#the forest of the palace of elfhame | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lordoftermites · 3 years

Text

You Never Break ⚜ Part Ⅰ

⊰ ☘ ⊱ Cardan's POV: The Queen of Nothing, from the end of Chapter 13 through Chapter 17. ⊰ ☘ ⊱ A massive, pterodactyl-screeching thank you to my dearest punishment @euridce and the bombastic @figonas for dealing with my bullshit and allowing me to subject them to betaing this (and literally everything else), but especially for being my Hype Train Goblin Queens and not letting me lose to my perfectionism. ⊰ ☘ ⊱ { edit: the wordcount actually turned out to be 3,765 because I added more shit after I copypasta'd here but I literally cannot be arsed to change the graphic lol. }

≼ FIC MASTERLIST HERE≽

Contrary to erstwhile thinking, it is not quite as simple a task to travel at any expeditious speed whilst carrying a half-dead goblin through the biting nighttide—whilst also taking care to keep yourself and aforementioned half-dead goblin undiscovered by those who would very much like to lop your kingly head right off of your kingly shoulders.

And, if all of that is not enough of a juggling act, appending the minor detail that you’ve just taken flight on a steed conjured from the ragwort in your pocket, after leaving your wife below (at her behest and your protest) to fend for herself with naught but a magical cloak and her unspoken, mortal promise to do as you say...

Well. There are reasons you are not lauded for your prowess as a jester, just as your Queen is even less admired for her graces of verity.

Yet, surely by some feat of fortuitous magic, Cardan does manage it; the concealing mists part just enough to allow the flying mount and its travelers to slip through.

Braving a glance over his shoulder, he watches as the fog coils and swirls closed like a protective curtain behind them. It's disorienting—very like taking an overconfident step forward, only to find the ground is not quite as close as you first perceived. Even as one often besotted with wine and other such stupefacients, Cardan does not particularly enjoy that feeling.

Sea fret mingles with the haze of preternatural clouds as they begin a descent. It veils his lips, clings to his wool-spun clothing and weighs down his hair. He shakes the dampened curls from his eyes just as the four isles of Elfhame begin to take shape in the darkness beneath him, and lets out an unsteady breath; he wonders, absently, if he's exhaled at all since leaving Jude on the ground.

He cannot help the inglorious relief that the Roach, in his state, does not hear it.

It’s an odd sensation, to observe your kingdom from such a high vantage point. Perhaps, before now, he disallowed himself to feel the full measure of his obligation; the sobering comprehension that this vastness of soil and sapling and stone, along with all its inhabitants, will thrive, or decay, under his governance. Looking down at the land—his land—brings that realization crashing down upon him with as much force as one of Balekin’s punishments.

Cardan tightens his grip on the animal’s leafy mane against a bout of dizziness, abruptly wishing he had something a bit less insubstantial with which to steady himself.

The Crooked Forest rises to meet them, gnarled limbs twisting upward as if to embrace their sovereign. That seems illusionary, though Cardan does note at once the marked shift in the air; while still cool, no longer does each inhale carry an icy jab to his lungs or bite at the tips of his ears. It envelopes him and his company, gently carrying them above the mossy heads of slumbering root men and women. None of them stir, thankfully, but Cardan isn’t altogether sure his arrival goes unnoticed by them, either.

Welcome home, young King, the wind seems to whisper in his ear. Cardan shivers, and it has nothing to do with the weather.

Alighting just at the edge of the hollow hill, Cardan takes a half-breath to think—and reproaches himself for not doing more of that before they had landed; the Roach’s etiolated complexion, rattling breath, and stiffening limbs are not an entirely promising combination. Then, there is yet the matter of finding Liliver, who might not even be in the palace. And even then, there is the very real likelihood that he is already too late, that the deathsweet’s effects may have already reached its peak.

Cardan has to swallow against the bile creeping up his throat at that unsettling thought.

If only Jude had just come with him. Mistress of strategy and scheming, she would have drawn up a clever plan before they even took flight, as well as a surfeit of contingencies. Moreover, she would know better than he whether or not they held the favor of time; her province of poison is concerningly vast, as she had proven when Cardan himself very nearly shuffled off his immortal coil in dissolution.

Jude had known in an instant, merely by tasting the wraithberry that had stained his lips. How she knew its savour, to say nothing of how she knew it so intimately, Cardan knows not and she has yet to divulge. It is but another closely-clutched secret he must tack onto the growing list of queries for things a man really ought to know about his wife.

In the interim, the High King of Elfhame—and, more regrettably, the Roach—must rely entirely on himself.

Not much of a comfort, that.

Keeping a hand on the Roach to prevent his suffering an unnecessary fall from the horse, Cardan swings himself off of the thing’s back. With care, he lifts the inanimate body of his mentor into his arms. A low, distressed groan comes from the Roach at being jostled—the first sign of cognizance he’s shown since they left Grimsen’s forge. As pained as the sound is, it nonetheless gives Cardan a small hope that perhaps he hasn’t been too late after all.

Its magic spent, the ragwort pony dissolves in a puff of yellow perianths; an indolent breeze scatters some of the remnants across the dark hill, while others continue their aimless drifting to pollinate elsewhere on the isles. Cardan watches a lone petal catch in the wiry hair of the Roach’s brow and without thinking, he brushes it away. He justifies this allowance of rare gentleness with the fact that no one is around to bear witness to it.

