What?
Wait, what was that?
Isadora pressed her palm on her chest, trying to calm it. Her heart was just beating in a way she didn't recognize. Why would it skip a beat just because she looked at a man?
Behave, she told herself.
She cleared her throat, forced a stiff smile, and took a step forward.
"Hello," she said, her voice a little shakier than she liked. "I'm Isadora."
The man didn't move. He didn't blink. He just stared at her intensely. It was as if he were picking her apart, piece by piece, trying to read a story written under her skin.
Isadora shifted uncomfortably, her confidence wilting under his gaze. She looked down at her stained, ragged work clothes. Is it the outfit? she wondered. Or do I just smell that bad?
She pulled her arm up to her nose and took a quick, subtle sniff. As far as she could tell, she smelled fine.
Then is it my face? she wondered.
She knew she wasn't a legendary beauty, but she wasn't ugly, either. She had a beautiful face people liked to look at. So why was he acting like she was a ghost?
"W... what are you looking at?" Isa finally managed to whisper.
The stranger didn't answer. Instead, he shifted his gaze, looking her directly in the eyes.
The look was so raw that Isa felt a sudden heat rush to her cheeks. She looked away, her heart beating again and her hands trembling at her sides.
She had lived as a princess for years. She had seen plenty of handsome men in her time, but none of them felt like this. This man was different.
"He hasn't said a single word since he woke up," a voice said, breaking the tension.
Isa jumped slightly, turning to see her grandmother, Rose, standing in the doorway. Rose was watching the man with a curious expression.
Isadora looked up as her grandmothers, Rose and Matilda, walked into the room. They stood side by side, their faces filled with worry.
"We think he can't speak," Rose said, watching the stranger. "Maybe it was the accident. The shock might have stolen his voice."
The man didn't blink. He watched the three women with cold gaze. He didn't seem to care that his staring made them uncomfortable. He just watched, like a predator observing its surroundings.
"He can't speak?" Isadora whispered. She turned back to the man, trying one more time. "If you can't talk... Can you write?"
The stranger offered nothing. No nod, no shake of the head, not even a bit of interest. He just kept his eyes locked on hers.
Matilda reached out and took Isadora's hand. "Come with me, child," she said softly. She led Isadora out of the room and into the quiet hallway.
Rose followed them out and sighed. "We think he might be deaf, too," she added. "We have tried everything, Isadora. He doesn't react to sound. He only stares."
"Oh," Isadora murmured. "That's so sad."
She looked back toward the closed door.
"But if he can't hear or speak," she asked, "how will we ever find out who he is? Or how he ended up at the bottom of the river?"
"Well," Matilda said, lowering her voice. "Look at him. He is far too handsome to be ordinary. We believe he is a Lumerian, from that small tribe in Chloris, the Ninth Kingdom."
Isadora tilted her head. "A Lumerian?"
"Yes," Matilda nodded. "They are famous for it. They are weak and don't have magic, but they have beauty that feels like a spell.
People say they use their looks to enchant others, making humans do whatever they want."
Oh, Isadora thought. So that's it.
It finally made sense. That was why her heart had tripped over itself the moment she saw him.
Lumerians were known to be a physically weak tribe, but their faces were their greatest weapons. Kings fought over Lumerian brides, and noblewomen traveled across kingdoms just to find a Lumerian husband.
In a world of magic, their beauty was their power.
"It all makes sense now, Grandma," Isadora said, her thoughts drifting back to the man's intense gaze. "When I first saw him, my heart.."
She stopped abruptly, biting her lip.
"Your heart did what?" Rose asked, narrowing her eyes in confusion.
"Nothing! Nothing at all," Isadora said quickly. She forced a bright, slightly too wide smile and shook her head.
She couldn't possibly admit the truth. How embarrassing would it be to tell her grandmothers that she had fallen for a Lumerian's "spell" within seconds?
Rose gave her a long, suspicious look but eventually let it go. "Well, we are heading to the market. We still have crops from the harvest to sell. If we wait any longer, they will rot."
"I will come with you!" Isadora said, eager to escape the awkwardness.
But Rose held up a hand, stopping her instantly.
"There is no need for that," Rose said, her eyes shifting toward the guest room door. "We have a stranger in the house. What if he's a thief? He could be pretending to be deaf and mute just to make us feel safe. Then, while we are gone, he could rob us of our entire winter stock."
Matilda nodded, her expression grim. "Exactly. We can't leave the house empty."
Isadora hesitated. "I understand, Grandmother, but he doesn't really look like a thief."
Deep down, Isadora didn't want to believe it. How could someone that beautiful be a criminal?
Honestly, if he wanted to rob her, he could probably just ask nicely. With a face like his, she might actually hand over the keys.
"You only say that because of his face," Rose countered, as if reading her mind.
"Don't you know the most beautiful things are often the deadliest?"
Isadora went quiet and nodded. Her grandmother was right. This man was a mystery. Usually, she could read people easily, but his face gave nothing away. He was like a locked door with no key.
