After everything that happened, Isabella was finally resting.
The room she was in was warm enough to keep the winter from biting too hard, and thick furs had already been piled around her so well that even the cold air slipping in from the stone passageways could not really touch her.
Outside, snow kept falling over the village, covering roofs, walls, and the paths between homes in white silence. Inside, the palace still carried that beast world feeling of stone, fur, firewood, warm broth, drying herbs, and the quiet sounds of people moving about under one roof.
Isabella sat back with one hand resting over her stomach and her eyes half lowered. She looked tired, and this kind of tiredness was not the simple kind that could be chased away with a short nap. It was the kind that settled deep in the body and made even breathing feel heavier after a long day.
Naturally, Cyrus noticed.
He always noticed.
