Isabella folded her arms, tapping her perfectly looking fingers against her elbow as she narrowed her eyes at Cyrus. He was hesitating. Hesitating. And that just wouldn't do.
She leaned in slightly, her soft pink lips curving into a too-sweet smile. "You're taking too long to answer, darling," she cooed, her voice all sugar and silk. "I don't love that."
Cyrus flinched, his pink eyes flickering with something unreadable. He wasn't a bad liar—no, no, he was far too composed for that—but Isabella had been around enough powerful men to recognize when someone was holding back. And it bothered her.
She shifted her hold on Glimora, stroking the soft fur absentmindedly. The little creature had been enjoying the attention, purring contentedly, but at the mention of Duskspire, she suddenly opened her cute eyes.
And stared.
Not just any stare. No, no. This was the look of a highly judgmental baby who just realized the person in front of her was suspicious.
