Panther Loves The Bunny
One
...?
My good daughter (Her voice dripped with honeyed concern,but with the sharpness beneath)
🐰
her ears stiffened to attention,every line of her body focused to sound ;
🐰
(The light in her large innocent eyes dimmed;as realisation dawned upon her.If not today .....)
...?
(his lips curled in smirk,but the true disgust was in his eyes-a hard,glittering disgust)
The air in the Grand Athenaeum was thick enough to taste—a potent mix of cold stone, ancient incense, and the musky scent of the gathered panther court. Torches flickered in sconces carved like grasping claws, casting a dance of light and shadow over the stern, elegant faces of the nobility. They were a sea of obsidian, onyx, and charcoal silk, their collective gaze fixed on the center of the chamber.
There, upon a dais of polished basalt, stood~"Rhyse"
His black fur, still damp from the ritual cleansing, gleamed like a river of oil under the firelight. Every powerful muscle in his shoulders and back was defined, not from tension, but from an innate, relaxed power. He held himself with a stillness that was louder than any boast, the deep, even rumble of his breath the only sign of life. The recent victory was not written in a smile on his sharp-featured face, but in the *unyielding set of his jaw*and the *calm, predatory certainty in his molten gold eyes*. He did not look at the crowd. His gaze was fixed on the elder priest now approaching him.
The priest, an ancient panther whose fur was frosted with silver, moved with a slow, deliberate grace. In his gnarled paws, he held a cushion of deepest midnight velvet. Upon it rested the crown.
It was not a crown of gaudy gold, but something far more suited to the King of Pendragon: **a circlet of woven obsidian and polished jet**, shaped like twisting thorns and sharp, elegant claws. At its front, a single, flawless moonstone gleamed with a soft, internal light, a captured piece of the moon itself.
The priest’s voice, dry and rasping like leaves over stone, broke the silence, echoing in the vast hall.
Priest
"Rhyse of the Blackwood line. Scion of the Night. You have proven your strength is without equal. Your mind is without falter. Your will is without fracture. The mantle of the crown does not grant you power. It reveals the power that already flows in your blood. It does not grant you authority. It announces the authority you have already claimed."
The priest lifted the crown. It seemed to drink the light from the very air around it
Priest
"Do you swear to wear this burden? To be the shadow that protects, the claw that defends, the night that gives this kingdom rest?"
𓃮
His voice, when he spoke, was a low, resonant vow that vibrated through the stone beneath their feet. **"I swear it."**
"Then let the night itself bear witness."
As the court erupted into a deep, thunderous roar of approval—a sound that was more growl than cheer—Rhyse's gaze finally broke from the middle distance. It swept over the roaring nobles, over the bowed heads of his generals.
The crown was on his head. The game was now truly beginning.
𓃮
Rhyse Pendragon
Rhyse Pendragon, the twenty-two-year-old Panther King, was a sovereign forged from midnight and muscle, his well-built frame a monument to lethal power and predatory grace that commanded a room with mere silence.** Crowned not by choice but by conquest, his youthful age was belied by eyes of ancient, molten gold that held the weight of his crown and the sharp, calculating stillness of a predator who knew his every move could ignite a war.
🐰
Sylvie Burrowes was a living paradox, a gentle soul whose spirit bore the fractures of abandonment. At eighteen, the bunny possessed a sweetness that felt like a balm and a naivety that left her vulnerable, her speech often dissolving into a fragile stutter when fear took hold—a constant, painful reminder of the generational magic she lacked and the family that cast her out for it.
Author Bunny
**My dear readers!**
> You have no idea how happy it makes me to share this fantasy world with you. Did you love the chapter? Hate a character? Have a wild prediction?
> **I'd love to hear from you!** Your comments and suggestions fuel my creativity and are the highlight of my day.
> Show your support:
> Subscribe for more!
> Leave a like❤️ to let me know you were here!
> Comment below—I read every single one!
> Thank you for your incredible support!
Two
...?
(his lips curled in smirk,but the true disgust was in his eyes-a hard,glittering disgust)
Her Mom
(standing at door with a cunning smile)
🐰
“Please,” she begged, her voice a broken stutter that betrayed the seismic fracture in her soul. “D-don’t send me away. I’ll t-try harder. I’ll f-find it, I promise.”
It was then that her mother—the woman she had called mother for eighteen years—had leaned close, her face not contorted in anger, but in cold, calculated disgust. The words that followed weren’t shouted; they were delivered in a venomous whisper, each one a shard of glass plunged into Sylvie’s heart.
Her Mom
“Try?” the woman hissed. “You cannot *try* to be what you are not. The magic isn’t dormant, girl. It is **absent**. You are a flaw. A barren branch on a noble tree. A **curse** upon this family’s name. The only truth you have ever been told is your name, Sylvie Burrowes. For we are not your blood. You were a misplaced hope, an investment that failed to mature. Now, your failure leaves with you.”
