Chapter 3! Again, read and review, please, and no flames. Thanks! :)

Poppy ran straight home to her pod.

She was so disoriented, she didn't even feel like stress-booking, which always helped her when she was stressed. Her whole world had been turned upside down in a matter of hours.

Cliff was not her true love, as it turned out, so what were the feelings she still had for him? A lie? Had it never really been love, and she'd misinterpreted her own feelings? Or maybe it'd been sympathy because she'd subconsciously known he loved her and they couldn't truly be together?

That was only one of many problems. Another was that Branch was her true love. Branch, whom she'd broken up with three years ago. She'd thought she was over him, but was she really? His name sparked so many emotions within her—love, hate, indifference, tension, peace, admiration, disdain, confidence, uncertainty—that she had no idea what to think. There were so many memories attached to that one name. There was Gray Branch, there was Blue Branch, there was Gray Branch again.

She stopped short. She'd never really noticed that before. Well, of course she'd seen him, but she'd never cared to approach him or talk to him, so it'd never sunk in: he was gray again.

He'd really been sad enough losing her to lose his color, too?

And he hadn't ever gotten it back?

Could that mean . . . did he still love her?

Poppy quashed the ridiculous idea—and the flicker of hope that came with it. No. Of course not. It had been three years. It took something big to make a gray Troll happy again, especially if they'd been gray for a while, and it wasn't her problem if nothing big had happened for him lately.

Before she could think of all the reasons why it was her problem, she moved on to the next problem: her father. He'd been right, and now she was going to suffer from more than just wounded pride. She'd never be able to marry Cliff, and she wasn't even sure if she wanted to anymore. How could she know whether to break up with him if she didn't want to? Everything had been more than black-and-white when she and Creek had been split up, and even if she'd been sad, it'd been clear what she had to do with Branch, too. Now . . . she was pretty sure she still loved Cliff, and it wasn't like he'd done anything wrong. But the magic said that Branch was her true love . . .

The young queen groaned and curled up, burying her face in her knees. This was the hardest decision she'd ever made in her life. Even her queenly responsibilities didn't compare.

Finally, she decided she'd find Cliff and talk it out with him. He was good at thinking of good solutions, so surely he could come up with something. She took a deep breath and set out to find him.

She was just about to ask if anyone had seen him when she heard his voice. She couldn't tell what he was saying, but he sounded angry. She crept closer and hid behind a tree to listen.

"You had no right to just come up there and take her! Now everyone thinks I'm a fraud!" Cliff's voice yelled.

"Yeah, true. But you heard her dad—he wanted everyone to try, because nobody knows who could wake her up. It's not like I had a choice." This was a new voice, yet so familiar: Branch's. Poppy hated the way her heart traitorously fluttered at the sound.

"Just keep pretending that! Her dad always liked you better than me, and you know it! I wouldn't be surprised if this whole thing was a scam to kick me out of your lives!"

"I know you hate me, but I don't do 'scam.' I even told King Peppy that I probably wouldn't be able to wake her up." Branch's voice was much calmer than Cliff's. It was irritated beyond compare, yes, but he was speaking at a reasonable pace and volume, unlike her boyfriend.

"You liar! I cannot believe you'd try to steal her back like that! You knew I was happy!" screamed Cliff. His voice was downright vengeful now.

Poppy was stricken, replaying his words in her mind. "You knew I was happy!" Him? What about her? Why not "she" or "we"? And that tone—that angry, vengeful tone, as though he'd go to any length to get what he wanted.

Just like Creek.

"Think what you want about me, okay? But I'm not a liar and I'm not trying to 'steal her back.' She doesn't even like me anyway, so just run back to your loyal Poppy and leave me alone."

Cliff scoffed angrily. "What, too afraid to fight?" he sneered.

"No, quite the opposite. I'd rather not fight you for your sake." A little pause, then he simpered, "Surely Poppy told you how strong her Branchy is?"

Poppy heard the familiar smirk in his words, reminding her of the days when she used to call him that, "her Branchy." It was only ever used to embarrass or annoy him, but it had been so much fun. She found herself longing for those days—

"No, she didn't, I'm sure because you aren't," Cliff seethed. "You liar, you asked for it!"

Poppy snapped out of her trance and rushed out from behind the tree before a fistfight broke out. Branch was right—he could seriously hurt Cliff, which she couldn't let happen (as his queen or his girlfriend, she wasn't sure). And she knew Cliff wasn't exactly a bodybuilder, but he'd sounded so incredibly angry that she wasn't sure what he'd be capable of.

"Wait! Stop!" she cried as she rushed into their view. The young queen watched Branch casually step out of the way of Cliff's furious lunge for him and Cliff slam into the ground before both Trolls looked to her, dumbstruck.

