"What is the problem? Do you want to have a taste?" he asked Ophelia, voice soft but clear, and that was the exact moment she snapped out of her little trance. Her eyes blinked fast, like she'd just been pulled back from a sweet dream, and she looked up at Cyrus, nodding before her brain could pretend to be shy.
Glimora, who had gone quiet a moment ago, was no longer thinking about her eternal war with Zyran. The second Cyrus offered a taste, the tiny white menace locked on the small pot like a hunter spotting fresh meat. All that anger? Thrown out the window. Dessert first. Nemesis later.
Of course Cyrus noticed. He always noticed. And normally, honestly, he might have given in—because Glimora's big eyes were ridiculous, and he knew it. But you all should remember: Glimora wasn't supposed to be ANYWHERE near the kitchen. Rules are rules, and Kian's rules are not suggestions.
