Villainess is being pampered by her beast husbands-Chapter 277 --

Kaya’s eyes locked on the box as Veer handed it over. At first glance, it was laughably ordinary—just a plain, square wooden box with no carvings, no metal clasps, nothing to set it apart. Yet the moment her fingers brushed its surface, she felt a subtle resistance, like the wood itself was alive.

She turned it in her hands, squinting under the sunlight. Nothing. No shimmer, no secret engravings, no faint glow like she half expected. She pressed her nails along the seams, searching for a keyhole, a hidden latch, even the faintest bump that might serve as a button. Nothing.

Her patience thinned. Kaya lifted her gaze to Veer, her tone sharp.

"How do you open it?"

Veer only shrugged, too casually. "How would I know?"

Kaya’s eyes narrowed. "Isn’t this made by your mother?"

That finally got a reaction—his lips twitched into the faintest, humorless smile, and he leaned against the wall as though this was all a joke to him.

"I was barely one and a half when she vanished. How the hell would I know? What, you think I inherited some magical trick to solve everything she left behind?" His voice was flat, lazy, but his eyes flickered with something she couldn’t name.

Kaya groaned, pressing her palm against her forehead. Perfect. Just perfect. After tearing apart every room, every shelf, every hidden corner, this box was all she had to show for it—and now it mocked her with its silence. And worse, it was rumored to be the work of one of the finest architects in the entire country. That meant opening it would take more than sheer luck.

Her temples throbbed harder the longer she stared at it. Irritation snapped like a whip inside her chest. With a muttered curse, she hurled the box across the room.

Crack.

The wall groaned, a hairline fracture spreading where the box struck it. The box, however, landed on the floor without so much as a dent, its wooden surface smooth and untouched.

Kaya froze, dumbfounded. Her eyes darted between the wall and the box, her lips parting in disbelief.

"You’ve got to be kidding me..." she whispered.

Beside her, Veer’s tone dropped, faint but laced with something close to unease.

"You think I—or my father, or anyone else—haven’t tried that before?"

At last, Kaya and Veer left the house behind. Neither of them wanted to linger—Veer because something about the place weighed too heavily on him, Kaya because she had already turned every corner inside and found nothing except that damned box. And, more than that, she had no desire to cross paths with Veer’s father again. Just the thought of him appearing at the door sent a chill racing down her spine.

So, the box in hand, they left.

The moment Veer’s wings unfurled, Kaya climbed onto his back, gripping tightly as his body shifted fully into that massive vulture form. Then, with one heavy push, he lifted them both into the sky.

The air rushed past Kaya’s face, cool and sharp, whipping strands of damp hair free. She couldn’t help it—her gaze wandered, drawn to the wild expanse stretching endlessly around her. No matter how many times she flew with him, it stole her breath every time.

If you ignored the lurking beasts, the constant sense of danger, this place was paradise. Mountains stitched together with mist, rivers carving silver lines through the valleys, endless layers of green rolling into the horizon—it was the kind of beauty no modern world could ever touch. Almost like a dream, fragile and fleeting.

Kaya leaned slightly forward, her voice raised over the wind.

"Where are we even going?"

Veer didn’t answer. He couldn’t—not like this. His amber eyes flicked back at her, a single glance that told her nothing and everything all at once. The silence stretched, unsettling, and Kaya realized just how much she hated not being able to read him when he was like this.

Veer barely stopped. From what Kaya could count, only three breaks—three short, fleeting pauses—and then he was back in the air again. He flew through the day, and when night fell, he still did not land.

Kaya had always heard that vultures and eagles could outlast most birds in the sky, wings beating tirelessly over endless stretches of land. But hearing about it and living it were two different things. She had never imagined a beast could fly this long without faltering.

The stars stretched endlessly above, a black sea glittering with fire, and still Veer’s wings carried them forward. No nest, no fire, no sleep. Just the endless rush of air and the creak of his massive wings.

"Sleep," he had told her, his tone sharper than usual, as though commanding her instead of asking. "I’ll carry you."

And so, after forcing down some food and feeding him meat in silence, Kaya did as told—climbing back onto his broad, feathered body. She lay there, but sleep refused to come.

How could she? The ground below was nothing but a black void, mountains jutting like jagged teeth. One wrong slip, one twitch in her sleep, and she would roll into the abyss. She tightened her grip on the thick feathers at his neck, her knuckles aching, her eyes refusing to close.

Even if Veer promised, even if he carried her like iron itself... she knew one thing for sure: if she fell, neither he nor the gods themselves would know how she died.

When morning finally broke, their first stop came into view. Veer descended heavily, wings folding with a tired snap before his massive body shifted back into human form. He caught Kaya in his arms before her legs could even touch the ground—a habit of his she normally would’ve mocked. But this time, she stayed quiet, her eyes drawn to the strange settlement ahead.

It wasn’t what she expected.

There were houses—lined neatly, smoke rising faintly from a few chimneys—but the air was wrong. Too still. Too quiet. No shouts, no children running, no clatter of pots or market stalls. Only silence.