As friendship goes, Cardan is all too aware he hasn’t known much in the way of loyalty or for reasons beyond selfish gain. His former companions had desired only what they could glean from him, the immunity his sway as a prince that had granted them the ability to carry out whatever deviant fancy they could dream up. Even Nicasia had had her own contrivances for being his lover, until she had ultimately found more excitement in the stories—and bed—of Locke.

He is not experienced in having a friend simply for the sake of it. In having someone—or a few someones, for that matter—enjoy his wit and cleverness and skills. That enjoy him, Cardan Greenbriar, rather than what advantages the crown atop his head can give.

Perhaps it is dangerous territory for a king to have bonds extending beyond those of mere allies. Perhaps the trust that comes with such friendships is a bit like handing over a blade to your enemy, freshly sharpened, and saying, Here you go, this holds all the ways with which to kill me. I’ll just turn my back.

Even so, when all you have known your entire life is the contempt and malignancy of those who ought to love you, it is not an entirely stunning realization that you would hand over that blade so willingly.

And he had done, in earnest; in his naivety with Nicasia. In his camaraderie with the Court of Shadows. In everything with Jude.

This is doubtless the reason Cardan’s feet begin to move now, carrying him and the Roach in his arms to the palace entrance with some new swell of confidence. Perhaps it is a detriment to believe that these new friends would not be so hastened and flippant as the last to betray him, but he believes it nevertheless. He also knows, albeit by way of unfortunate experience, that when the situation had been reversed, they had not wasted an idle moment in saving him.

So on he goes, through the wall and into the brugh, careful to keep the Roach’s pallid face hidden in the crook of his arm and denying any assistance his guards offer with a firm shake of his head. They move to follow, but halt at once and return to their posts when Cardan waves them off. Of the merits that come with being King, Cardan is especially grateful that denying explanations is one of them.

Even more fortuitously, his journey is not further hindered by any member of the Living Council—who have undoubtedly been tearing at their beards and skirts attempting to locate and descend upon their unruly monarch. Cardan imagines even now they are in the war room or assembled in his chambers, pacing and theorizing and crying out in panic. At the thought of the Minister of Keys pounding his fists on the table and cursing his luck for having such an impudent master to serve, the corner of Cardan’s mouth twitches. If only the wizened Randalin had the sense to make himself more difficult to nettle, perhaps Cardan would try to do so less.

Though the hill is yet alive, with lingering revelers still clutching the edges of twilight and servants clearing the remnants of food and drink, the many tricks of sly-footing he has been taught manages to keep him out of sight from any who might notice; it takes no time at all to slip through the hidden passage, into the wine cellar and emerge on the other side of the new Court of Shadows.

Cardan had hoped to show and consult Jude on the plans for these rooms, including the strategy chamber he had in mind for her—of which he was particularly proud: he had designed it himself—after she pardoned herself and returned to him. That hadn’t gone entirely the way he had imagined, and so they had gone on with the rebuilding without her. Cardan resolves that now, he can simply give her a full tour of them, should she come back posthaste. Should she decide to come back at all.

No, he rebuffs that line of thinking. Jude will return, just as she promised. When she comes home, Cardan will lead her through the rebuilt Court, and she will ooh and ahh and find him so ridiculously clever she’ll be too awed to do anything but kiss him for his prodigiousness.

She will forget she had ever been angry with him—or, at the very least, spare him the full measure of her wrath. She will forgive him for his trickery and assure him again that she had not fed his letters to the fire; she will tell him how desperately she missed him, that the mortal world is awful and terrible and nothing worth going back to. He will kiss her hair and tell her they need never be parted again. They will begin their reign as they should have done the moment their vows were made, and all will be just fine and well and as it should be.

These are all of the things Cardan tells himself as he steps into the main chamber.

He chuckles quietly to the darkness, a sudden incredulity sweeping over him; after all his prior distaste for mortals and those little hopeful deceits they allow, to wish away an awful thing or to make that awful thing seem less terrible, he has caught himself doing just that. He wonders what Jude might say, if he said her mortality was rubbing off on him?

Upon entering the main hall, Cardan is met with a collective gasp—either from the sudden, unannounced arrival of the High King or at the state of the Roach, he doesn’t know, nor does he have time to find out; before he can call for her, Liliver is already there, her dark face paled and taut. She does not seem to even notice Cardan, her frantic, wide-eyed gaze fixed on the Roach.

“What happened to him?” The Bomb demands, seeming to realize Cardan’s presence only as an afterthought, though he does nothing to reprimand her for her tone. The current circumstance, along with the raw fear on the rogue’s face, is enough to cast any necessity for formalities into shadow.

"Darts, poisoned with deathsweet," Cardan tells her, elaborating when Liliver's piercing glare flickers up to meet him. "We... misestimated the cleverness of the traps Grimsen set to protect his forge." The Bomb frowns at that, and Cardan is sure he’ll have much more explaining to do before the night is through and she is fully satisfied, but neither of them need reminding of the more important matter at hand. “Let’s—let’s get him to a bed,” Liliver says. Though her voice wavers, her eyes never leave the disturbingly still body of the Roach as she leads them into a small room carved out from the main one.

She steps aside to allow Cardan to enter and lower the Roach onto the single bed, before seating herself on the edge of it. A bundle of tinctures and salves rest in her lap, from where or how she procured them so quickly, Cardan doesn’t know and isn’t inclined to ask. By the deep-set furrow of her brow and the way she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, she is calculating the situation and he wagers any unnecessary queries might hinder—or annoy—her deliberation. So he simply stands there, silent and helpless, watching her work.

