"You need to eat too," he said.
"I can eat later."
"No."
Isabella stared at him.
Cyrus had said no.
Directly.
Sternly.
Cyrus, who usually spoke to her like a gentle stream and looked like he would apologize to a fly if he bumped into it, was now looking at her like he would not move on this point.
"I need to cook more for you," he said. "You lost strength. You need warm food. You need something with blood root and strength herbs. You need the broth while it is fresh."
"Cyrus, you look like you are about to collapse."
"I am not the one who just gave birth."
"You are the one I used as a blood bottle."
Zyran made a small sound. "That is one way to describe devotion."
Cyrus ignored him. His eyes stayed on Isabella. "I will cook."
She wanted to argue, but his face was too firm.
And honestly, she was too tired.
"Fine," she muttered.
Cyrus bent and kissed her forehead. "I will be quick."
Zyran immediately straightened. "Can I take his place while he is gone?"