"I will stay," Isadora promised. "I will watch him. Travel safely to the market."
"Good," Matilda said. "The soup is almost done. When it's ready, give him a bowl. It will help him heal. But don't give him anything solid yet, his body isn't ready for it. Our magic closed his deepest wounds, but the rest will have to heal on their own. Luckily, they aren't fatal."
The two women said their goodbyes and headed out, leaving the house quiet.
Isadora walked into the kitchen. The steam from the pot had a savory, nice scent. She sat on a small wooden stool, waiting for the soup to finish, but her mind was already back in that room.
Who was he? This was her first time seeing a Lumerian, and she couldn't help but daydream. If she were a rich noblewoman, she would definitely want a husband who looked like that. If a man like him were waiting for her at home, she wouldn't hate the idea of marriage so much.
She sighed, staring at the bubbles in the pot. A man like that was a dream.
Once the soup was ready, Isadora turned off the fire and poured it into a bowl.
The steam smelled delicious. She was sure even a sick man wouldn't be able to resist a meal like this. It was exactly what he needed to get his strength back.
She took a careful step toward the door, holding the warm bowl in both hands. But as she moved, her foot hit a slick spot on the floor. Her heart leaped into her throat as she felt herself losing balance.
"Wait!"
It was too late. She gell to the ground, and the bowl flew from her hands. The soup splashed everywhere, soaking the floor in a mess of broth and vegetables.
"Ow..." Isadora groaned, sitting up slowly.
The fall had bruised her knee, and it hurt for a moment, but her physical pain wasn't what bothered her. She stared at the floor, watching the ruined meal soak into the wood. She let out a frustrated sigh and ran her fingers through her red locs.
"Great. Just great," she muttered to herself. "Now what is he going to eat?"
For a second, she tried to scoop the vegetables back into the bowl, but she stopped immediately. She couldn't feed an injured man soup that had touched the dirty floor. She had more heart than that.
"I have to start over," she said, pulling herself up.
She quickly grabbed a cloth to clean up the mess. There was no time to waste; the handsome stranger was still waiting, and his stomach wouldn't fill itself. She took a deep breath and got back to work.
She chopped the vegetables as fast as she could and restarted the fire. When the soup was finally done, she poured it into a fresh bowl and frowned. It didn't look nearly as good as her grandmother's version.
"Well," she whispered to herself, "he will have to eat it anyway. Beggars can't be choosers, even handsome ones."
This time, she walked with tiny, careful steps. She kept her eyes glued to the floor, making sure no slick spots would ruin her hard work again. She reached the guest room and felt that same strange, cold air ok hher skin. She shivered but pushed the door open anyway.
The stranger was still sitting up, his eyes closed. But as soon as she stepped inside, his silver eyes fluttered open. He watched her again with that same intense, unblinking stare.
"I brought you something," Isadora said. She held up the bowl so he could see it. She walked over and gently set it on the small table by his bed. "Eat. You must be hungry. It will help you feel better."
She used her hands to gesture, moving her fingers toward her mouth to show him it was food. The stranger looked at her, then down at the bowl, then back at her.
Isadora rubbed her palms together. Her heart was starting to gallop again.
Stop it, you stupid heart, she scolded herself. He's just a man.
She gathered her courage and pointed to the steam rising from the bowl. "Please, eat it while it's still hot."
The stranger didn't say anything, but he slowly shifted his positionon the bed. His movements were smooth, almost graceful like a noble.
He reached out a pale hand toward the table and wrapped his fingers around the bowl.
He looked at Isadora with hesitation. She nodded quickly, moving her hand in a "go ahead" motion to encourage him. He turned his attention back to the bowl, dipped the spoon in, and slowly brought it to his lips.
The moment he took a sip, his face transformed. His eyes widened, and his pupils dilated.
For the first time, Isadora saw a real expression on his face. A small, proud smile started to spread across her lips, but it disappeared instantly. The stranger couldn't hold it in. He spit the soup right back out and began to cough violently.
"Oh!" Isadora cried, her brows jumping in confusion.
She scrambled for the pitcher of water and poured him a cup. "Here, take this! Drink!"
He grabbed the cup from her hand and gulped the entire thing down. As his coughing finally settled, he looked at her with an expression of pure horror, like a man who had just tasted poison from the depths of hell.
"What's wrong? Is it not to your taste?" she asked, reaching for the bowl. "Is it too hot?"
He didn't answer, of course. He just stared at the bowl as if it were a weapon. Frustrated and curious, Isadora lifted the bowl to her own lips.
She took a large gulp. The second the liquid hit her tongue, her eyes snapped wide. A shock ran through her brain, and she felt her soul leave her body for a split second.
Isadora dropped the bowl on the table and rushed to the window. She leaned out and spat the liquid from her mouth, coughing hard to clear the terrible taste.
"Blech!" she gagged, spitting again and again until her tongue felt clean.