The light emitting from the small orbs hanging above their heads does little to illuminate much of the Roach’s features, but it’s bright enough to view the waxen sheen of his skin, the odd way his limbs lie rigid at his side. He looks as close to death as one could appear, and if not for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, one could easily believe he had already gone. Cardan swallows and looks away, as if staring instead at the rough stone floor will quash the disquiet he feels.

If the Roach succumbs to the poison, he knows with whom the fault will lie, and there will be none among them to scorn him as much as he will scorn himself.

As Liliver works, sifting through the assortment of small glass bottles in her lap until she picks one filled with a thick, amber solution, Cardan gives her as much detail of the night's emprises as he can in short order: their attempted (and rather unsuccessful) rescue of Jude, of the Roach’s poisoning; of why they had entered the smith’s forge in the first place.

Upon hearing the truth behind the Ghost’s betrayal, the vial slips from her hand and Cardan barely manages to snatch it from the air before it shatters on the ground. The Bomb’s eyes are wide as saucers as she takes back the bottle, but Cardan thinks he catches the smallest glint of hope in them, despite their current predicament.

“You mean, all this time... he was being commanded? Controlled by Locke and Madoc?”

Cardan nods. “Doubtless by my brother as well, though Jude didn’t say one way or another.”

He wouldn’t have considered it debasing of Dain's character to control someone in such totality. In fact, he has no misgivings at all that there was anything, save perhaps a grubworm, that had been beneath his brother. He shakes his head and shrugs, more to his own thoughts than the Bomb's question. “I’ll let her tell us which it is, when she comes home.”

It is too afflictive to imagine she will not, that he has yet again voraciously lapped up a lie she has fed him. He cannot believe that as he waits, Jude is riding off through the air with her sisters back to the mortal world, laughing as she tells them how effortlessly she has fooled the desperate High King of Faerie.

He will have time enough to wallow in his own selfish, agonized reveries; Cardan wills his attention back to the present, back to the Bomb and the Roach, who appears even less on the fortunate side of time since they arrived.

“Will he…” Live, or die. Both words are there on his tongue, but he cannot bring himself to say either and the question lingers, thick and unfinished in the air between the three of them. Liliver doesn’t seem willing—or able to answer, only giving him a small shake of cloud-white curls as she keeps her back to him.

Watching how carefully she wipes the Roach’s forehead with a damp cloth, hearing the hushed, unintelligible things she tells him, the understanding that Cardan perhaps ought not intrude further becomes all too clear. He has completed his task, what he promised Jude he would do. There is nothing more required of him.

With Liliver’s promise that she will send word of any changes, good or ill, Cardan excuses himself from the Court of Shadows.

Cardan spends the remainder of the day in his chambers attempting sleep, because he has proved himself of little use elsewhere, there is nothing else to do, and because if Jude were here she would tell him a High King needs rest if he is to go delegating and answering petitions and doing whatever else there is that good, proper kings are supposed to do.

However, it is precisely because Jude isn’t here that he cannot rest.

Though he does give it an honest effort. He tries lying on his back, drawing forth tiny white blossoms to count as they bloom above his head, aiming to bore himself into a stupor. He counts and counts and counts. The mingling fragrance of several different flowers permeates the room and penetrates his nose. When he reaches six hundred forty-seven for the third time, he gives that up.

Exasperated, Cardan flops onto his side, stretching an arm across the sheets. He stares at the empty space beside him, where Jude had rested the first night they had spent together—the night he had convinced her that becoming Queen of Elfhame, his wife, was the better choice for both of them.

It had all been true, of course: everything Cardan had said to get her to agree. There had been no deception or scheming in his words; he had desired his freedom, as desperately as Jude craved power, and their union had the ability to grant both in absolution.

The Living Council had become insistent on the idea that their King should take a wife anyway, for their own overboring political reasons, and so Cardan had.

The only addendum to all of this, the only detail that he had surreptitiously kept from both the Council and Jude, was that he wanted to marry her. Not Nicasia, as the Council had wanted, as Cardan had once believed he should and could enjoy. Not the hag Mother Marrow’s daughter, who likely would have found some clever way to cause his demise so that she might live on as the sole ruler of Faerie. None of them would have been well-suited for him, nor he well-suited for them. None of them could give him what he wanted, because what he wanted was Jude.

That is all he wants now—to have her home and here in his bed, to fill the space that has been empty since she left. Since he made her leave.

Cardan pushes himself off the bed in a frustrated huff. Deciding he could do with a little less sober thinking, he calls for wine, and when the servant arrives with a fresh decanter and goblet, he fills it to the brim and drinks it to the dregs. After repeating this process a few more times, Cardan rounds the large desk—his father’s desk, he cannot help to remind himself, no matter how many times he sits at it—to continue the speech he’s been writing. He picks up the slip of paper between two fingers and holds it to the guttering candle flame to examine it. It’s already a rather lengthy speech, admittedly, but more important than any he has articulated yet. It is one explaining to Jude that her exile had not been methodically planned, that he thought she would work it out much more expeditiously. He would further explain he had not accounted for the fact she hadn’t worked it out at all, and that he had come to fully regret his own cleverness midway through his second letter.

Of course, Jude had told him she hadn’t received any of those letters.

He cannot help recalling how she looked at him then, the last time they were here in his rooms: skittish and trembling, desperate as a wild animal backed into a corner.

