The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts
Chapter 259 - 260: A prince?

Chapter 259: Chapter 260: A prince?

"And wait, wait, wait—before you start boasting and saying whatever else you rehearse in front of a mirror—I don’t give a fuck about you or your feelings," Isabella said, her voice cutting through the air like the crack of lightning against dry bark.

The words struck the courtyard like a storm.

Everyone gasped.

Like, visibly gasped. One of the guards actually clutched his chest. Another choked on his dried meat. The servant girls behind Garan blinked, stiffening like their backs had turned to stone. Even Glimora flinched with a soft squeak, though she quickly blinked up at Isabella, as if silently asking, Did you mean to be that savage?

Whispers erupted almost instantly, little rivers of shocked chatter:

"Did she just—?"

"She said it just like that?"

"No sugar. No leaf-wrapping. Just—bam."

Garan looked like he’d been slapped with a mud-cake right across his pretty face. His jaw twitched, his smile wobbling as he tried to hold it in place, but it was obvious something inside him had cracked just a little.

"What?" he said, blinking too quickly, voice trying to stay amused—but that smile didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore.

Isabella didn’t even spare him sympathy. She casually adjusted Glimora in her arms like she was readjusting a fur scarf, already halfway bored with the conversation. "And I also don’t have time for all this. I have important things to get to. So, please—no."

And with that, she turned on her heel like a queen dismissing a jester. The guards behind her—still slightly stunned—fumbled into action, parting like the tide to create a respectful path for her to walk through.

But she didn’t get far.

Because someone—someone—had the audacity to reach out and grab her arm.

Everyone stopped breathing.

Isabella stopped moving.

Even Glimora stiffened like someone had just yanked her soul straight through her soft pink fur.

"Wow, your skin is soft," Garan whispered under his breath. Or rather, what he thought was under his breath—but the whole courtyard heard it, loud and clear.

A collective groan of disbelief rippled through the bystanders.

"Did he just—"

"Oh no."

"Wrong move."

Even the guards looked at each other like ohhh, he’s gonna die.

Garan, too deep in his own self-made fantasy, didn’t even notice that he’d nearly forgotten why he grabbed her in the first place. His mind had been too distracted by the feel of her skin—warm, smooth, probably the softest thing he’d ever touched.

He only noticed something was wrong when Isabella slowly turned back to look at him.

Her gaze dropped, slowly, deliberately, from his hand still wrapped around her arm... then up to meet his eyes.

And she was smiling.

Not a good smile.

Not even a fake-nice smile.

But that sharp kind of smile that said: I’ve already decided where I’ll bury your body.

Garan let go. Reluctantly. Like he wanted to keep touching her, but knew better.

"If you do not know yet," he began, straightening his shoulders like this would redeem him, "I am a prince, Isabella."

There was a moment of silence.

Then a very audible wave of whispering came from behind him—from the servant girls.

They weren’t whispering like giggling fans, no. They were whispering like, Oh no. He wasn’t supposed to say that. Like he’d just committed a royal sin.

One of the girls actually elbowed the other. Two glanced at each other, eyes wide, clearly nervous. Another looked down at her feet, biting her lip. One mouthed something that looked dangerously like idiot.

Isabella, naturally, picked up on everything.

From the way the guards behind her muttered, "Wait, did he just say he’s a prince?"

"To who?"

"What city?"

"Do we even have princes??"

Isabella stood very still, absorbing it all.

Then she looked at Garan again, and—smiled. This time, her eyes twinkled. Bright, wide, playful.

Garan thought he finally won.

Yes, finally, he thought. That smile—that was the smile he had been waiting for. The one every woman eventually gave him, once they realized who he was and what he could offer.

He puffed up his chest slightly, feathers on his shoulders fluffing proudly in the sunlight, like some majestic peacock who believed he just successfully won a mate.

But Isabella’s next words were not the confession of awe he expected.

"A prince?" she echoed, blinking slowly. "Oh, that’s adorable. Did your mother tell you that before or after dropping you on your head?"

The guards behind her wheezed. One had to bite his knuckles to stop the laugh bursting from his mouth. The servant girls visibly tensed, some hiding their faces behind the hides they carried.

But Isabella wasn’t done.

She took a graceful step forward, voice smooth and sweet like fermented honey—and just as dangerous.

"Sweetie... if you were the last man in the Beastworld, I’d mate with a rock before you."

Her gaze dropped, then she smirked, "And not just any rock—one of those dry, cracked ones they use to crush berries. You know, the ones with texture."

A couple guards coughed suspiciously behind her. Someone whispered "oh my days."

Glimora, nestled in her arms, tilted her fuzzy little face upward.

"And she agrees," Isabella added, motioning to the pink beast.

Glimora blinked once, then gave the most slow, deliberate nod anyone had ever seen from something so round and fluffy. It was like even she understood the shade that had just been thrown.

Garan’s eyes were wide—stunned. Not because he was insulted. No. Because he genuinely couldn’t understand why someone would reject him so savagely. Like his brain was buffering.

His mouth parted slightly, as if he had something to say.

Isabella tilted her head again, voice faux-concerned. "Oh? You’re still standing here? That’s bold."

Then she smiled sweetly. "But I guess even a peacock doesn’t know when it’s molting."

"Also, do not try this again," Isabella said sharply, her voice low and cutting—like a blade wrapped in silk. No smile. No humor. Just raw warning coated in elegance. Her eyes flicked over Garan like he was something she was done stepping over.

Then, with a final dismissive glance, she turned back to the guards. The slight sway of her hips made her seem entirely unaffected, but her annoyance clung to the air like smoke.

She raised a brow with sharp, slow precision—because nothing about Isabella was ever rushed. "Well?"

One of the guards, still recovering from secondhand embarrassment, blinked and quickly spoke up, "I... I think I saw Cyrus earlier. He was heading behind the palace. Toward the... uh... big stone stack near that planty area... with the moss and stuff."

Isabella’s eyes narrowed.

"If you had just said that right from the start, I wouldn’t have wasted my breath performing an entire social massacre," she muttered with a dramatic sigh, as the guards parted like the sea, creating a path for her as if she were royalty. Because at this point? She practically was.

Glimora let out a tiny huff from her cozy spot in Isabella’s arms, like a baby beast who’d just seen too much drama in one morning. (Tbh she has).

Isabella absentmindedly pet her, the way a queen strokes her favorite baby beast after conquering a new village. "It’s okay, baby," she cooed softly. "We’re going to find the only person here who might still be worth the time."

Her steps were confident, unhurried, almost lazy. Like she didn’t walk through drama—drama walked with her.

But just as she began to disappear from the courtyard, a strange silence stretched behind her.

Garan, who hadn’t spoken since the verbal dismembering, now wore an unsettling smile.

It was the kind of smile that mixed heartbreak and fascination. His hand, still faintly tingling from where he’d touched her skin, twitched at his side.

He whispered more to himself than anyone else, "She’s... unlike any creature I’ve ever seen."

One of the servant girls slowly turned her head toward him, horrified. Another subtly backed up, clutching her hide gift tighter like she was questioning her life choices.

Garan kept smiling. Not the cocky grin from before—but something worse.

The look of a man who just fell in love with the woman who shattered his ego.

And maybe... wanted more.