The revelation was more brutal than the cold. It wasn’t just exile; it was erasure. She was not just powerless; she was also parentless. She was not just abandoned; she was a transaction that had gone bad.
The door did not simply close; it **slammed** with a finality that shook the very core of her being. The carved wood, once a symbol of shelter, was now a cold, unfeeling barrier. Sylvie stood frozen on the threshold, her hands clutching the hem of her dress.
The first icy raindrop hit her cheek, a cruel mimicry of a tear. Then another. Soon, a freezing drizzle began to fall, mingling with the hot, salt tears that streamed down her face. The world, once familiar and safe, had transformed into a grey, weeping nightmare.
🐰
Now, wandering blindly into the thickening veil of snow and rain, the truth echoed louder than the howling wind. The ancient, gnarled trees of the Blackwood seemed to lean in, their branches like accusing fingers. Each sob that wracked her body was a puff of mist in the frigid air.
Sylvie Burrowes
“It’s m-my f-fault,” she choked out to the uncaring darkness, her stutter making the confession even more pathetic. “I’m s-sorry. I’m so s-sorry I was a d-disappointment. I’m s-sorry I wasn’t enough.” She blamed her own existence, for the calculated cruelty that had festered in that house for years. The cold was seeping through her thin clothes, but it was nothing compared to the glacial void spreading from her chest, freezing her from the inside out. She was utterly, completely alone, a single, fragile heart crying in a vast, frozen world that had no place for her.
Not a league away, the silence was broken by the steady crunch of a warhorse’s hooves on frozen ground. Astride the powerful beast, Rhyse Pendragon was a king carved from the same shadows that lengthened around him. One hand rested on the pommel of his sword, the other held the reins loosely, his body moving with the ingrained rhythm of a rider despite the sharp, throbbing ache in his side. A fresh wound, earned in the proving grounds, had torn open during the long ride, and a dark stain bloomed against the dark leather of his jerkin. He wore the pain like he wore his crown—as a private, burdensome weight.
His thoughts were not on the cold or the injury, but turned inward, a relentless council of war. The challenges of his new rule stretched before him, a map of alliances and animosities more complex than any forest path. His golden gaze was fixed on some distant, unseen point, seeing not the snow-laden pines but the skeptical faces of older, cunning lords who saw only a boy on a throne. The quiet of the woods was a temporary reprieve, a place to let the mask of unwavering strength slip for a moment, his brow furrowed not in anger, but in the profound isolation of command. He was utterly lost in the storm of his own thoughts, a king seeking a path forward, unaware that his and the forest's most fragile secret were about to collide.
Sylvie Burrowes
harsh, guttural cry ripped through the wind, jerking her from her despair. Then another, closer this time. Sylvie’s head snapped up, her tear-filled eyes wide with a new, primal fear. Above, through the veil of snow, three dark, ragged shapes circled. Vultures. They had caught her scent—the unmistakable, vulnerable smell of a lone bunny, a creature of prey, lost and weakening. A fresh wave of terror, cold and sharp, washed over her.
Her flight was a desperate, stumbling thing. Twigs snapped under her feet, and thorny branches tore at her arms and dress, as if the forest itself sought to claim her. Whimpers of pure panic escaped her lips, each one a tiny, terrified prayer. The heavy beat of powerful wings sounded just behind her.
The shadow of one of the scavengers darkening the snow as it swooped low, its talons grazing her hair. She cried out, a raw, strangled sound, and tripped over a hidden root, falling hard into the frozen slush. The smell of damp earth and her own fear filled her nostrils. This was it. This was how it would end—not by magic, not by a grand fate, but as food for carrion birds, alone in the cold.
Sylvie Burrowes
There was no conscious thought, only the primal need to be smaller, faster, to *hide*. A shimmer of displaced air passed over her, and where the young woman had stood, now cowered a small, silver-grey bunny. Her clothes pooled around her tiny form. The world exploded in size and sound, the howl of the wind now a hurricane, the scent of predator overwhelming. A terrified whimper became a thin, high-pitched squeak.
Sylvie Burrowes
She tried to run, a frantic, scrambling hop, but her limbs were leaden with fear. One moment, a bunny was staring death in the face. The next, a girl on her hands and knees in the snow, gasping, naked and shivering violently amidst the tatters of her discarded dress. She scrambled backward, a raw, human cry of terror finally tearing from her throat as she raised her arms to shield her face from the striking beak, utterly exposed and defenseless.
𓃮
A sharp, terrified cry—distinctly female—cut through his brooding silence. It was followed by the aggressive shrieks of carrion birds on the hunt. In an instant, the razor-sharp instincts of the predator he was at his core. His head lifted, his eyes narrowing, every sense focusing on the source of the sound. The isolation was gone. There was only the hunt, the threat, and the undeniable pull to answer a cry for help he didn't yet understand.