Hardly a fortnight has passed since Madoc had taken her, believing he had heroically rescued her twin from nigh execution. And yet it feels as distant as any half-remembered dream upon waking, blurred on the details and every attempt to grasp the memory only causes it to slip further away. Like a hand waving smoke.

Except a dream is something usually pleasant; smiling faces, a kiss one might yearn for in the waking world and only receive when they close their eyes. Dreams are things of wonderment. Pretty visions and heart’s desires.

No, it had not been like a dream at all—not the way she had looked at him.

That hatred, burning into him like white-hot iron, the fear she could lie away with words but could not conceal from her face, the venom in her voice when she spoke. It was more terrible than any of Cardan’s nightmares.

Everything you say to me, everything you promise, it’s all a trick. And I, stupid enough to believe you once.

He had wanted to reach out to her, to take her hand and tell her his trick had been only that, a hasty plan to keep her out of Orlagh’s grasp. He had wanted to pull her to him and breathe in the comforting scent of her hair, to feel her warmth against his chest. To beg her forgiveness and will away her anger with a kiss.

Then he had seen the glint of the blade in her hand.

Even after Vivi’s flustered explanation of her sister’s capture, after he and the Roach had set out from the mortal world to find her—even after their brief moment in Madoc’s camp just hours ago, when Jude swore she hadn’t thrown in her lot with her betrayer of a foster-father, Cardan cannot rend from his mind the image of her holding that knife.

He passes the paper through the flame and watches it burn until it is nothing but a stain of black ash on the desk.

Waving away the lingering smoke, he rises and goes to dress for the night ahead, without rest, and knowing that no amount of sleep or drink or honeyed words will erase what he has done—or may yet do.

⊰ ☘ ⊱ okAY so this first bit turned out a lot longer than I'd originally intended (legit this whole thing was supposed to just be a oneshot lmfao) but if you made it this far, I'm very sorry but thanks for taking the time to read. I hope you enjoyed it, and as usual—if you didn't, don't tell me about it.

If you want to be added to my tag list, just yeet a reply to this post and I'll add you.

⊰ ☘ ⊱ @euridce @figonas @jurdanhell

#felix's fuckin' fic list #; felix does a write #cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #jurdan #cardan x jude #jude x cardan #the folk of the air #the queen of nothing #tfota #qon #holly black #tfota fic #tfota fanfic

214 notes · View notes

thatbrownb1tch · 3 years

Text

Edit:

Okay wait so someone asked for this but I can’t find their question anymore but I’m still posting this. Also this is my first fanfic so I’m sorry if it’s trash. If you guys have any advice it’d be really helpful and appreciated. I’m not the best with smut but I am willing to go a lot more deeper than what I did in this

Summary:

Set after TWK, Jude moves on and spends 5 years in the mortal world. She ends up getting married but the land is dying in Elfhame so Cardan kidnaps her.

Cardan

“Your majesty,” a soft voice entered the throne room. I looked up to find a human servant standing there, quivering.

“Yes?” I asked louder than I intended.

She jumped a little, “the court of Shadows are requesting an audience with you.”

“When?” What do they need. The last time they were here, they made it very clear that they weren’t happy about how I’m okay with Jude stay away for so long.

“Right now would be better,” The girl was skinny, not slim like Faerys but sickly skinny. Something that no mortal should look like, yet every single human I’d seen looked exactly like that except for two.

“Alright, send them in.” They entered silently without saying a word, “So are you planning to talk?” I broke the silence.

“Yes,” The roach began but he was cut off.

“You have to get her back. Look at Elfhame, it’s failing without her. The land is dead, no plants are growing. We’ll all die off if you don’t find a new bride or get her back,” The bomb blurted.

“I don’t know who you are talking about,” My eyes narrowed. I didn’t like how they figured out that Jude truly did become my wife.

“Drop the act. We figured it out and you have to go get her back. Your majesty,” The roach added.

“She stayed away for 5 years. I doubt she’s willing to come back any time soon unless I bring her here without her will,” I realized what they wanted me to do the second the words left my mouth. My expression must’ve given me away because the pair suddenly looked satisfied.

“Great, so go get her now,” The bomb clasped her hands excitedly while the Roach led them outside.

Jude

“Honey?” I called out to Thomas. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, just there’s someone here-“ I heard a loud noise and then Thomas groan. I was up before I knew it and my feet led me straight to the kitchen where I picked up a knife. It wasn’t very sharp but whatever out there wasn’t very sharp to attack at the front door step. People were always outside in the neighborhood, if anyone did anything outside their house it would spread like wildfire. I walked towards the front door to see a cloaked figure standing with my husband inside. The door was locked so no one saw anything.

“Thomas?” I slowly walked over to him with my grip on the knife fastening.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” He said as he stiffened. His arm went around my waist quickly as the man approached us.

“Who are you?” You could hear the fear in my voice but something about this person was familiar. As if I’ve seen him before but I couldn’t place my finger on it with the hood covering his face. He took another step towards me and before I knew what I was doing my hand were pushing the hood down while the knife was pressed against his stomach. I think my eyes are deceiving me. There’s no way he’s here standing in front of me, the shock still doesn’t leave me as he pushes me away and goes towards Thomas. Memories flash between my eyes, how Madoc swung his sword and killed my mother and father in front of me. How their life less bodies were on the floor as Vivi, Taryn, and I were forced to leave and go to that wretched place which broke me in so many ways. I stood there as I watched the same man chock my husband to death like he did to my parents years ago. I watched how he picked Thomas up by the throat and looked straight into my eyes. I could hear Thomas’s shouts but I couldn’t bear to move. Get out of here! Jude! Go! Jude! Leave! Run Jude! I staggered back to the front door but I heard Thomas fighting for his life. I can’t just run, I needed to save him. Save my husband and save this life I’ve created for myself. One where I got to live a happy life, one where I didn’t need to be scared every second of the day. I took a step forward to him.

