CHAPTER 213: COMPANY

Chapter 213

Poppy

For the next two days, it’s group work.

Which, really, is just group sightseeing.

And for me? It’s being the unfortunate third wheel, watching Daphne openly flirt with Nima from sunrise to sunset.

The touches. The comments. The way Daphne makes her laugh just to see that shy little smile.

It’s exhausting.

But I can’t lie—being near Daphne Nyxclaw means I get to enjoy privileges I’ve never even dreamed of. Private shade when the sun is too hot, attendants carrying chilled drinks to wherever she stops, meals at the kind of places that would normally turn someone like me away at the door.

It makes me sad.

Felix is royalty now. Surely even he could... I don’t know... do something small. It doesn’t have to be as grand as what Daphne does for Nima. Just something that says you matter or I’m thinking about you.

How can he have time for you? a voice in my head asks. He already has four other girls.

I shove the thought down, deep, deep down. But lately, no matter how far I bury it, it keeps clawing its way back up.

*

Today is the day of the ball.

I stand in front of the mirror and barely recognize myself.

The dress is midnight blue silk, soft under my fingers, flowing all the way to the floor. The sleeves are sheer and flutter when I move, and tiny crystals sewn into the bodice catch the light like stars. I’ve never worn something so luxurious in my life.

I smooth my hands down the skirt, even though there’s not a single wrinkle. My throat is tight, my ears twitching without permission.

"I didn’t recognize you. I almost thought I’d walked into the wrong room."

The voice slides over my skin, and my body reacts before my mind does. My back stiffens. My ears go high and alert.

Daphne.

I turn, and of course she looks like she walked straight out of a painting—tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, silver cufflinks glinting under the lamplight. She wears it like she was born in it.

"Your date, my dear little bunny, is Isaac," she says smoothly, already crossing the room to rest a hand on my shoulder. Her grip is light but inescapable, guiding me toward the hall before I can protest. My instinct screams at me to shift into my rabbit form and bolt, but my legs keep moving.

"Isaac’s a little timid," she continues. "I was worried about him. He’s the son of a marquis—one of the oldest houses, loyal to Nyxclaw since the empire’s founding."

Her voice is warm but edged with something that makes me feel like this is less about Isaac and more about whatever game she’s playing.

We reach the end of the hall, and there he is—standing with his hands clasped, shifting his weight nervously.

He’s... cute.

Small, polished antlers rise above soft brown hair. He wears round glasses that catch the light when he looks up, and his tailored jacket fits him just right.

"Your job tonight," Daphne says, "is to have fun. And to make sure dear Isaac has fun, too."

Then she pushes me forward.

Isaac straightens immediately, his nervous smile warming into something more confident.

"Hello, Lady Longear," he says, taking my hand gently. Before I can respond, he leans down and brushes his lips over my knuckles.

My ears twitch again. He’s treating me like a noble lady.

I’m technically a noble, yes—but for my kind, it’s just a title. The Longeared haven’t had real wealth or influence for generations. Our lack of... restraint... has a way of emptying pockets. I with every generation having like more than 10 children, sure the wealth is bound to dwindle.

"Please, just Poppy," I say with a small smile.

"Very well then, Poppy. Shall we?"

He offers his arm.

The fabric under my fingers is smooth, the warmth of his skin faintly there beneath it.

And I feel... guilty.

Guilty for thinking of Felix.

But then I remember—Felix already has company.

***

Felix

The ball is... fun.

Not in the "stiff and political" way most noble events are, but in the indulgent, over-the-top way only the Marquis of D’Vierre can pull off.

The chandeliers are waterfalls of light, music swells from a full live orchestra, and the air smells faintly of honeyed wine and roses.

And I am making the most of it.

One song with Lira, who laughs and twirls in my arms until her fluffy tail nearly trips another couple.

One with Lani, who uses the slow waltz as an excuse to lean far too close and whisper entirely inappropriate things in my ear.

One with Lumiya Snowfrost, who dances like she’s gliding over ice—cold, elegant, utterly untouchable—yet still allows me to keep her hand for two encores.

Even Velesia lets me take her onto the floor for a brief spin. She doesn’t speak, but the faint shimmer of scales along her wrist when I turn her under my arm feels like a secret meant only for me.

The music, the laughter, the drinks—it’s perfect.

For once, I feel like I’m exactly where I belong.

And then I see her.

Poppy.

At first I don’t recognize her. The midnight blue dress transforms her entirely—she looks like she’s stepped out of one of those old oil paintings of nobility. The crystals on her bodice catch the light each time she moves, her ears twitching slightly as she laughs at something.

My steps falter mid-spin with Lani. My attention is fixed entirely on her.

She’s... glowing.

Glowing, and—

My gaze drops to the boy at her side.

Antlers. Glasses. Soft brown hair. Wearing a suit so perfectly tailored it screams old money.

He’s leaning in toward her as if she’s the only person in the room. And she’s smiling back at him.

Something ugly coils in my stomach.

The music hasn’t stopped, but I barely hear it.

They’re not even dancing to the beat—he’s stumbling slightly, probably too nervous, and she’s laughing in that soft, unguarded way I haven’t heard in weeks.

Why the hell is she laughing like that for him?