Author Bunny
My dear readers!
> You have no idea how happy it makes me to share this fantasy world with you. Did you love the chapter? Hate a character? Have a wild prediction?
> **I'd love to hear from you!** Your comments and suggestions fuel my creativity and are the highlight of my day.
> Show your support:
> Subscribe for more!
> *Leave a like❤️ to let me know you were here!
> Comment below—I read every single one!
> Thank you for your incredible support!
Three
𓃮
A sharp, terrified cry—distinctly female—cut through his brooding silence. It was followed by the aggressive shrieks of carrion birds on the hunt. In an instant, the razor-sharp instincts of the predator he was at his core. His head lifted, his eyes narrowing, every sense focusing on the source of the sound. The isolation was gone. There was only the hunt, the threat, and the undeniable pull to answer a cry for help he didn't yet understand.
Rhyse Pendragon
As he closed the distance, a foreign sensation seized him—a frantic, hammering rhythm against his ribs that had nothing to do with the exertion of the ride. His own heart was pounding, a wild, frantic drumbeat that echoed the fear in that unknown cry.
Rhyse Pendragon
His muscles coiled with a protective fury he didn't understand, his golden eyes scanning the grey ahead, searching for the source.
He broke into a small clearing and the scene before him froze the blood in his veins.
A young woman, naked and shivering, was on her knees in the snow, arms thrown up to shield herself from the diving attack of a massive vulture. Her skin was mottled blue with cold, her eyes wide with a devastation that went far beyond this single moment of terror. She was the very picture of absolute vulnerability, of a soul already broken being offered up to a cruel end.
A roar, low and thunderous with pure, undiluted rage, ripped from Rhyse’s throat. It was a sound that promised evisceration. The vulture, mere inches from its prey, faltered, its primitive brain recognizing a greater, more dangerous predator. Rhyse didn't even need to draw his sword. The raw, commanding power that rolled off him was a physical force. The scavengers shrieked in alarm, their courage broken, and beat a frantic retreat into the leaden sky, leaving an echoing silence in their wake.
Rhyse Pendragon
His gaze snapped back to the girl. She crumpled, the last of her strength spent, collapsing into the freezing slush with a whimper that was more air than sound. She was a fragile, fallen thing, and the frantic beating in Rhyse's chest tightened into a fierce, inexplicable ache. He was at her side in an instant, his own pain forgotten, his black cloak already sweeping from his shoulders to envelop her freezing form.
He saw the shattered reflection of her worthlessness, the absolute certainty that this was simply the culmination of a life of being unwanted. A final, silent tear traced a clean path through the grime on her cheek, a last testament to a pain so deep he felt its echo in his own chest.
Sylvie Burrowes
In the sudden, ringing silence, her arms slowly lowered. Her gaze, vast and shimmering with unshed tears, lifted to his.
It was not a look of gratitude, not yet. It was the raw, unguarded look of a soul utterly shattered. In those deep, violet depths, he saw a universe of pain—abandonment, betrayal, a cold so profound it had seeped into her very spirit. Another tear broke free, a silent testament to a suffering he could not yet fathom.
And in that single, suspended moment, something impossible happened.
Rhyse Pendragon
Rhyse, the predator, the king who wore isolation like armor, **felt it**. A phantom cold pierced his own heart. The echo of her despair resonated within the chambers of his own, a silent, screaming harmony of loneliness that he knew all too well. He didn't just see her pain; he *absorbed* it.
That tear struck him with more force than any physical blow.
Her body went limp, collapsing into the freezing slush with a final, breathless sigh.
Rhyse Pendragon
He gathered her into his arms as if she were made of the most fragile glass, her head lolling against his chest, her face pale and streaked with tears against his clothing .
Rhyse Pendragon
Cradling her gently, he approached his stallion. The great warhorse, stood perfectly still as its master carefully laid the precious burden across the saddle before swinging up behind her. He settled her against him, one arm securing her tightly to his chest, the other taking the reins.
He looked down at her, a small, broken thing wrapped in the symbol of his power, and felt the weight of an unspoken vow settle upon him, heavier and more certain than any crown. It was a promise of protection, etched not in words, but in the silent, steady beat of his heart against her still form.
With a soft click of his tongue, he guided the horse to turn. Towards His Kingdom,leaving the weeping woods behind.
Author Bunny
**My dear readers!**
> You have no idea how happy it makes me to share this fantasy world with you. Did you love the chapter? Hate a character? Have a wild prediction?
> **I'd love to hear from you!** Your comments and suggestions fuel my creativity and are the highlight of my day.
> Show your support:
> Subscribe for more!
> Leave a like❤️ to let me know you were here!
> Comment below—I read every single one!
> Thank you for your incredible support!
Download NovelToon APP on App Store and Google Play
