CHAPTER 219: A GHOST

Chapter 219

Poppy

I sit in the carriage fuming.

I was having a blast—actually enjoying myself for once—until Felix had to swoop in and ruin everything yesterday. Typical. The man can dance with half the ballroom like it’s his personal stage, but the moment I try to have fun, he suddenly remembers I exist.

At least it was only my night that got wrecked. Because judging from the way Nima looks right now... something definitely happened between those two.

She’s sitting across from me, face flushed pink, ears twitching at every bump in the road. She won’t even meet my eyes. It’s like her whole body is one big nervous tic.

And Daphne? Oh, Daphne’s having the time of her life. The panther sits there lounging like the world belongs to her, her tail lazily curled across Nima’s lap, her arm draped over the backrest behind her. Every little touch is bolder than the last. Fingers brushing Nima’s shoulder. A claw tracing the curve of her arm.

It’s not subtle at all.

Something definitely happened.

The way Daphne looks smugger than usual, practically glowing, tail curling around Nima like a leash. The way Nima keeps tugging at her sleeves, cheeks pink, ears twitching so hard it’s a wonder they don’t snap off. She won’t look at anyone—especially not me.

Fine. If she won’t look at me now, then I’ll make her.

I’ll find out when we arrive.

And when I get the chance, I’m cornering Nima.

***

Felix

I haven’t spoken to Poppy since the field trip. She’s been avoiding me—and that’s fine.

Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

But right now, I have more important things to think about.

Today, my grandfather—the king himself—requested my presence. I can count the number of times I’ve met him on one hand, and every memory feels distant, blurred by age and the weight of titles.

The carriage halts in front of a sprawling hotel, three hours from Felaris Academy. Not just a hotel—the hotel, the kind built for dignitaries and nobles who demand both extravagance and absolute discretion. The kind of place where every brick whispers old money and old power.

As I step down, the staff bow instantly, heads lowered as though the mere sight of me demands reverence. In Felaris, even after my status changed, I rarely felt like royalty. There, I was a student, jostling with others, fighting for space.

But here... here, I feel it.

I walk forward, head held high, spine straight as I’ve been told princes should always stand. My steps echo against the marble floor, and their silence follows me like a shadow.

In the lobby, I meet him.

A massive man, shoulders broad enough to block half the entrance, small rounded ears marking him as a bear shifter. His uniform is immaculate, black trimmed with the king’s sigil, and his presence alone radiates authority.

"Your Highness." He bows low, voice deep but respectful.

"I’ll guide you to the king," he says, straightening.

My pulse quickens.

The king. My grandfather.

I’m guided into a room that makes even the Marquis’ famed ballroom look modest. The walls are paneled in rare darkwood, polished to a sheen that reflects the light of crystal chandeliers. Silk drapes hang heavy at the windows, and every surface gleams with quiet wealth—not gaudy, but absolute.

And there, seated at a small table set with porcelain and steam, is the king.

My grandfather.

The bear shifter bows deeply before withdrawing, and instinct drives me to follow.

"Baxter, leave us," the king says without looking up. His tone is calm, almost casual—but it’s not a suggestion. It’s command.

"Yes, your majesty," comes the reply, and the door shuts with a finality that makes the air heavier.

Golden eyes lift to mine, sharp even in the softened lines of age. His presence fills the room more than the wealth does—calm, patient, but edged with something that makes the hairs on my arms rise.

"Felix," he says simply, as though the word itself is both greeting and test. He gestures lightly to the seat opposite him. "Care for some tea?"

My throat feels dry, but I bow once more before speaking. "Of course, your majesty."

I move carefully, every motion deliberate as I sit. The porcelain cup before me is already filled, steam curling faintly in the air.

I wrap my fingers around it, more to keep them from shaking than for the warmth.

He looks at me, and I feel a bead of sweat trace down my spine under the weight of his gaze. His eyes are steady, unreadable—until suddenly he cracks, the corners of his mouth lifting before a deep, rolling laugh spills out.

The sound startles me so badly I nearly drop my teacup.

"No need to be so tense," he says, still chuckling, setting his cup down with an ease I can’t imitate. "We’re family, after all."

Family.

The word hits strange. Warm, but foreign. I’ve heard it a hundred times, spoken by others, but never from him. Not like this.

I try to ease my shoulders, force a small smile, but I still feel like I’m sitting in front of a storm disguised as a man. "Forgive me, your majesty," I manage, bowing my head slightly. "I wasn’t sure what to expect."

"Ah." His smile softens, but his eyes remain sharp, golden and piercing. "You expected a king. Not a grandfather."

He leans back in his chair, fingers steepling under his chin. "Tell me, Felix. Which would you prefer?"

"It’s less of what I prefer," I say carefully, lifting my chin, "it’s more that my grandfather is the king, and the king is my grandfather."

He chuckles, low and knowing, like I’ve just confirmed something for him.

"Your smart mouth," he muses, a faint smile tugging at his lips, "just like your father."

The words land heavier than he probably intends. My fingers tighten around the delicate teacup until I worry it might crack.

Ah yes. My father.

The famed crown prince. The golden heir. Loved by nobles and commoners alike. A man painted in legends and song, immortalized in stories of bravery and charm.

But to me? He’s just a ghost.