The guard blinked once, wisely decided not to push it, and disappeared behind the animal hide flap with the soft thump of retreating footsteps.
Cyrus watched him leave, then turned back to Isabella, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the tremble in her legs—the strain in her shoulders. He stepped closer.
"You're not fine," he said gently. "You've been swaying on your feet for the last minute."
Isabella opened her mouth to argue, but he didn't give her the chance. His arms came around her waist—gentle, careful—and she gasped.
"Cyrus—!"
"I said I'd help," he murmured, as if she hadn't spoken. "You don't need to be strong all the time."
Isabella froze.
There was no teasing in his tone. No flirtation. Just warmth. Gentle authority. The kind of voice that could melt ice without trying.
Kian's jaw tightened.