“Take me, please. Leave him. Take me,” I pleaded. If one of us deserved to be taken by him it was me. Madoc released Thomas and turned on his heels as fast as he could. He grabbed my arm as he began to pull me with him outside where hopefully someone would see us. But somehow, not one person was outside, it was just me strangling underneath the grasp of the man who just attempted to kill my husband.

“No!” I heard Thomas yell from inside but we were too far away from him by the time he opened the door.

I woke on a bed, a familiar one that I haven’t seen in a very long time. I woke up to a man sitting in the chair next to me. But not just any man. He was my husband, my true husband.

“Jude,” He breathed.

“Why?” It was the only thing that I could say. Why did he need to ruin it for me? Every single good thing has always been ruined by him. It’s as if he swore to ruin my life for centuries, as long as I’m alive.

“What?”

“I was happy.”

“I know, but I wasn’t,” His eyes softened at my gaze.

“What is your problem? You banished me. I had a happy life with a man I loved,” I never told Thomas I actually loved him because the truth is, I cared about him but not in the way I should’ve. He was more like a best friend to me than a husband but I never did tell him that. We had fights about it too, he always said I never thought of him as a husband but I never confirmed it. He never could see through my lies like Cardan could, it gave me an advantage. I lied about the stupidest things but Thomas always believed me. He always believed me about eh stupid ta things m, even ones where you could see through my lies. He lashed said it’s because we’re in a trusting relationship but I think he just loved me too much to fight with me.

“How I’ve missed your lies,” Cardan always knew when I lied.

“I did not miss you at all,” I wanted to make it clear that I’m not happy about what happened.”

“I know you didn’t. But the land did, Jude, everything is dying off. You have to come back, please.”

“I am back.”

“No, given any chance you’ll just run again, you won’t stay with me. You’ll run away again. Please, stay,” His pleads were nice to hear.

“I hate you. Cardan Greenbriar I will always hate you and don’t you ever think I’ll change my mind because I hate you and will always hate you,” I wanted this to be the truth so badly yet deep down I knew this was a lie.

“Fine, divorce me then. We don’t need to tell anyone but the land is dying with the Queen being gone. The land can be great with just one ruler,” He said disappointed.

“Fine. Just know that I will never love you again,” Once more a lie was said. The real truth was I couldn’t stop thinking about him, he was in my head 24/7.

“I’ll try,” He said as he leaned in closely. There was barely any room in between of his as his lips grazed mine. I could feel his hunger, I wanted it as much as he did in spite of everything I just said. He waited for a second before pressing his lips harder on mine. I could feel it deepening while he moved so he was now on top of me. I was under him, vulnerable, not ready yet. I could tell this was what I was waiting for. For 5 years this was all that I wanted.

“I hate you,” I gasped as he entered me with no warning. I couldn’t tell when he got his pants off, but more than that when I was changed into a night gown and had no underwear on. He thrusted into me as I moaned out his name. We became one, like we did all those years ago. I hate him so much but what I hate even more, is how much I’ve wanted this.

“How I’ve missed you,” He said as he fell over next to me on the bed. “So you’ll stay?” I can’t believe that he was still thinking about this.

“After you kidnapped me and tried to kill my husband?” We all knew who my real husband was but it still didn’t mean he could just ruin a life I built.

“You didn’t even love him.” He always could look through me, “Jude, please, stay.”

“Fine, but promise me I can leave any time I want to,” I want a plan b. One where I can run to Vivi, one where I won’t need to go to Taryn or Madoc.

“I promise, you may leave whenever you desire.”

“Thank you, and I have a question,” I had many but this one, I had for a while.

“Yes?”

“Why did Madoc kidnap me?”

“Everyone else was too scared. Most thought they’d die,” He laughed a little.

“And by everyone, you mean you?” I too know a little about Cardan.

“Ah,” He made eye contact with me, “what type of husband would I be if I wasn’t scared of my wife?”

“A bad one, I’d say,” If I knew anything about Faery couples, it’d be that the man always had the upper hand. But, I think we’ve made it clear that we will always fight for it, “I will always be in control.”

“Unless we’re in the bedroom,” I could feel his smirk.

“Shut up,” now I’m laughing and soon Cardan’s joined. We lay there for a very long time. I don’t know when but we fall asleep, and I have the best night of sleep I’ve had in 5 years.

Outside the walls of the palace, the sky is somehow more blue while the grass has become greener. Flowers grew while plants took over. Trees stood tall again while they filled up the once dull forest. Elfhame became lush and green once more, the best it’s looked in the last 5 years. No one acted as if anything was different but everyone knew, the high king’s bride has returned. He’s finally feeling how he felt all those years ago with the love of his life. The one who somehow brightened up his day with just a glimpse of her face. The one who he stared at as if she was the sun, lighting up eternal darkness. The one who made him feel alive again and again with each laugh that left her. Each smile and giggle that rarely showed up. How he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with the girl who meant everything to him.