"Oh, hi, beautiful," Cliff said, looking up at her with a sheepish grin. Poppy noticed Branch rolling his eyes at the term of endearment.

For the first time in three years, she found herself disgusted by the name, too. She briefly wondered what had happened to her since the days when she walked alongside Branch, watching other couples and sticking their tongues out in playful disgust at every term of endearment they heard.

But no. Poppy forced herself to focus on the scene in front of her. "You guys! I can't believe you were actually going to attack each other!"

Branch shook his head and folded his arms. "I don't know how much you heard, beautiful, but I tried to stay out of it."

Before she knew what she was doing, she'd made one of those same playful disgusted faces from their past at him. "I heard enough," she said, acting nonchalant about the slip-up. "And . . . thank you for trying."

Then she turned her attention to Cliff. "Cliff! Why would you try to physically harm Branch?! I know there's some really confusing love-triangle-y stuff going on here, but we're Trolls! We don't purposely hurt each other!"

"Beautiful, I have reason to believe he was working with your father to tear us apart. I couldn't let that happen," Cliff tried.

Poppy had never noticed how Creek-like it was, the way he used the name "beautiful" for her.

"Even protection shouldn't go that far. And Branch wasn't lying; he could've really injured you." She ignored the pleasure she got from seeing Branch nod smugly at Cliff. "Cliff, I'm very disappointed in you. I came to talk this problem out with you, but clearly, you can't handle emotional strain of any kind, nor can you honor Troll values. Which would make you a horrible husband and father someday. I'm sorry, but we need to break up. Right now." Shocked at her own daring and lack of sadness, she harshly pointed away.

"Wait, but beautiful—" he started.

"Goodbye, Cliff," she said in a tone that made it clear she would not be listening to his pleas.

Surprise and sadness in his eyes, he got to his feet and left the clearing they were standing in.

Poppy watched him leave, then her heart sped up with anxiety as she realized she was now alone with Branch. Had she been stupid in dismissing Cliff? Now she had to talk to Branch for the first time in three years—and she wasn't talking the awkward "where's my dad," "where's Cliff," and "thanks for waking me up" from earlier.

They stood there in uncomfortable silence, so many unspoken feelings in the thick tension between them. They were at least two Trolls' heights combined away from each other, and neither dared to move away, nor take a single step closer.

Finally Poppy met his eyes. "Um, hi."

The words had her inwardly cringing and mentally kicking herself. Of all the stupid things to say, "Um, hi" had to be what she'd said? She was the Troll queen, for goodness' sake! The queen of all things social! Why had she said that?

But Branch didn't seem to think it was stupid, or at least not stupider than anything he would've said. "Hi," he returned, and the two lapsed into silence again.

"Uhh . . . so . . . how have you been, recently?" Poppy asked awkwardly, once again cringing at her sudden social inabilities. She couldn't believe she was desperately trying to remember icebreaker questions! Pathetic.

He looked kind of surprised at the question for a split second, then said, "I've been . . . fine. How about you?"

"Umm . . . good. Unless you're talking about the last hour, because it's been torture."

"I can see why—especially for you. Uh, by the way, you did a good job of dumping Cliff."

Poppy was relieved the conversation was flowing a little more easily. "Do you mean it was a good decision to dump him, or I did a good job while I was dumping him?" In old times, she'd have a hand on her hip, a smirk on her lips, and an eyebrow raised, but right now this was dangerous territory. She had to be extra cautious.

"Can it be both?" She saw the beginnings of a smirk and the way his eyebrow twitched, almost raised, and the way he crossed his arms a little tighter over his chest, but he didn't dare to be anything but cautious, either, on this dangerous territory. This dangerous land that could open up and swallow them whole at any moment.

"Sure. I'll humor you." It was safer than saying what she normally might've, which was that since he wanted it to be, no it couldn't. Then again, she had no idea what normal was anymore.

"Thanks, Princess." Here was a pet name she didn't mind. She didn't mind it because of the way he said it, not like she was a beautiful and angelic figure, but more like she was spoiled and self-centered. And yet it wasn't offensive at all, because she always knew that behind his passive, mocking facade lay the spirit of a poet who thought she was nothing but beautiful and angelic. She loved his arguments as much as she loved his kisses—and she couldn't believe she'd gone a whole three years without either of those.

Now she did allow the smirk onto her face, but she didn't let herself raise an eyebrow or cross her arms or put her hands on her hips or approach him or poke her finger into his chest or lean in and smush their noses together or tangle their breathing or feel his heart rate speed up or connect their lips or thread her fingers up into his hair or part her lips for him or—

Stop it.

Stop it right now.

That's too intimate.

Instead she just said, "Ahh, that's right, Princess . . . well, Princess wants a piggyback ride."

When he didn't respond, she bit her lip.

Had she crossed the line?