CHAPTER 212: NOT REAL

Chapter 212

Felix

The same trip. But different.

Same crooked road leading into the old valley. Same crumbling temple stones beneath the moss. Same excited, gravel-voiced professor gesturing wildly with his hands while trying to keep everyone’s attention focused on some long-dead noble’s mural.

But for me?

Everything’s changed.

I’m no longer standing in the front of the group, squinting through sweat as I try to hear every word. I’m not jostling for space with other lower-class students or fighting for a patch of shade beneath a withering tree.

No. This time, I’m seated at the back. On an actual foldout chair. Under a massive parasol held by a personal attendant whose only job is to follow my shadow.

A small table beside me holds a tray of chilled fruit and sparkling mineral water so expensive, it might as well have been drawn from the tears of some sacred beast.

It’s surreal.

I shift slightly in my chair, watching the front of the group—the sunburnt, sweaty students straining to hear the lecture while wiping their foreheads with sleeves. I see a couple of them glance back this way, eyes squinting. Not with longing. With resentment.

And I don’t blame them.

Because last year? That was me.

Last year, I stood exactly where they are now. Back aching. Shirt stuck to my skin. Nearly suffering from heatstroke while the nobles at the back of the class lounged under shade like royalty.

And now I am royalty.

That’s the thing they never tell you about social climbing—it doesn’t just hurt going up. It hurts looking back down. So I look away.

I sip the water. It tastes like nothing. Cold, pure nothing.

To my left stands Velesia Coilsong—silent, as always. A pillar of stillness in a world that never stops spinning. Her hands are folded neatly in front of her, and her eyes scan the surroundings without judgment. I catch a shimmer of scales flash across her skin in the light before they retract beneath pale skin.

She’s always been there. Quiet. Watching.

Sometimes, I forget she’s even real.

Ahead of us, probably the only person actually paying attention to the lecture, is Lumiya Snowfrost. The snow leopard heiress radiates cold even in this sweltering heat, seated beneath her own ornate parasol. Her coat is pristine, spotted tail curled around her waist like a sash of status. The heat doesn’t seem to touch her—if anything, the air seems cooler around her. Her ears twitch in rhythm with the professor’s droning cadence, and she even nods once or twice. It’s terrifying.

To my right, Lira adjusts her sunhat, pretending to be interested in the lecture. Her fluffy fox tail coils lazily around her ankle, the picture of upper-class boredom. Lani, her sister, sits next to her and makes no such effort—she’s completely tuned out, idly flipping through a noble family lineage catalogue in one hand and a fashion illustration journal in the other.

The ball.

The real reason no one is listening to the lecture.

In two days, the Marquis of D’Vierre is hosting the annual Felaris Academy Ball. It’s the only event outside the academy walls that nearly every high-ranking student dreams of attending. A place where future leaders and heirs of bloodlines mix under chandeliers. Where alliances are made, and sometimes, engagements.

Outsiders pay obscene amounts just to attend as observers, clinging to the hope of brushing shoulders with someone powerful enough to change their lives.

Apparently decades ago, all students could attend, but now only students of a higher class can.

This year, I’m on the list.

Actually, not only am I on the list—I’m staying at the Marquis’ personal estate, unlike the rest of the students shoved into overpriced motels.

I glance down at my uniform. Immaculate. Pressed by hand. Tailored last month by a shop that normally takes a three-month appointment just to measure your inseam. But when you’re royalty, you don’t wait in line.

Last year wasn’t all bad though.

Poppy and I went into town for the local firefly festival—the poor man’s distraction during the ball. We had fun. Drank cheap juice, watched lanterns float into the sky, made out behind a bakery. Ended up tangled together in an alley. It was clumsy, breathless, and completely hers.

Now?

I look for her across the crowd. And there she is.

Poppy.

I find her with an expensive looking parasol and fanning herself with a fan.Her hair’s brushed into a sleek knot. Her shoes are new. Her bag is custom. She’s standing beside a cluster of well-dressed students and—of course—just a little too close to the panther.

Daphne Nyxclaw.

As if sensing my gaze, Daphne glances over her shoulder and smirks. Then deliberately shifts her parasol to block my view of Poppy.

***

Nima

"I thought I was sharing a room with Poppy."

I’m standing in the middle of a guest room so decadent it feels like a trap. The curtains are trimmed in real gold.The bed is probably bigger than my bathroom. The chair legs are carved into actual lion paws.

Across from me, Daphne lounges like a queen who’s just decided whether I live or die.

Her tail flicks lazily. Too lazily.

"Yeah," she says, stretching her arms behind her head. "I lied."

I stare.

Her smile is sharp.

"I’ll head to the motel. I’ll share with someone else," I say, already backing up.

"Now why would you do that?" she asks, her gaze narrowing as she rises from the couch. "Besides, aren’t we at the stage in our relationship where we can... sleep together?"

The way she says sleep has at least two meanings.

Maybe three.

"We are not in a relationship."

"Sure we are." She walks toward me. "You’re my prey. I’m your panther. Classic love story."

"I’m leaving."

She blocks the door.

"Try."

I take a deep breath. My heart’s already pounding.

Because the worst part of all this?

I don’t just feel afraid anymore.

It’s not real.

It can’t be real.

Right?

Right?