13 notes · View notes

laequiem · 3 years

Text

She kills my self control - Chapter 7

I take Jude’s gloved hand and I am reminded of the other time I held her hand, cold and shaking while she stood almost naked in front of the whole class. Then, she was euphoric and giddy. Now, it is the real Jude who stands in front of me: mutinous and dangerous, though something else seems to cross her features… relief? This is the fierce Jude I see in my nightmares, my fantasies; not the submissive mess from that day.

cw: unhealthy coping mechanisms (alcohol, sex); physical abuse; nsfw

read on ao3 • previous chapter • next chapter • all chapters

Chapter 7. Looks like magic's solely yours tonight

The day of Dain’s coronation has come. I am expected to stand on the dais with my family and there is no way I will be sober for this. So I drank as I got dressed. I drank as a servant did my hair and I did my makeup. To my intoxicated eyes, it looks good.

When I get to the palace, I quickly scan the throne room for my friends. Locke and Nicasia are swirling around the dance floor together. Valerian is nowhere to be seen. Most importantly, I spot my most loyal friend tucked in the corner of the room: booze. I strut over to the drinks table and fill a glass to the brim with gold-flecked wine. I suspect I will have a glass of each kind of wine by the end of the day.

As I start sipping, no, guzzling my glass, I notice Taryn standing by herself a few meters away, shyly looking at the Folk dancing. She is clutching a small glass of dark red wine. I slide to her side and offer her my empty hand.

“If you want to dance, I will stop you before you dance yourself to death.”

The sound of my voice makes her jump. “Oh, apologies,” she stammers and bobs a curtsy, “Hello, Prince Cardan.”

She must have been lost deeply in her thoughts. I follow her gaze and see she is looking at Locke and Nicasia. I cannot help myself.

“Why do you let him play you?”

Taryn turns and squints at me suspiciously.

“We have an agreement.”

I raise a brow in interest, “Do you, now.”

She sighs.

“He says your kind does not love the way we do. But,” she gives me a tentative smile, “I think things will change today.”

It takes all my will not to roll my eyes. I do not think Locke plans on ending his game so abruptly.

I take Taryn's hand and kiss it. “Well, enjoy yourself.”

I drag a nearby Fae into a dance. I alternate between refilling my glass and spinning new partners across the dance floor until I spot her and my breath catches.

Jude Duarte is dancing with Locke. She is wearing the dress I commissioned the tailor to make, her skirt a dark forest I would gladly get lost in. I have to remember to pay the tailor double, it is even more beautiful than what I had in mind. How can others look at anyone but her?

I feel the cruel prince mask I keep on myself slipping. My gaze is focused on Jude, everyone and everything else a blur. The next thing I know, I am swaying across the dancefloor until I reach the dancing couple.

“Time to change partners,” I announce coldly, staring at Locke, “Oh, did I steal your line?”

“What do you want?” she snaps, “Go ahead. Insult me.”

I wish I could. Humiliating her used to be easy, when she was nothing more than an useless mortal I saw at school. Someone else to annoy for attention.

“I don’t take commands from mortals,” I taunt.

At least provocation still comes naturally. She does not look as angry as I expected her to.

“So you’re going to say something nice? I don’t think so. Faeries can’t lie.”

In another life, perhaps I would have written an ode to her beauty, to charm her and take her to bed. In this life, I am the unwanted Prince of Faerie, somehow both above and below her. Will I ever get an opportunity to be close to her again? The thought makes me slide my hands from her waist to her hips, savoring every moment of it.

“You really hate me, don’t you?”

Do I want her to hate me? She must. Everyone does. Maybe if I hear her say it, I can get her out of my head… or maybe it will make me want her more. Sex and hate go so well together.

“Almost as much as you hate me.”

I wish what I felt for her was only hate. Hate is the language I was raised with, it is all I know. What I feel for Jude is foreign to me. Lust? Definitely. Fear? Somewhat. Sprinkle on some kind of degenerate fascination.

“Until we spar again.”

I bow, then disappear into the crowd to get another drink. I fill my glass with a pale greenish wine and down it in one gulp. I need more.

“Cardan,” a stern voice calls from behind me.

I freeze for a second, then pour myself another glass without looking. “Brother.”

Balekin puts a rough hand on my shoulder and spins me around to face him. I sway a little, dizzy, trying to keep to my feet.

“Pathetic,” he spits. For a moment, I am convinced he is going to slap me. He doesn’t. “Can’t you behave for once in your miserable life? You’re a disgrace.”

He takes my glass from my hand and sends it shattering on the floor. Some guests look at us, but quickly find something else to pay attention to.

“Sober up and join us on the dais.”

I snort and make my way towards the dais. I trudge through the crowd, denser the closest I get to the front, until my boot catches on a root emerging from the mossy floor. In my drunken desperation, I grab at the nearest person’s clothes for balance and accidentally drag them down with me.

I look up and see who I dragged down with me. The pitch black eyes of the girl I tumbled at Locke’s party are staring right at me from under a silver mask. I grin at her wickedly. She apologizes profusely, but once she sees my expression, she grins back at me.

When we get up, I do not go towards the dais. We run, giggling foolishly, towards my father’s old cellars. Since most of the guards are posted around the main room, nobody stops me as I unlock the door leading to the wine cellar and help the girl down.

“Any preference?”, I purr as I browse the shelves.

She shakes her head. I take out a bottle of a thick green liquid. It is a foul drink made with spruce needles and sap, but it packs quite a punch. I uncork the bottle and hand it to her with a wink.

