Sheila could tell Kian still wasn't convinced. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his arms crossed, radiating disapproval.

Her eyes darted to the man beside him. Asael.

The second their gazes met, realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Oh no.

Sheila's lips curled into a knowing smile. "If you're worried about us going alone, why not let Asael come with us?"

Asael stiffened. No. Absolutely not.

The room was silent for a second before Kian hummed in thought. "I think I can allow that."

Asael felt his soul leave his body.

Betrayal.

His own king—his supposed best friend—had just thrown him to the wolves. Or rather, to the menace that was Isabella.

"Um, Your Majesty," Asael started carefully, "I can find a more suitable—"

"I trust you the most." Kian cut him off without a second thought, eyes already shifting away.

Asael wanted to cry. "Your Majesty—"

Kian flicked him a side glance.

Asael swallowed the rest of his words and let out a long, defeated sigh.

When he turned, he was immediately met with six pairs of expectant eyes—Sheila's victorious smirk, Ophelia's innocent excitement, and then… Isabella.

Smiling.

That smile.

All wide-eyed, cute, and brimming with mischief. It was terrifying.

"...Let's go," Asael muttered, instantly flipping into his cold, professional demeanor.

But inside? He was praying for redemption.

"Thank you, Your Majesty!" Isabella chirped, turning back to Kian with a playful wink. "You won't regret letting me into your life!"

Kian's face remained unreadable, but Ophelia gasped softly, stunned by Isabella's boldness.

Sheila, on the other hand, simply shook her head in amusement. She was starting to think Isabella might actually be perfect for her brother.

Meanwhile, Asael was too busy mourning his fate to register anything happening around him.

Kian watched them leave with an unreadable expression, waiting until they were completely out of sight before sighing deeply.

He ran a hand down his face.

"How was that woman even created?"

¯⁠\\⁠_⁠༼⁠ ⁠ಥ⁠ ~⁠ ⁠ಥ⁠ ⁠༽⁠_⁠/⁠¯¯⁠\\⁠_⁠༼⁠ ⁠ಥ⁠ ~⁠ ⁠ಥ⁠ ⁠༽⁠_⁠/⁠¯¯⁠\\⁠_⁠༼⁠ ⁠ಥ⁠ ~⁠ ⁠ಥ⁠ ⁠༽⁠_⁠/⁠¯

"Would you like a basket or a pouch?" Ophelia asked, as Isabella took in the sorry excuses for storage in front of them.

A badly sewn bag made of animal hide, its stitches uneven and fraying.

A woven basket, slightly lopsided but at least passable.

Ophelia kept her expression neutral, genuinely believing that both things in her hands were just fine.

Isabella, on the other hand, looked personally offended.

She narrowed her eyes at the so-called pouch, her lips curling in pure distaste. The stitching looked like someone had lost a fight with a wild animal and then tried to sew it together with their teeth.

"This… thing… is supposed to hold stuff?" She pinched the edge between two fingers, lifting it like it might be diseased. "Are you sure it won't disintegrate the moment I put something inside?"

Ophelia, ever patient, offered a small, reassuring smile. "It's sturdier than it looks."

Isabella squinted at her. Was it, though?

Sheila bit her lip to hold back a laugh. Asael, meanwhile, was staring at the sky, silently pleading with the gods to give him strength.

After a moment of dramatic contemplation, Isabella sighed and grabbed the pouch.

Ugly? Yes.

Did it suit her? Absolutely not.

But at least it left her hands free, unlike the bulky, annoying basket.

With an air of reluctant sacrifice, she slung the pouch over her shoulder.

"Fine. But if this thing falls apart halfway, I'll be the first to say 'I told you so.'"

She took a step forward—

Rip.

A tiny tear formed near the seam.

Isabella paused. Stared.

"...I knew it."

25 MINUTES LATER

By the time they finally reached the forest, twenty-five minutes had passed.

Twenty-five minutes of hell.

Twenty-five minutes of walking, and Isabella felt like she was on the verge of death.

She glanced at the others, expecting to see at least a little bit of suffering on their faces. But no—they looked perfectly fine. Not a single drop of sweat. Not even slightly out of breath.

Isabella squinted. Suspicious.

"Do you guys do this every day?" she panted, swiping at her face—only to realize there was nothing to wipe her sweat with. She had to awkwardly pat herself dry instead.

"No," Ophelia answered with a gentle smile.

Shelia nodded supportively beside her.

But Isabella wasn't buying it. Lies. How could they walk such a long distance and still look like they just stepped out of a royal bathhouse?

But she had bigger problems.

Like the fact that she was about to make a complete fool of herself.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled her nerves and strode forward, the others following behind. After a moment, she turned back.

With a completely serious face, she said, "No matter what I do, no matter what I touch— don't help me. Don't stop me. Don't say, 'Oh no, that will kill you,' or 'Oh no, that's poisonous.' Even if I'm about to die, do not interfere."

Ophelia's eyes widened in horror. "Why?" she asked, already looking ready to throw herself in front of Isabella to protect her from... whatever insanity she was about to pull.

Even Shelia looked confused.

Isabella could see Ophelia was genuinely worried, but she couldn't tell them the truth—that her damn system had threatened to deduct points if anyone helped her. Twice the amount.

So instead, she lied with confidence. "Because I'm a professional at this. I know exactly what I'm doing."

She smiled as if she hadn't just signed her own death warrant.

Asael, who had been quiet the whole time, suddenly spoke up. "You are important to the King. You've promised a lot to the village. I can't let you commit suicide over some herbs."

Isabella snapped her head toward him so fast, Asael felt the air shift.

With the sweetest, most angelic voice, she purred, "Asael."

He tensed.

"If you so much as breathe a warning while I pick these herbs, I will personally scrape your fucking eyes out."

The forest went silent.

Even the wind refused to blow.

For a moment, Asael could only stare at her. She was small, innocent-looking, and didn't seem dangerous at all—yet something about the way she said it made his skin prickle with unease.

She. Was. Serious.

Reluctantly, he nodded.

Isabella beamed, taking in a deep, satisfied breath. "You can only help me after I've picked ten different herbs. Until then, keep your mouth shut."

Then, with a cheerful little skip, she turned around and pranced into the forest like she hadn't just threatened someone's entire existence.

Shelia leaned in toward Ophelia, whispering, "You know… she can be nice and fun to be around… but she's also terrifying."

Ophelia, still clutching her heart, nodded innocently in agreement.

And so, with silent prayers for their survival, they followed Isabella deeper into the forest.