Isabella took a deep breath, dramatically patting her chest like she needed to steady herself before delivering a speech of utmost importance.
"Your Highness," she began, voice dripping with something dangerously close to sincerity.
"I must say... your village is truly one of a kind. A place so unique, so unforgettable, that I’ll carry the memories with me forever..." She paused, watching the room lean in slightly, as if expecting genuine praise.
Then she dropped the bomb.
"Mostly in the form of trauma."
Silence.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop by a few degrees.
Ophelia and Shelia both stiffened. The man beside Kian, always eerily calm, narrowed his eyes slightly, like he was debating whether she was brave or just suicidal.
Zara, however, lit up like a festival torch.
Yes! Finally! This was it! Isabella had just signed her own exile papers.
But Isabella? She stood there, small and frail-looking compared to Kian, her hands clasped behind her back like a dutiful little peasant girl—the perfect image of innocence.
Kian’s expression didn’t change much, but his sharp, blue eyes burned with silent warning.
Still, he let her continue.
And so she did.
"Inedible fruits. Terrible water sources. Clothes so bad I wouldn’t even use them to wipe my shoes—oh wait! That’s right! I don’t have any shoes." She held up her bare foot and wiggled it for emphasis.
Shelia snorted before slapping a hand over her mouth.
Ophelia ducked her head, pretending to inspect the hem of her dress.
The man beside Kian shifted slightly—if Isabella didn’t know better, she’d say he was interested.
Zara, meanwhile, was practically foaming at the mouth from excitement.
And Kian?
His eyebrow twitched.
Oh, he was not pleased.
Isabella cleared her throat, ignoring the growing tension in the air.
"But, Your Highness, the worst part—the absolute worst part—" She paused for dramatic effect. "No. Basic. Hygiene."
Zara’s excitement faltered.
Kian’s brows knitted, clearly unimpressed.
Isabella placed a delicate hand on her chest, looking truly heartbroken.
"Do you know what it’s like to wake up every morning, hoping to splash fresh, clean water on your face, only to realize that the best you can do is pray that the murky puddle you found doesn’t give you some mystical beast infection?"
Ophelia pressed her lips together.
Shelia was visibly shaking, her shoulders bouncing up and down from suppressed laughter.
The man beside Kian shifted again. He looked... confused? Intrigued? Like someone trying to solve a particularly frustrating riddle.
"Water," Isabella emphasized, "is a necessity! A right! A human privilege! Yet, here I am, forced to live like a cursed cave goblin!"
Kian’s expression remained unreadable, but his fingers curled slightly against the armrest of his chair.
Zara gritted her teeth. Why was he letting her talk this much?!
"And don’t get me started on the food situation," Isabella continued, her voice dropping into deep, dramatic despair.
Kian sighed, rubbing his temple. "Get to the point."
"Gladly!" Isabella straightened up, clasping her hands like a teacher about to educate a classroom of lost causes.
"You need wells for clean water. You need better crops for food. You need actual sanitation methods to avoid catching some medieval-era plague." She counted them off on her fingers, looking way too pleased with herself.
The room fell dead silent.
Kian stared at her like she had just spoken an entirely different language.
The man beside him finally let out a slow exhale. "Wells?"
"Yes, wells."
Shelia blinked. "Better crops?"
"Yes, crops!" Isabella threw up her hands. "You know? Plants that grow food? That actually taste good? That don’t try to kill you?"
The silence grew heavier.
Zara smirked. Oh, this was golden.
They thought she was stupid.
They didn’t understand a word coming out of her mouth.
Surely, now—now—Kian would put this foolish, annoying human in her place.
She turned to watch Kian’s reaction, waiting for the explosion.
But Kian just... stared at Isabella.
And Isabella?
She stared back, then slowly turned to look around the room, taking in the sheer ignorance on every single face.
Her eye twitched.
"Oh my god," she whispered.
Ophelia and Shelia exchanged worried glances.
Isabella inhaled deeply, exhaled through her nose, and then plastered on a stiff smile.
"Alright. Let’s pretend you all didn’t just look at me like I suggested summoning a dragon for dinner."
Kian’s jaw tensed, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in his gaze now.
Zara’s smirk wavered.
"Let’s start from the basics, shall we?" Isabella clapped her hands together like she was about to break down kindergarten-level education.
And, in a way, she was.
"A well," she began patiently, "is a big hole in the ground that gives clean water. Instead of drinking from the same dirty rivers and lakes that, might I remind you, wild animals also bathe in."
A few people looked at each other, like they were actually considering this for the first time.
"A farm," Isabella continued, "is an area where you grow food that isn’t disgusting, poisonous, or actively trying to stab you."
Shelia frowned. "Wait... so we wouldn’t have to hunt as much?"
"Exactly!" Isabella pointed at Shelia. "Less time running through the forest, more time eating like civilized people. Imagine not having to wrestle a wild animal just to get dinner—sounds nice, doesn’t it?"
Ophelia nodded slowly, like she was processing the idea for the first time.
Even the man beside Kian, who had remained eerily composed this entire time, tilted his head slightly, a flicker of interest crossing his face.
Zara, however, looked absolutely horrified. This wasn’t right. Isabella was supposed to be humiliating herself, not getting the king’s attention!
Kian studied Isabella for a long moment, blue eyes sharp with quiet scrutiny. Then, finally, he leaned forward slightly.
"And you’re saying these things... actually work?"
The room fell silent.
Isabella blinked at him.
Then, slowly, her expression shifted.
Her shoulders sagged, her lips parted slightly, and she fixed Kian with a look so flat, so filled with indescribable suffering, that the very air seemed to grow heavier.
It was the look of a woman who had lived through hell and was now being asked if fire was, in fact, hot.
A beat passed. Then she exhaled sharply through her nose, shook her head, and dropped the bomb.
"Your Highness, if making my life easier was a lie, don’t you think I’d be smart enough to come up with something less exhausting?"