She grimaces as she takes her first sip, some of it spilling down her chin as she tries to swallow it down. I laugh, then drag my tongue up her throat to catch the liquor. I reach her lips and she opens up for me, kissing me back passionately. I am so drunk that she looks exactly like Jude. My mind blurs her skin to look tan and smooth. I do not feel guilty for missing the coronation, this is wonderful. My family sees me as the prince of debauchery, and so I shall be. In one swift motion, I tear the top of her dress. She laughs as I pour liquor down her chest and drink it from between her breasts.

When I lean down to take the bottle again, I tumble forward and pass out.

-----------------------

I am dragged from unconsciousness by what feels like a sudden change in air pressure. The air is slightly more dense and harder to breathe. Even having never heard of this happening, I understand somewhat: my father has relinquished the Blood Crown. Elfhame is waiting for its new ruler to be crowned and I, its disappointment of a prince, is missing the coronation.

#tfota #the folk of the air #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #cardan #jude duarte #jurdan #smut #fanfic #angst

36 notes · View notes

swynlake-rp · 2 years

Photo

“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense.”

FULL NAME: Alice Liddell BASED ON: Alice (Alice in Wonderland) FACE CLAIM: Sasha Lane PRONOUNS: She/Her BIRTHDAY: Feb. 29 1996 CURRENT STATUS: Closed

Character Information || cw: kidnapping, gaslighting, trauma ||

When Alice Liddell-Kingsleigh was six years-old, she vanished without a trace for a year.

The basic story, the one on the newsstand. Try again.

When Alice Liddell-Kingsleigh was six years-old, she wandered off the edge of her family’s property, deep into the forests of Enchantra, and vanished without a trace for a year. Exactly a year later, her mother found her in the rose garden, having a tea party with her dolls as if no time had passed at all.

Better. The story that her mother tells at parties with tears. Not the full one. Try again.

The day Alice Liddell-Kingsleigh turned six, she saw a white rabbit on the edge of her family’s property, and followed it deep into the forests of Enchantra. The white rabbit turned out not to be a rabbit at all, but a little boy around her age and he extended a hand towards her, asking if she wanted to play. Alice, a lonely child, a forgotten child, a child fated to be dressed and dolled up and sit quietly, said yes immediately.

She followed the little boy down the rabbit hole and soon found herself in a beautiful palace, lush and overgrown with plants and colored glass casting light onto the marbled floors. And in the center of the room was a tea party, and Alice sat down and had some tea and she had a very marvelous time with all the funny-looking guests, who liked to listen to her jokes and told her she had a beautiful smile and for the first time in all her life, Alice felt like she was loved.

And there was a beautiful woman at the head of the table, with golden hair and a golden smile. She beckoned for Alice to sit on her lap and regale her with stories, and Alice did so — and all she ever wanted to do was make the beautiful, golden woman smile.

All was well.

Then another little girl came to the party and she was older and prettier and her stories were more elaborate and her voice was more soothing. Soon, the beautiful golden woman began to ask for her stories and for her time, and Alice was sent from the right hand of the woman to the end of the table. Then one day, one of the guards took her hand and led her through a long dark hallway.

And suddenly, Alice was back in her family’s garden and she could not find a way back to the tea party.

The story she tells to her mother, to the therapist. The story she is told is an elaborate lie concocted by her brain to cope. It’s trauma, they tell her. Whatever must have happened to you is so horrible, that is what your brain tells you. Try again.

When Alice was six years-old, a fae lured her into Elfhame. This is what she’s realized has happened to her. And unlike most tales of children lured astray, Alice never wanted to leave. Alice was a forgotten child, an unnecessary child, the unloved and unwanted second daughter, and sitting at the Queen’s side was the only time in all her childhood that she felt loved.

Alice pretended to forget. Alice ducked her head down and followed what her parents wanted. But all this time, Alice has dreamed of finding a way back. It took many years before she realized just where she had stumbled and many more years to realize that there is a way back. Alice will find it.

The true story. Alice is trying again.

✓ Imaginative, sweet, peculiar

✖ Pedantic, flustered, stern

Character Suggestions

None

Current Relationships

None

Possible Relationships

click here!

Magical Abilities

None

#alice in wonderland #allch #nonmagicch #femalech #aliceinwonderlandch #closedfemalech #closedch

2 notes · View notes

slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 4 years

Text

To Dance With Danger | Jurdan Whump Fic

Anon asked: “Can you write something about how Jude gets hurt somewhere and the Court of Shadows and Cardan go looking for her”

Summary: “The only thing he knew was the weight on his chest, two boulders sinking into the concavity of his lungs. How furious he was with Jude, and how much that didn’t matter. That her favourite flower was the blue bellflower, and its petals were falling from the throne.” Please forgive me.

Rating: T

CW: Mild cursing. Minor mentions of abuse (~) and vomit (*); Paragraphs containing these sensitivities have been marked with the allocated warnings. Major descriptions of pain and delusions.

Part I | Part III | AO3 | Masterlist

Part II- Follow You Down To the Red Oak Tree

She’d never considered herself stupid.

Foolish, maybe once or twice. But Jude Duarte-Greenbriar was never an idiot outright. So it came as a great shock to her when she found herself bleeding out in a cave in the middle of the Milkwood.

Wouldn’t this be a hilarious way to go? All her life, Jude had been worried about time peeling her right out of her own mortal skin. Yet here she was, dying from a paltry cut.

