The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

Chapter 20: Chapter 20: That’s Just The Way She Talks

Isabella crossed her arms, tilting her head as she watched the two women embrace. "And... who is this?" she asked, her tone flat.

The newly arrived woman, Shelia, turned sharply, her lips pressing together as if Isabella had just insulted her entire bloodline. "Excuse me?"

Ophelia immediately pulled back, sensing the tension. "Oh! No, no, Shelia, don’t misunderstand. This is Isabella—she helped me."

Shelia didn’t seem convinced. "With that tone? It sounded like she was ready to go feral on me.

Ophelia laughed nervously. "She just talks like that. You get used to it. Let me explain what happened."

And so, Ophelia recounted the entire humiliating scene—how she had begged for a man who clearly didn’t want her, how Isabella had swooped in like an unexpected savior, how she had effortlessly turned the tables on the arrogant fool.

Shelia’s expression softened. By the time Ophelia finished, she let out a long sigh, crossing her arms. "Ophelia, how many times have I told you to leave that man? He doesn’t deserve you. He’s obviously interested in someone else, and yet, here you are, throwing yourself at his feet like some desperate beggar."

Ophelia lowered her head, cheeks burning with shame. "I just thought—"

"No." Shelia cut her off. "As a woman, you can have as many males as you want. Why do you keep fixating on him? There are so many better, richer, and more handsome men in this village. Pick literally anyone else!"

Isabella snorted. "I’m not sure about the last part, but everything else is painfully true."

Ophelia and Shelia giggled at Isabella’s bluntness, and for the first time, Ophelia looked relieved instead of heartbroken.

Shelia turned to Isabella, nodding in appreciation. "Thank you for helping her. I don’t know what you said, but clearly, it was effective."

Isabella waved a hand dismissively. "It’s no big deal. I was just passing by and decided to fix someone’s life on the way."

As she spoke, her gaze flickered to Shelia’s features. The white hair, the striking blue eyes... something about her felt eerily familiar. Isabella narrowed her eyes. "Wait a minute... You look familiar. Do you have a relative I might know?"

Shelia’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "Yes. I’m the sister of the king."

Isabella’s eyes widened in recognition. "Ohhh," she drawled. "So that’s why."

Shelia chuckled. "Why what?"

Isabella smirked. "Why you have that cold, detached, royalty-infused aura. You’re related to that man."

Shelia only smiled. "I assume you’ve met my brother, then?"

Isabella shrugged. "Met, clashed, almost died—same thing."

Shelia shook her head, amused. "Well, I apologize on his behalf."

"Apology not accepted, but thanks for trying." Isabella stretched her arms, rolling her shoulders.

"Anyway, I was actually on my way to gather some herbs, but I have no idea where to start. Also, is there a way I can get a basket? Or anything that can carry them? Please help me out."

Shelia hesitated. "I don’t know. My brother wouldn’t allow me to—"

Ophelia grabbed her arm. "Please, Shelia! I really like her. She really helped me. She’s nice. We should help her!"

Shelia sighed, her fingers twitching as if debating her next move.

Isabella leaned in slightly, flashing a hopeful smile. "Listen to your friend," she urged.

Then, her smile faltered just a little, her eyes widening in exaggerated desperation. "Please. I really need to gather these herbs. It’s a matter of life and death."

Shelia groaned. "Fine. If I ask my brother, maybe he’ll send someone to accompany us. The wild forests can be really dangerous."

Isabella internally groaned. Great. More royal interference.

Her mind buzzed with irritation as she sent a thought to Bubu, her ever-annoying system. I said it, Bubu. You’re simply trying to kill me.

Bubu’s robotic voice chimed in. [Host, you should embrace hardship. It builds character.]

Isabella scoffed. I hope you trip and fall in your own digital space.

Bubu ignored her, and Isabella sighed, turning back to Shelia and Ophelia. "Alright then. Let’s go."

With that, the three of them set off, unaware that Isabella’s simple herb-gathering quest was about to get a whole lot more complicated.

The grand palace loomed ahead, its stone walls just as towering and ancient-looking as the first time she’d seen them.

Isabella sighed. Yep. Still a whole lot of stone. Still looking like something straight out of the Stone Age.

You’d think after seeing it once, I’d get used to it. Nope.

Shelia led the way through the heavy entrance, and the cool air inside brushed against Isabella’s skin like a silent warning.

The moment they entered, a servant informed them that Kian was not around. They had to wait.

Isabella clicked her tongue. "He makes people wait? Tsk. What kind of host?"

Shelia gave her a dry look. "He’s not a host. He’s the king."

"Still rude."

As they lingered in the grand hall, Isabella’s gaze swept the room until it landed on a familiar figure standing guard near the entrance.

Her lips curled into a playful smile. "Hello!"

The grumpy guard, the same one who had escorted her to her room the night before, flinched at the sound of her voice.

His eyes widened slightly, flicking over her appearance—clean, glowing, and dressed like an actual human instead of a walking dirt mound.

It took him a second to school his expression, but Isabella had already caught the moment of disbelief.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, giving her a stiff, almost painful smile before snapping his gaze straight ahead, pretending he hadn’t just been staring.

Isabella giggled. Ophelia and Shelia exchanged confused glances but smiled along, sensing that something amusing had just transpired.

Before they could ask, a high-pitched, bubbly voice rang out from the corridor. It was singing. Loudly. And off-key.

Shelia immediately rolled her eyes. "Oh, great," she muttered under her breath.

Ophelia’s expression darkened.

Isabella tilted her head. The voice felt oddly familiar. Where have I—

Then it hit her. Oh. Oh. Not her.

And right on cue, the person strolled in—mean-looking, nose high in the air, and still proudly sporting bones in her hair like a walking artifact.

Just perfect.