“I’ll take you to His Highness.”
Good idea.
This old man really isn’t your average grandpa. Sharp as a tack, that one. And the sense—where does he even get it? Nothing like Simon, that’s for sure. If that muscle-brained idiot had inherited even a fraction of his father’s wit, life would’ve been a lot easier for him. But no, some people are just born unlucky. C’est la vie.
The old man’s pace toward the study is painfully slow. He shuffles along, glances back, shuffles some more—clearly hoping Simon will magically appear. And let’s be real, his real reason for escorting me to Lyx isn’t exactly pure either. Too bad for him, Simon’s currently slumped in a corner, sighing his life away. Not happening today, old man.
His hand, which had been absentmindedly stroking my back, pauses. I look up to find him studying me. Huh? What? I stare blankly back, daring him to spit it out.
He tilts his head. “You seem…”
Seem what? I fix him with an impatient glare. Come on, out with it. This cat’s about to pass out from suspense.
“…Sturdier, I suppose.”
What?
I snort. Obviously. I’m practically indestructible. Took down a terrifying witch, escaped her clutches, and once kicked a bandit clear across the sky with a 180-degree high kick. If you’re going to flatter me, at least put some effort into it.
The study door is just ahead. Without another thought, I leap out of his arms. Grandpa scent or not, I need to get to Lyx.
I take a few steps, then glance back. The old man’s smirking. I flick my tail at him—my version of a thank-you for the nostalgia hit. Not the enthusiastic wag I’d give Lyx, of course. Just a lazy, barely polite swish. I am the Crown Prince’s cat, after all. Dignity first.
I turn away, and he doesn’t say another word.
The relationship between Duke Licht and me? It’s… complicated.
We’re not close. But we’re not strangers either. Sometimes, we end up sitting together—never by plan, just by chance. He lurks around the Crown Prince’s palace hoping to bump into Simon, and I happen to cross paths with him. Usually, we exchange a quick nod or a tail flick, and that’s it. A simple “How’ve you been?” from him, a glance or a tail twitch from me.
But rarely, we spend time together. Like today, when I’m missing my grandpa. On those days, I’ll sit by his feet, rub against his leg, or just stare up at him. We don’t talk. We just sit, gazing into the distance. Occasionally, I’ll even perch on his lap. There’s a strange comfort in it—different from being with Lyx, but comforting all the same. Like being with my grandpa.
I know what he wants, though. He just won’t say it.
He knows Simon and I are close. He’s asked me to pass along pocket money to him, after all. And he’s noticed I don’t hate him. (Though he probably thinks it’s him I like, not just the grandpa vibes.)
His game is obvious: he wants me to patch things up between him and Simon. He wanders these halls every day, pretending it’s all for Simon, wearing his heart on his sleeve—but only when I’m around. Classic manipulation.
Most people would probably fall for it. Oh, the poor duke, pining for his son! But I’m not most people. I see right through him. He’s playing the long game—waiting for a “natural” reconciliation so he can swoop in later with his strategic marriage demands. As if I’d let him use me like that.
Nope. I’m no one’s pawn.
There’s another reason I won’t help, though: the grandpa scent.
If those two make up, Duke Licht won’t have any reason to lurk around the palace anymore. And I lose my on-demand grandpa fix. Not happening. I’m not about to start chasing him around just to get my sniff in. That’d be humiliating. So for my own sake, this standoff has to continue. Selfish? Maybe. But that’s life, isn’t it?
I pause at the doorway and look back one last time. Our eyes meet, and he smiles—wrinkles crinkling just like a kind old grandpa’s would. But I know better. That man’s got a million snakes coiled up inside him.
I send him a sweet little nyaa~ before turning away. (And, of course, the second my back is turned, I snort. He’s probably already dropped the act.)
That’s us. Two beings who tolerate each other, who use each other just enough, but not so much that it’s obvious. Who maybe, just maybe, don’t entirely dislike the arrangement.
And honestly? I kind of love it. This push-and-pull, this unspoken understanding—it’s perfect for a cold city cat like me.
Because at the end of the day, I’m cool. I’m slick. And I don’t do mushy.
