The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 231 - 232: Try it and I won’t talk to you for a whole month

Chapter 231: Chapter 232: Try it and I won’t talk to you for a whole month

"But first, let me transfer some strength to you," Cyrus said gently, his voice low like he didn’t want to disturb the quiet around them.

Isabella blinked at him, eyes wide. Her mouth hung open for a second as she processed what he’d just said.

She so could not believe this man. Of all the things she expected to hear, that wasn’t even on the list.

Here she was, practically dragging her bones together, barely holding herself upright, expressing genuine concern that he might drain himself with too much magic—and what did this sweet, maddening, dangerously kind man suggest?

Giving her more of his strength? Using more of his power on her? She stared at him like he had just offered to chop off his own arm and hand it to her with a smile.

What kind of logic did this man operate on? Did he think she was a fragile egg? A glass petal? A helpless flower in need of watering? Her eye twitched.

"You—" she slapped his arm, not too hard, but with enough sting to make a point. "Try it and I won’t talk to you for a whole month."

Her glare was as sharp as a dagger. It made Cyrus freeze on the spot, his hand still half-raised between them. He stood there looking like a child who’d just been scolded for touching something expensive.

A month. A whole month without hearing her voice? No teasing, no complaints, no sarcastic praises or fiery insults? He might actually go insane. His throat bobbed in a quiet gulp, and he lowered his hand obediently.

"Mmh," he hummed softly, and extended his other hand—peacefully this time. Not to transfer energy. Just to guide her.

"So you won’t hit your head in the dark," he added with a small smile, the corners of his lips twitching with something between admiration and affection.

Isabella looked down at his hand with suspicion, then slowly slid her fingers into his. She was still cradling Glimora in the crook of her other arm. The little creature had curled into a small ball, still trembling slightly but otherwise quiet.

What she didn’t know—what Cyrus didn’t dare admit—was that the moment she took his hand, his magic slipped through her skin like a gentle whisper. Barely there. A quiet transfer of strength from him to her. A little more warmth in her limbs. A soft loosening of the weight on her chest. He made sure she wouldn’t notice.

Isabella inhaled deeply and smiled, her body relaxing almost immediately. "Let’s go. What are you waiting for?" she said with a flick of her chin, her tone all boss and fire again.

Cyrus smiled and nodded, hiding the sigh of relief that left him.

In a blink, his lower body shifted, dissolving into sleek coils of polished red scales. His tail, long and wide, curved beneath Isabella’s feet, lifting her up gently. She gave a small yelp as she found herself suddenly perched, practically sitting on the thick base of his tail.

"Warn a girl first!" she hissed, trying to keep Glimora balanced.

"It’s quieter this way," he murmured, pressing one hand gently to her back to steady her.

And just like that, the tail slithered forward silently, the scales making no sound as they glided over the smooth stone floor. Isabella sat perched near his waist, her body close to his chest, surrounded by the warmth of his coils. He wasn’t holding her too tightly—but tight enough to keep her close. Purposefully close.

Isabella frowned but didn’t comment. She didn’t have the energy to fight about seating arrangements, and besides... his warmth was kind of... calming.

They made their way through the stone corridors. The palace wasn’t built like the grand marble castles from the fairytales she used to read. No, this was a structure of survival—stacked stone bricks, uneven and worn, moss in the corners, and dim torches held in iron hooks against the wall. The air was earthy and dry, with a faint scent of wood smoke and age.

Each room along the hallway was separated not by a door, but by thick animal-hide curtains, some dyed with pigments, some just raw leather, stiff from years of use. It added an eerie silence to the space—as if the walls were listening. Isabella kept her voice low.

"I swear if something jumps out of these curtains, I’ll throw Glimora at it."

Glimora let out a weak offended chirp and buried deeper into her elbow.

"Sorry, my precious feral mango," Isabella whispered, kissing the beast’s head again.

Eventually, the stone hallway sloped downward slightly, the air growing colder and the ceiling lower.

They arrived at what looked like a wall. Nothing special. No torches, no doors, no marking. Just plain stone, cracked and smooth in places.

"Is this it?" Isabella asked, raising a brow.

Cyrus nodded and raised one hand. A quiet shimmer buzzed in the air as his magic pushed forward, like fog evaporating into nothingness.

And then suddenly—there was a tunnel. A narrow, curved path leading deeper into the underground, hidden before by illusion.

Isabella blinked. "Y’all just out here hiding rooms like some secret cult?"

Cyrus didn’t reply. Just guided her forward.

They moved slowly through the tunnel. It was darker here. The air was denser, colder. The walls slightly damp, covered in patches of fungi that glowed faintly in the dark like bioluminescent stars. The silence made every step louder in Isabella’s ears—even though they were barely making a sound.

Then—voices.

Low. Male. Two guards.

Isabella tensed immediately, her hand going around Glimora tighter. She looked up at Cyrus, a question in her eyes.

But before she could say anything, both voices stopped abruptly.

Thud. Thud.

Two soft collapses. Nothing violent. Just like bodies tipping over onto stone.

"What did you do?" Isabella whispered.

"They’re just sleeping," Cyrus answered calmly, his voice still gentle and low. "They’ll wake up after some time."

Isabella blinked slowly.

Just sleeping. Okay.

She nodded, eyes flickering over to where the guards now lay slumped on the ground, quiet and unmoving.

The air shifted again. The tension settled.

Cyrus continued forward, his tail weaving soundlessly past the bodies. Isabella sat still on it, eyes focused ahead now, lips pressed into a thin line.

They were close.

Shelia was just ahead.

And Isabella didn’t know what she’d find.

But she knew she had to face it anyway.

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