Finally, she stood up straight and wiped her lips. She gripped the windowsill, staring out at the trees. She was too afraid to turn around. How could she face him after making him taste... that?
It was a crime. She realized now she should have just given him the dirty soup from the floor. At least that would have tasted like food. This tasted like death.
Isadora had always been a terrible cook. No matter how many times she tried to learn, her meals turned out worse than the last. But she had been so desperate to help the stranger that she had actually tried to cook for him.
What if I killed him? she thought as she started panicking. If he dies from my soup, I'll never forgive myself.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. She tucked her red locs behind her ears and forced a bright, fake smile on her face. Slowly, she turned around to face the man again.
The stranger was still watching her. For a split second, there was a bit of concern on his face, it was so slight she almost missed it.
Isadora took a deep breath. "My grandmother made a wonderful soup, but I spilled it," she explained, her voice full of regret. "I can't cook to save my life, but I tried to make you something. Clearly, it was a disaster. I am so sorry."
She stopped and sighed. Who am I kidding? He can't even hear me.
She looked at him and used her hands to gesture "sorry," pointing at the bowl and then making a face. "Sorry for almost killing you with my cooking," she muttered.
The man didn't move. He just kept his eyes on her.
How can he just stare like that? she wondered, feeling a flush of heat in her cheeks. Maybe he thinks I am so plain that he doesn't even feel shy about looking.
She shook the thought away. She had a bigger problem: how was she going to get something nutritious into this man? Anything was better than her "death soup," but she didn't have many options with her grandmothers gone.
"Isa! Isa! Isadora!"
A loud voice shouted from the front door. Isadora's eyes rolled toward the ceiling in pure frustration. She knew that voice all too well, and it was the last thing she wanted to deal with right now.
"I will be back," she told the man.
She didn't wait for a response. She knew she wouldn't get one anyway. She turned on her heel and marched out of the room, heading toward the front door to face the person shouting her name.
"Isado.." Her neighbor, Mirabelle, stopped mid word as Isadora swung the door open.
"What do you want, Mirabelle?" Isadora asked, crossing her arms.
"Isadora!" Mirabelle rushed forward, her face filled with panic. She grabbed Isadora's hands. "You have to help me! My bulls are fighting again. I am scared they will kill each other. I used my life savings to buy them, Isa. If they die, I am ruined!"
Isadora pulled her hands away. "You should have thought of that before you bought two males and only one female. Besides, you still owe me. You only paid me five silver coins for separating them last time when we agreed on ten."
Mirabelle dropped to her knees. She rubbed her palms together, begging. "Please, Isadora! Here, take it!" She pressed several coins into Isadora's palm. "This is fifteen silvers, the balance from last time and more. Just help me, please! I will do anything!"
Isadora looked at the coins, then back at the house. She was about to say no again when an idea hit her.
"Will you make me soup?" Isadora asked.
Mirabelle blinked, looking completely lost. "Soup?"
"Yes, soup," Isadora repeated. "A good, nutritious one."
Mirabelle nodded frantically. "Soup is easy! Just save my bulls and I will make you any soup you want!"
Isadora sighed, tucking the silver into her pocket. "Fine. Let's go."
This was perfect timing. She needed to feed the stranger, and Mirabelle was actually a great cook. All Isadora had to do was wrestle two massive, angry bulls and stop them from killing each other.
It sounded dangerous, but Isadora wasn't worried. She was strong. She could handle it.
A few hours later, the front door creaked open.
Isadora limped into the house, looking like she had been dragged through a forest. Her hair was a mess, her clothes were covered in dirt, and she was exhausted. But in her hands, she held two bowls of fresh, steaming soup.
Those bulls were even bigger and angrier than the last time. They had actually stopped fighting each other just to team up against her. It took everything she had to get them under control.
She even almost lost her temper and used her blood magic on them.
"Never again," Isa muttered. She wiped the dirt from her forehead and slapped the dust off her clothes, cursing under her breath.
She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror and paused. Maybe I should bathe before I go upstairs, she thought. It's probably not a good look for a woman to show up in front of a man looking like I just crawled out of a hole.
She considered it for a second, then shook her head.
Why do I even care? she wondered. Why would I want to impress him?
He was a stranger. If anything, he should be the one impressed by her. She had just wrestled two massive bulls into submission just to get him a decent meal. She didn't need to look pretty or clean for him.
Isa took a deep breath, gripped the bowls of soup, and headed toward his room.
When she reached the door, she gave a few quick knocks. No one answered. She felt silly immediately. Right. He can't hear you, and he can't talk back. Why are you even knocking?
She pushed the door open.
Usually, a strange, cold chill hit her the moment she stepped inside. But this time, it was gone. The air felt normal.
"I finally brought you something real to.."
The words died in her throat. Her smile vanished.
Isadora's eyes traveled around the room, searching every corner. She looked at the bed, the chair, the shadows near the wardrobe.
Nothing. There was absolutely nothing.
The stranger she had pulled from the river, the man with the silver eyes... he was gone.