The stew went down the wrong way.
Isabella coughed so hard her eyes watered. Some of the soup splashed onto her hand and the fur blanket.
Zyran instantly panicked. "Careful, careful," he said, quickly taking the bowl from her. He grabbed the cloth by the bedside and wiped her fingers, then dabbed at the blanket with surprising care than shocked even Isabella herself.
Was this man possessed?
Isabella blinked. She had been ready to hit him, but his serious face made her pause.
"Why are you so attentive all of a sudden?" she muttered.
"You are carrying my future little rivals," Zyran said without shame. "I have to take care of them so they will not hate me when they grow up."
Isabella stared at him. "Who said they will be your rivals?"
Zyran thought for a moment. "You are right. They will probably side with me. I am more fun."
He raised the spoon again and blew on it twice before holding it in front of her lips.
