The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 146: Guard the well. No one is to approach it until I say so
Chapter 146: Chapter 146: Guard the well. No one is to approach it until I say so
Before Isabella agreed to follow Cyrus, her eyes did a quick sweep across the crowd.
The villagers were still gathered near the well, sweat-soaked and quiet—but the longer she looked, the less she liked what she saw. Their eyes weren’t just curious.
There was a wild glint there. A hunger. Something primitive lurking beneath the surface.
She didn’t trust it.
No, something in her gut told her that the second she left this place unattended, these people—especially the ones who hadn’t lifted a single finger—would swarm the well like flies.
She had just created the most important resource in this damn village, and it would not be wasted on fools who didn’t know patience or order. freёnovelkiss.com
Her gaze sharpened and she shifted her weight subtly, pulling Glimora closer against her side.
She turned slightly, eyes locking onto the remaining nine men who had helped her earlier. The ones who had built with their hands, sweat, and tools. Their figures stood tall—broad shoulders, dirt-caked clothes, and sun-scorched skin. They looked tired, but capable. And above all, they had earned her trust. For now.
That was enough.
Without raising her voice too high, Isabella called out, clear and crisp, "You nine. Guard the well. No one is to approach it until I say so."
Her tone wasn’t aggressive. But it carried something heavier. A quiet edge. The kind of command that made people stand straighter and pay attention.
And the villagers did.
A subtle shift rippled through the crowd. The message had landed. Loud and clear.
Anyone who tried anything stupid would regret it.
The nine men exchanged glances, then each gave a firm nod and positioned themselves around the well in a loose circle—watchful, serious, ready. Like soldiers on post.
Satisfied, Isabella turned her gaze back to Cyrus.
"Fine then. Let’s go," Isabella replied, her voice light as she bent down and scooped Glimora into her arms. The little creature let out a happy chuff, curling gently against her chest like a loaf of dough.
Together, they walked toward the wide shade beneath the tree, Ophelia trailing behind them at a lazy pace with a hand on her hip and her wings twitching slightly in the heat.
"I really wonder how Shelia is doing right now..." Ophelia murmured with a worried frown.
AT THE STONE PLACE
The throne room of the stone palace was a quiet, heavy place—too quiet, like the stillness before a storm.
Sunlight filtered in through the stretched-hide curtains that hung in the tall stone archways, casting dappled patterns on the rough-cut walls.
A warm breeze stirred the air, making the furs ripple gently as if the room itself breathed with unease.
Kian sat on his throne—a broad, unpolished block of mountain rock veined with faint silvers. No gold. No jewels. Just strength and stone. His back remained straight, his fingers resting on the carved arms of his seat, but his eyes... his eyes were worn.
Not tired in the simple sense—but exhausted in the way only someone with too many burdens and too few answers could be. He didn’t fidget. He never did. But the stillness in his jaw, the tightness in his shoulders... it was there if anyone knew how to look.
But no one was really looking. Not closely.
Zara stood beside him, her tall figure leaning against one of the thick support beams made from ancient trees.
She twirled a strand of her dried hair between her fingers, visibly bored. Her bare feet shifted slightly on the cool stone floor, but her gaze was unfocused, her mouth twisted into a faint pout.
The throne room was mostly cleared now. Most guests had been shown to their rooms—small, clean spaces with woven grass mats and logs carved into resting stools. Only two men remained, both clearly of high status, flanked by personal guards who stood silently like carved statues.
The taller of the two men turned first. He moved with an elegance that didn’t match the primitive bones of the room—like a bird of paradise walking through a swamp. His skin was polished with oils, and his hide robe, though made from the same materials as everyone else’s, shimmered faintly with dyed feathers stitched into the seams.
Peacock tribe.
That explained the way he held himself—like the world should stop to admire him.
"We won’t be here for long, Kian," he said coolly, as if even addressing the village chief was a chore. His words flowed like water over silk, soft and cutting at once.
The other man beside him—stockier, with mossy green tattoos peeking from under his hide vest—snorted under his breath but said nothing. His presence was heavier, earthier. He belonged to the Bamboo tribe, no doubt. Not ugly, not exactly. Just... grounded. Plain in comparison.
Kian’s voice broke the silence at last. It was low and steady, but it carried enough weight to silence even the wind seeping through the cracks in the stone.
"I do not doubt that."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
He wasn’t in the mood for games. The lines under his eyes had deepened. His usually impassive mask looked thinner today. He had been dealing with too much lately—the sick villagers, the mounting tension, the whispers of rebellion. And now these two had arrived, each with their own hidden motives.
Still, he gave them presence. Respect. Even if it was hard to summon.
A soft sound broke the room’s fragile stillness—footsteps.
Not rushed, but firm. Purposeful.
Bare feet on stone.
The furs over the entrance stirred, and a man stepped inside. He looked travel-worn, sweat still fresh on his brow, his tunic slightly stained from sun and dirt. He bowed quickly—not the deep kind reserved for royalty, but a show of respect nonetheless.
Kian’s gaze flicked to him without much interest at first. He recognized the man. One of the few who had actually volunteered to help Isabella.
He braced himself.
The man was probably here to ask after her again. Maybe to beg for her help with another task she hadn’t agreed to yet. He was already preparing to wave him away, to explain once more that Isabella was still recovering.
But the man’s next words made the entire room freeze.
