have to scrub! Like this

Chapter 42: Chapter 42: You have to scrub! Like this Asael stood stiffly in front of Isabella, eyeing the strange black paste on the chewing stick like it was a death sentence. His lips parted slightly, hesitation clear on his face. Isabella, of course, took that as permission. With zero warning, she shoved the stick into his mouth. Asael made a strangled sound, eyes going wide as the gritty, minty, slightly bitter taste spread over his tongue. He instinctively recoiled, but Isabella grabbed his wrist, holding him in place with an excited grin. "Now, now, don’t be dramatic!" she cooed, her tone far too cheerful for someone forcefully making a grown man chew on something suspicious. "You have to scrub! Like this—" She made exaggerated circular motions with her own chewing stick, demonstrating with her pearly white teeth. "Make sure to really get in there—oh, yes, just like that! Good job, Asael!" Asael, who was aggressively brushing in a desperate attempt to get the taste out, was not proud. Then—he swallowed. Shelia had done the same thing yesterday, but unlike her, he got an immediate reaction. Isabella gasped. "Oh no." Asael froze mid-chew. His pupils shrank. "Wait—" He tried to talk around the chewing stick. "What—" "You weren’t supposed to swallow it!" Isabella said, still smiling, which made it so much worse. "Unless you want bad things to happen." Asael’s entire body tensed. "What bad things?!" "Oh, you’ll find out." "ISABELLA!" Isabella bit her lip, trying not to burst out laughing at his sheer panic. Asael immediately turned to Kian, chewing stick still in his mouth, eyes filled with betrayal. "Your Majesty—!" Kian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Spit it out, Asael." "Where?!" Asael flailed slightly, still trying to talk around the paste, the taste now everywhere. Isabella blinked. As if she hadn’t considered that detail, she tapped her chin. "Ah. Right. Spitting on the floor would be uncivilized—" "This is a throne room," Asael cut in, eye twitching. "Not a damn forest!" Kian exhaled, already regretting his life choices. "Isabella, you should have thought of that before shoving something into his mouth." Unbothered, Isabella snapped her fingers at Ophelia. "Ophelia, be a dear and fetch a bowl." Ophelia, ever the loyal assistant, immediately rushed out to do just that. Meanwhile, Shelia, who had been watching all this with bright, fascinated eyes, leaned toward her brother and whispered, "You should just make a spitting hole in the throne room for this kind of stuff." Kian shot her a look. "We are not making a spitting hole in my throne room." Isabella gasped dramatically. "But that’s genius! Oh, Your Majesty, imagine—every royal visitor could have their own designated spitting area! Very innovative." Kian gave her the most unimpressed stare. "I will have you removed." Before Isabella could come up with another brilliant idea, Ophelia rushed back with two small hollowed-out gourds—one filled with water, which was smart, and one empty. She placed them carefully on a nearby log. Isabella clapped her hands. "Perfect! Now, Asael, spit—before those bad things start happening." Asael immediately spat the black foam into the empty gourd, hacking and coughing like he had been poisoned. "Water," he gasped, reaching desperately. Ophelia, ever the sweetheart, handed him the water gourd. Asael rinsed his mouth like his life depended on it, spitting aggressively into the gourd after each rinse. When he was finally sure he wouldn’t die, he turned to Isabella, eyes narrowed in exhausted rage. Isabella simply grinned. "Now that’s a smile I’d love to see more often!" Asael’s eye twitched. "I hate you." Kian sighed, rubbing his temples. "I already regret this." Isabella turned to him, her cute smile still in place. "Oh, but we’re not done yet, Your Majesty!" Asael, still recovering, internally screamed. Isabella blinked at Asael as she saw his reaction, then tilted her head, as if she genuinely didn’t know why he looked so scared. "Oh, I wasn’t talking about you." She then turned, her gaze sliding toward the throne, where Kian sat watching with his usual unreadable expression. "I was talking about him." The room fell silent. Kian, who had clearly expected to be a spectator in this nonsense, raised a brow. His fingers tapped once against the armrest of his stone throne. "Me?" Isabella’s smile stretched wider. "Yes, my dear king, it’s your turn." Ophelia and Shelia immediately perked up, watching with open interest. Asael, on the other hand, looked far too relieved that the attention had shifted. Kian’s gaze flickered to the hollowed-out gourd where Asael had spit moments ago. "...Fine." Isabella approached him with the paste and an unused chewing stick, her movements unusually slow. As she handed them over, their fingers brushed—just for a second. She felt... something. A spark? A jolt? Before she could dwell on it, she quickly pulled back, clasping her hands behind her back as if nothing had happened. Then, with keen interest, she watched him. With the ease of a man who had never been put in an embarrassing situation in his life, Kian took the chewing stick and dipped it into the black paste. There was no hesitation, no awkwardness—just a smooth, controlled movement as he chewed it for some time, pressed it to his teeth and began brushing. Isabella expected some kind of reaction. A grimace. A twitch of displeasure. Something. Instead—he looked... good doing it. Like, infuriatingly good. His sharp jaw moved in calm, precise motions. His blue eyes, half-lidded, reflected the warm glow of sunlight filtering through the gaps in the stone walls. Even the way he held the stick, with the casual grace of someone who made everything look effortless, sent an unexpected flutter through Isabella’s heart. A small window popped up in front of her: +20 Persuasion Points! Ding! Congratulations! You have leveled up to Level 1 [Persuasion] Skill! (Bubu is disappointed) She ignored it. Because what was this? Why was he making a simple action look like something straight out of a painting?! Ophelia, sensing the shift in the air, nudged Shelia and whispered, "She’s staring." Shelia giggled. "She always does." Finally, Kian spat into the second gourd and took a sip of water to rinse before setting the chewing stick down. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then met Isabella’s gaze with that same unreadable expression. "Now," she said, clearing her throat as if she hadn’t been staring. "What do you think?"