Chapter Text
"A year and a day," says Cardan with a cold smirk as they share dinner in his royal rooms. Cardan is still dressed in breeches, an emerald waistcoat, and another fitted over that one, tailored to his broad shoulders and tapering at his waist. He's reclined in his seat across the small table, watching Jude with barely held amusement as she bristles.
She now has little more than a quarter of the time that had been originally agreed upon to sort out what the hell she was going to do with Cardan. Some days he teases that perhaps he has acquired the taste for ruling and will not vacate the throne when Oak comes of age. Other days he hints that perhaps the very moment he is free he will disappear with the wild fey and never return. Once, he said he thought he’d fit in quite well with the humans and might conquer and rule the kingdom of Target that she was so fond of after a particularly long excursion there with her sisters that he hadn’t been made aware of beforehand. She didn’t have the energy to argue that Target was not a kingdom.
“Perhaps, I’ll only keep the throne until I sire some children of my own. Nicasia was just telling me the other day that she wasn’t quite set on her engagement after all,” he adds conversationally with a long sip of wine to punctuate the cruel remark. His dark eyes are flinty as he watches her face grow a shade of angry plum. He punished her day in and day out for her betrayal and she was getting quite sick of it.
He’s pushing her intentionally and they both know it, but she’s had a shitty day negotiating the terms of acquiring a new clan of wild fey, one previously resistant to recognizing the High King, and he just has to be slippery today. He couldn’t let her retire to her rooms or bathe or just breathe before he summoned her for dinner!
“If you’re set on having ugly little goblins with her, so be it. Perhaps I’ll return to the mortal world instead!” she hisses angrily and they both knew it was a lie the moment the words tumble from her lips. She’d never leave when so much power was finally in her grasp. The throne was as strong as it had ever been after a rocky few months and she wasn’t ready to give it all up just yet.
He grins a toothy and dangerous sort of grin, like a predator circling cornered prey, and he scoots close to her. She breathes in his oaky, pine needle scent and is suddenly keenly aware that she smelled of sweat and exhaustion and perhaps a hint of tangy, sour blood.
“And just what would you do in the mortal world, my Queen?” he asks wickedly, a well practiced sneer barely contained. She hated that the Court of Shadows had welcomed him so readily into their number. The Roach loved him and his fine taste in wine. At Jude's behest, the Ghost had been trying to teach him basic survival skills like how to hold a damn sword and found him, of all things, funny. The Bomb, well, she liked his rather destructive nature.
“Anything I want,” she says evasively, widening his smile further.
Cardan reaches out across the table, absently, and tucks a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. His finger traces the curve of her ear, and her eyes fall closed as a flutter of want pools in her stomach.
“You could do that here,” his voice is low, tempting and she bites her lip hard enough to draw blood. It grounds her back in reality and her eyes flicker to meet his. He winks, the bastard.
She says nothing, fuming, and reclines back in her chair in the same way he had been moments before. His crow eyes are alight with amusement, but still tinged dark with something. She gifts him a coy smile because even if her body betrays her, her mind knows that it's all a game with him. Every lingering touch, every attentive word. It's to manipulate and control. She was the one skilled in those things and she was not giving up her crown of power to some faerie with sharp cheekbones and a cruel sneer. She wasn't stupid.
“Perhaps we should discuss what you really called me here for,” she says finally and he looks slightly put out.
“My brother has been quiet,” he tells her with a frown.
“I would think that was a good thing,” says Jude, but the moment the words leave her lips she reconsiders.
Balekin has been nothing but arrogant and willful since he’s been imprisoned. Imprisoned was a strong word for what he was. He had private quarters that were guarded by the few guards who hadn’t sworn fealty to Madoc. Madoc, who had not been quite apologetic in his role in the slaughtering of the royal family, had struck bargain after bargain, deal after deal, with Cardan. As much as the vengeful, orphaned side of Jude wanted to see him suffer, there was the part that saw his compassion toward her. His kindness. His pride. The most overwhelming side of her, the master strategist she wanted to become, had said that he was still an asset. So she had advised that Cardan allow him to retain the role of general with strict supervision and routine interrogations. If he can not answer a question or his answer is deceptive, he will be thrown in the actual dungeons. The dungeons that Balekin should count his lucky stars his brother hadn’t locked him in when Jude had given him the choice.
“Too quiet,” says Cardan.
“Do you believe he is speaking with someone? The Circle of the Grackles?” she probes. Cardan is silent for several long moments, so long that she doubts he’s going to answer.
“I believe,” he says at long last, “that we may need to rotate his guard.”
“I’ll schedule it in the morning,” says Jude.
“And any staff in the kitchens. Anyone that might be able to slip anything to him,” he says and Jude nods in agreement.
“I’m concerned that he is plotting something,” hums Cardan thoughtfully. He leans forward, sharp elbows framing either side of his plate, and rests his chin in his hand. He watches the busy toil of the castle grounds just out the window.
“Like?” prods Jude. She hates how often Cardan draws out his statements, still reluctant to trust her or maybe still unused to speaking to her without blatant disdain.
“I’m not sure. He’s seemed calculating though. He’s definitely scheming,” Cardan says with more confidence than he had before.
“What if we sent the Ghost in with the next rotation? See what he can pick up,” she suggests. He nods slowly as if considering before nodding with more fervour.
“I’ll go speak with him,” says Cardan. He stands up abruptly, pushing his chair back with a horrible screech.
“Now?” asks Jude, startled, but she folds her napkin and stands up as well.
Cardan gives her a raised eyebrow. “Do you have more you wish to discuss?”
“No,” she says quickly. “No, I’ll just go take a bath,” she huffs, following him out the door.
“Perhaps I’ll stop by once–” Cardan starts with a suggestive, devilish grin.
“Absolutely not. I’ve seen your face quite enough today,” Jude sharply protests.
“You wouldn’t have to see my face if you’d prefer,” his smile is truly impish, dark eyes tracing the rising flush of her cheeks.
The day is too long when Jude finally sinks below the water of her bath. Her mind aches as she recounts all of the promises she’d been cornered into making, the blood that still feels caked under her fingernails, the purchases she’d like to make when she next goes to Target with her sisters, and the strain that fills her heart knowing that Taryn still intends to follow through with this ridiculous engagement with Locke. At last, with damp hair and her aching head throbbing dully against her pillow, she falls asleep with half baked ideas on how to keep Cardan on the throne.