The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 246 - 247: These villages? These cities? A mess. But me? I’m a walking upgrade button

Chapter 246: Chapter 247: These villages? These cities? A mess. But me? I’m a walking upgrade button

Yeah, so maybe—maybe—the cities were slightly better than the villages. Maybe they had a bit more order, a few extra brain cells, and possibly even the tiniest clue about sanitation. Maybe they weren’t digging soup bowls out of mud and using ferns for napkins. Maybe—just maybe—they were inching toward something that looked like a Bronze Age upgrade.

Well, of course they would, Isabella thought, smirking to herself with the kind of unshakable confidence only someone who’s never been humbled a day in her life could possess. The confidence of a goddess surrounded by mere mortals. I’m here now, she mused, eyes glittering with self-admiration. And with me around, anything’s possible.

Her brain was already spiraling into the usual inner praise parade.

They should honestly build statues in my honor. Maybe one at the palace gates. Something tasteful but jaw-dropping. I’ll let them pick the pose, though the one with me stepping on a snake might be symbolic enough. (That has never happened before)

These villages? These cities? A mess. But me? I’m a walking upgrade button.

She folded her hands delicately across her lap as she mentally constructed a future where she single-handedly launched the continent into an early industrial revolution. Steam engines. Paper currency. Toothbrushes. Yes, definitely toothbrushes—if she had to brush her teeth one more time with a chewed stick, she was going to lose it.

She imagined a distant future, centuries from now, where children in school would whisper about "Lady Isabella, the mother of modern civilization," and scribble her name in their primitive notebooks with hearts and glittery stones.

The mental image was so powerful, so delicious, that she nearly gave herself a standing ovation.

They’re lucky to have me. Honestly, where’s my parade? My crown? Do they have sequins in this era yet? Wait—I’ll invent them.

She was so far into her monologue she didn’t even notice Glimora staring up at her with confusion, wondering what exactly Mama was smirking about with that far-off twinkle in her eye. The little beast even tilted her head, then followed her gaze into empty space, half expecting to see someone else there feeding her this ego.

And then—

"Ahem."

Valen cleared his throat.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t aggressive. But it was enough to yank Isabella out of her dramatic daydream of glory, sequins, and historical legacy.

She blinked, startled, like someone had thrown cold water on a cat. Her head turned slowly, very slowly, toward the man who had dared interrupt her internal coronation ceremony.

And the look she gave him?

It was the look of a queen dragged out of a bubble bath by a peasant who forgot to knock.

Even Glimora blinked up at him with her big, glistening eyes, her tiny ears twitching in mild offense—like "Um, excuse you, mister... Mama was having a moment."

She blinked up at him, lips parted in the kind of dainty, confused expression reserved only for people who were just pulled out of their own royal daydreams.

"Ah, um, that’s good," Isabella said, offering a bland nod as if he’d just told her his tribe invented sandals. Her face, however, could not hide her disinterest. She wasn’t even trying to hide it. She looked at him like he’d just spent five minutes explaining how dirt works.

Valen’s lips twitched as if unsure whether he should feel offended or... terrified.

Glimora blinked up at Isabella, then at Valen, her tiny head tilting as if she too couldn’t quite figure out if this man was boring or just confusing. She gave a little sneeze—her version of a yawn, probably—and snuggled back against Isabella’s thigh.

Valen looked... confused. Other women—especially those from these primitive zones—would have gasped in awe by now. Maybe even batted their lashes and begged him to describe the lake’s magical fish in detail. Some might have blushed and said something stupid like "I’ve always wanted to visit Stormhaven..."

But Isabella? She looked like she’d heard a story about someone trimming tree bark with fire and thought, Cool. I’ll get back to my soup now.

And honestly? The story was barely worth her time.

But she wasn’t here to hurt feelings—especially when she could milk someone for information.

"So why did you leave your Stormhaven City?" Isabella asked, voice lilting and casual, like she was just making conversation—though in reality, she was fishing. She figured anyone from the city had to be part of the fancy, glitter-covered visitors the palace had received earlier.

She’d been meaning to go snooping herself, but with Shelia dying, Ophelia crying, Glimora farting fire, and Bubu being Bubu... well, she just hadn’t gotten around to it.

Might as well start now.

But instead of giving her juicy details or even a sliver of gossip, the man had the audacity to shake his head.

"We’re not allowed to reveal that," he said.

Isabella blinked once. Twice.

What kind of vague, mysterious, nonsense answer was that?

She tilted her head, lips tightening in what might’ve passed as a smile—but Glimora looked up and instantly recognized the expression for what it truly was: war mode. She gave a soft grrrp and scooted a few inches away just in case someone got slapped.

Isabella raised a brow. "You’re not allowed to reveal it?" she repeated, incredulous. "Are you being discreet? Or just dramatic?"

Valen’s expression didn’t change. He had the face of someone who had mentally committed to being a locked door no matter how many times she jiggled the handle.

And that only made her more curious.

Because now it wasn’t just a puzzle—it was a challenge.

She leaned forward, squinting at him. "Okay. Fine. How many of you came to the palace?"

Valen didn’t miss a beat. He shook his head again.

"You are also not allowed to reveal that?!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "Is there anything you’re allowed to say? Do you all just go around nodding and grunting in Stormhaven?"

Glimora blinked, clearly amused, and wiggled onto her back, little legs twitching in the air like she was trying to do a victory dance for her mama.

Valen gave her a shrug. "We have rules."

"Well, congratulations, you follow them so well it’s almost like talking to a piece of furniture. A very tall, quiet one."

"What’s a furniture?" Valen asked and Isabella groaned annoyed.

Glimora let out a short, high-pitched squeal that sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

Isabella sighed, tossing her hair back. Her gaze landed on the hide curtain swaying lightly behind him. She was tired of this tight-lipped nonsense.

She leaned her cheek into her palm and narrowed her eyes at him. "So what—did you just show up to stand there like a looming question mark? You got to the palace and decided to stare at the first girl you saw with a death glare?"

Valen stayed silent.

Glimora gave a dramatic sigh, copying her mother, and rested her chin on Isabella’s thigh.

Isabella tapped her nails against a nearby wooden log, lips twitching with amusement.

She finally gave up trying to get secrets out of him. If he was trained in the ancient art of being difficult, so be it.

"Alright," she said, straightening up, crossing her legs like a queen in a fur coat. "Let’s try something else. Who are you to Ophelia? And why are you looking for her?"