"Yup, Cyrus will teach them how to create basic things like, tables, chairs, doors, cooking and the rest," Isabella said, lazy and pleased, her back rested fully on Kian's chest while she drew slow circles on his huge palm. His hand was open just for her, fingers relaxed, letting her play with the lines there as if they were secrets she could read if she tried hard enough.
The spot they'd claimed wasn't grand at all—just a low stone seat by the wide window, sunlight sliding over fur throws and smooth rock. Warm air drifted in, carrying woodsmoke from the courtyard and the faint sweetness from the kitchens. Kian's chest was a steady furnace at her spine, heartbeat heavy and calm, the kind of rhythm that told nerves to pack up and leave. She sank into it. Honestly? It felt good. Better than good.
