Chapter 55: Your Majesty...You Wound Me

Chapter 55: Chapter 55: Your Majesty...You Wound Me Isabella straightened up, quickly smoothing down her dress as she put on her most respectable expression. "Your Majesty," she greeted him politely, dipping her head in what she assumed was an appropriate level of reverence. Kian, as always, was unreadable. His striking blue eyes remained cold, his towering form unwavering as he studied her. She lifted her gaze, her smile sly and curious. "What brings you here?" "My sister," he said flatly, "has been telling me you made pots for cooking and eating." Isabella’s eyes lit up. Oh, so he was interested. She nodded enthusiastically, fluttering her lashes with an innocent yet unmistakably flirtatious look. Then, stepping a bit closer, she tilted her head, lowering her voice into her most sultry tone. "Do you want to see them?" It was the ultimate seduction voice. A perfect ten. Surely, even a man like him couldn’t resist. But Kian didn’t even blink. Expressionless, he deadpanned, "I can see them clearly behind you." "..." ... Isabella froze. Her mind took a full second to process what he had just said. And then it hit her. Did this man just call her short? She blinked. Once. Twice. He wasn’t wrong. She absolutely was short compared to him. But that didn’t mean he had to point it out like that! Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do except awkwardly shuffle aside and gesture towards the pots, cups, and bowls laid neatly on the stone slabs. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of Kian’s lips. But it was gone before she could confirm it. Instead, he turned his full attention to the clay products. "Which ones are the pots?" Isabella folded her arms, huffing a little internally, but answered, "Those ones." She pointed to the five normal-sized ones and the two larger ones. "The rest are cups and bowls." She gestured at the four cups and four bowls beside them. Kian examined them with sharp, assessing eyes. Isabella felt weirdly nervous under his scrutiny. But then, with renewed confidence, she launched into an explanation. "These will make cooking easier. You can boil water, cook food, and store things inside without it going bad immediately." Kian listened, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t interrupt. Encouraged, Isabella continued, "The bowls and cups are for eating and drinking. No more drinking directly from your hands or animal skulls or whatever you people use." She could’ve sworn his lip twitched. Then, after a beat of silence, Kian asked, "Why haven’t you tested them yet?" Isabella sighed dramatically. "Unfortunately, we have to wait for them to dry fully before we can use them." Kian said nothing. "And," she added, "before we use them, I have to make them fire-resistant." "Is that all?" She blinked at his flat tone, then nodded sincerely. Before she could react, Kian simply swiped his hand over them. A faint, almost invisible energy rippled across the surface of the clay. Isabella’s eyes widened. "Wait—what did you just—?" "Check it," Kian instructed, his tone still annoyingly neutral. Her brows furrowed, but she hesitantly reached out and touched one of the pots. Her fingers met completely hardened clay. She pressed harder, expecting the usual softness of partially dried clay, but—nothing. It was solid. Fully dried. Her brain clicked. Magic. She stared at the pots. Then back at Kian. Then back at the pots. What kind of shortcut cheat code nonsense was this?! "I also made them fire-resistant," Kian added before she could even speak. She turned back to him, trying to process. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe he could do it. It was just—how could she be sure he did it properly? She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "I’ll...test it out soon." Kian remained silent, still watching her. But then, his next words took her off guard. "What more can you introduce to make my village better?" Isabella stilled. That tone. There was a hint of something different in his voice. Something she hadn’t heard before. Trust. He was starting to trust her. And that realization made her chest feel...weirdly warm. Isabella clasped her hands together, excitedly rocking on her heels. "Oh, Your Majesty," she sighed dramatically, "there’s so much I can introduce that I can’t even name them all." Kian raised a brow, waiting. "For starters—clothing," she said, waving a hand over herself. "Footwear—" She shook her left foot, making the motion unintentionally adorable. "More security, better hygiene—" Kian tilted his head slightly. "What is hygiene?" Isabella gasped. Oh, dear lord. This man—this dangerously attractive, king-of-all-things-muscles man— did not know what hygiene was? She placed a hand on her heart as if physically wounded. "Your Majesty...you wound me." Kian’s lips twitched. Just barely. "I—" Isabella exhaled dramatically. "Okay. Let me explain it properly. Hygiene is the key to beauty! It’s skincare, haircare—" "What are those?" Isabella froze. Oh, this was serious. With newfound determination, she stepped closer—completely unaware of how much her movements were affecting the very man she was speaking to. She reached out, her fingers naturally finding his hair. Kian stiffened instantly. But she didn’t notice. Too focused. Too passionate. "This," she murmured, gently running her fingers through his short, silvery-white hair, "this could be so much better." Kian’s entire world went silent. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t thinking about his people, his warriors, or his responsibilities. He was only thinking about her. About how soft her fingers were against his scalp. About how naturally she touched him, as if she had done so a thousand times before. And about how his heart was beating too fast—so fast he didn’t like it. Oblivious to his inner turmoil, Isabella continued, voice full of expertise. "Your hair is so beautiful, but it’s dry." She frowned thoughtfully, fingers still combing through the strands. "If I had the right ingredients, I could make an oil to nourish it properly. Maybe even a conditioning paste..." She trailed off, deep in thought. Kian wasn’t listening anymore. His gaze was locked onto her face. Her big, expressive eyes, the way her lips moved as she spoke, the glow of her skin under the setting sun. She was...perfect. For the first time, Kian found himself wondering— What kind of woman is this? And why does she make me feel this way?