Chapter 226: Misunderstanding
Chapter 226
Nima
"Okay, let’s calm down. When did this start?" Poppy asks.
I pause. My mind digs back through all the moments, all the touches, all the looks—and then it lands squarely on that night. The night she suddenly pulled away.
"Looking at your face, I can tell you’ve tracked it down," Poppy says dryly.
"I think so," I mutter.
"So? What happened?" she presses.
I stay quiet. Embarrassment floods me, the memory burning in my cheeks.
"I can’t help you—or even try—if I don’t know," she insists.
I exhale shakily, then tell her everything. The night. The kisses. The push and pull. The way Daphne stopped herself.
Poppy listens in silence.
"What?" I demand, when she doesn’t respond.
"Nothing."
"Nothing? You’re supposed to be helping me, remember?"
She sighs so loudly it rattles me. "I mean... I kinda get her point."
My ears shoot up. "What?"
Poppy exhales, then grabs my hands, looking me dead in the eye. "You fucked up."
My stomach drops. "How?"
She hesitates, as though looking for the right words, then says carefully, "You see, my dear friend, from the bits and pieces I’ve put together... you have zero relationship experience."
I flinch.
"In a relationship, sexual intimacy isn’t necessary, but it is—well—alittle bit necessary," she says, voice dropping sheepishly.
"And you, my dear—are you waiting for marriage? What’s going on?"
I shrink back, ears hot. "No, I just... I didn’t want to be a stereotypical Longear. So I guess I’ve always avoided... that kind of thing."
Poppy arches a brow.
"No offense!" I add quickly.
She chuckles and squeezes my hands. "None taken. But Nima, your panther clearly wants to connect with you on that level. And that night wasn’t the only time you stopped her, was it?"
A guilty knot twists in my gut. "I guess not," I admit softly.
"Uh-huh. And did you ever talk to her? Tell her why you’re uncomfortable?"
My throat tightens. "No. I don’t really talk much around her..."
Poppy freezes, then stands abruptly. "Nima. What do you mean by that?"
I fidget. "We don’t really... talk."
She groans so loudly I jump. "This is worse than I thought."
Her glare pins me. "You are aware the panther likes you, right? Like—really, really likes you? She’s probably even said it?"
Butterflies explode in my chest. I nod, timid. "Yeah..."
"And you? Do you like her?"
My silence damns me.
"Answer me, for goodness’ sake, Nima!"
"I do! Ido, okay?!" The words burst out before I can stop them.
"Well, does she know that?" Poppy demands.
"I... I... I—"
She groans again, dragging her hands down her face. "You stupid, stupid bunny. You’ve never expressed your interest, never told her your feelings, and on top of that, you keep refusing her advances! What do you think it looks like from her point of view?!"
My blood runs cold.
No.
No, no, no.
"Now we’re finally getting somewhere," Poppy mutters grimly.
*
So Poppy chased me out of her room, shoving me into the hall with nothing but an ultimatum: "Go. Tell her. Now. Before it’s too late."
My palms are clammy, my ears twitching so hard they ache, but I do as she says. My feet carry me down the familiar path toward Daphne’s room.
It’s always surprising, the place she chose to live. Not the sprawling dorms reserved for dukes and royals, not the shining marble suites with chandeliers and attendants. No, she picked this building just because of a tree. A tree she can leap into, lounge on, nap in like a housecat with too much power.
I climb the steps, heart pounding harder with every one. My stomach twists as I stand before her door.
I knock once. Twice. Three times.
No response.
I try again, louder this time. Still nothing.
Swallowing hard, I press the latch and step inside.
The room isn’t massive, but even here the luxury seeps through. Fine wood floors, plush bedding, carved shelves stacked with books, and the adjoining bathroom that used to belong to another student—until Daphne claimed it and had it gutted, turned into something new.
Her scent is everywhere. It’s comforting, not terrifying I wonder when that happened.
I walk to the window first, to the branches of her beloved tree. Empty. No flicking tail, no lazy panther stretched across the boughs.
Strange.
I search the room again, ears straining, until I notice a slip of parchment by the side of the bed.
Curiosity tightens in my chest as I pick it up. The script is neat, confident.
To my bunny.
My ears flush hot. I open it quickly.
To my utmost dismay, it seems being a duchess means I have responsibilities. I have been called to the royal palace. As much as I wish to, I could not say no to the king.
I will be back.
Don’t miss me too much, my sweet little bunny.
The letter slips in my hands, and I sit heavily on the edge of her bed.
The letter slips in my hands, and I sit heavily on the edge of her bed.
Gone. To the king.
Right. I forget, for all her laziness and the way she sprawls on tree branches like some spoiled cat, she’s still a high-class noble. One of the highest. A duchess. A Nyxclaw.
I was supposed to tell her. To finally open my mouth and not just let her guess. But now she’s gone, and who knows when she’ll be back. Tomorrow? Next week? A month?
The thought makes my stomach twist.
The thought makes my stomach twist.
I glance toward the door, half-thinking I should go back to my own room. Except... I haven’t slept there in so long I don’t even remember what the sheets smell like. It feels foreign now. Empty.
Here, though—her scent lingers in the pillows. The faint marks of claws scar the wood near the window, sketches clutter the table in a way that looks careless but feels alive.
It feels like her.
I kick off my shoes and curl onto the bed, pulling the covers close.
"She wouldn’t mind," I whisper, staring into the dark.
At least, I think she wouldn’t.