That last thought, she knew was stupid. This was more than a paltry cut. It throbbed like a second heartbeat and burned like her knee was a plate of scrambled eggs someone was pushing around with a fork.

A small pool of spilled blood darkened the ground near her ankles. Sometimes, her vision narrowed, blurred.

Perhaps this was one last way for the stars to taunt her. Give her everything she ever wanted and more than she could possibly hope for; a grand feast befitting of a Queen, spread out just for her; then rip her away from herself like the tablecloth in one of those mortal magic tricks.

Jude was not afraid.

When you’d lived your whole life knowing the promise of death was the single certainty of your existence, you tended to come to terms with it. So Jude did not fear dying. Only the horrible, yawning oblivion that came after.

☽☽☽☽☽

It was a quarter past one, and Cardan’s feet were flying. Out his chamber doors, down the spiral stairs, right to the little wooden door opposite the library, which he promptly began pounding on.

There was a groan within, some shuffling. Then, “It’s the middle of the day, for Mab’s sake,” a groggy voice came muffled from behind the door. “What could possibly be so—oh.”

The Bomb, all messy-haired, eyes squinting at the brightness of the hall, let the door creak open a fraction before realising who exactly had summoned her from sleep. She opened the door in full.

“Cardan—erm, I mean… Your Majesty,” she said, brows furrowing. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Pleasure?” Another even-more-groggy voice came from inside the room. “I’ve got a mallet hammering at my brain thanks to him. Bloody pusher. You can tell His Majesty to kindly sod off.” The Roach held a pillow over his gnarled green head and a rude finger up in the direction of the door.

“Van,” the Bomb tutted over her shoulder. She pulled her dressing gown tight around her and faced the High King again. Only then did she seem to register the look on his face.

“Liliver,” Cardan said, frantic. His mind was all static, hollow—so very full of nothing. Words felt like they came through a tangle of tree sap and brambles in his throat. “It’s Jude.”

That’s all it took.

The Court of Shadows was moving, the guard summoned. Even the Roach managed to scrape himself together. The Ghost slipped into their ranks just as they were passing through the throne room, and informed the High King he’d done a sweep of the palace, just to be sure.

“And?” Cardan demanded, pivoting on his heel to face the sharpshooter.

“She’s not here,” the Ghost said.

Cardan’s mouth set into a grim line. He gave a curt nod, but his stare lingered on the dais. Where the pair of thrones sat, a latticework of woven roots and blossoms. They seemed to be holding their breath, too.

From the back of the leftmost royal seat, a deep blue flower petal shivered. Then it was falling in listless swoops and dives, whispering across the seat of the chair.

Hurry.

“Get a carriage,” Cardan said, just loud enough to be heard. The room was silent as a snowbank. “Go.”

There was a beat. Then, the din of metal and rushing of boots and they were all moving again.

The High King and his men took to the forests, guarded with crossbows and swords that might as well be spoons for how much they would protect against the glimpses.

Cardan didn’t know why his wife had decided to catch a glimpse. He had even less of a clue as to why she thought she had to do it alone.

The only thing he knew was the weight on his chest, two boulders sinking into the concavity of his lungs. How furious he was with Jude, and how much that didn’t matter. That her favourite flower was the blue bellflower, and its petals were falling from the throne.

☽☽☽☽☽

Night was encroaching. This, Jude only knew because the game she’d invented—finding pictures in the cracks and shadows of the cave wall to beat back the tide of sleep—was becoming more and more difficult.

She shivered. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying there, but the fever had set in.

Jude couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had a fever. It must’ve been when she was six or seven. When she was still living in the mortal world, and her mother was still alive to take care of her and getting fevers was the most of her worries.

Eva had climbed into her bed with two washcloths and snuggled up real close.

She’d sat there for hours, pressing the warm compress to Jude’s forehead when she was too cold and the cold compress to her forehead when she was too warm. Telling her stories of magical places. Feeding her saltines and seltzer.

Jude had wholly forgotten how it felt to have a fever. It was as if she was being filled to the brim with hot wax and dunked in a bucket of ice water at the same time.

She’d only recently rediscovered how it felt to be comforted. She wondered if she’d ever feel that again.

Maybe, Jude thought, she could imagine herself some comfort. She was so very good at lying, after all. Maybe she could lie to herself. Just for a little while.

She stared up at the ceiling, listening to the woeful sighs of the glimpses ebb and flow from outside the cave.

She imagined lying next to Cardan in their bed in the Royal Chambers. With nowhere to be and nothing to do, Cardan would cocoon them both in satin sheets, trace lazy shapes around her bare shoulders with the tips of his fingers. Pepper her back with nips and kisses.

He would agree to be the big spoon for once since she was the one in need of comforting.

“Jude,” he would say softly, caressing her cheek, brushing the hair away from her eyes, “You are perhaps the single most important thing in my life.”

She’d turn her head to nuzzle the crook of his neck. “And you, mine, my love,” she’d say. He smelled like fallen leaves. And burnt toast.

Jude crinkled her nose. Odd. He didn’t usually smell like burnt toast. Had they just had breakfast? She couldn’t remember….

“I don’t understand.” Cardan’s voice was dipped in worry, and he paused the soothing circles of his fingers.

“Cardan,” Jude said, rolling her eyes, “We’ve been over this. I want to be here. I want to be with you. I love you.”

Sometimes her husband just needed a little reminding. Sometimes she preferred to give him that reminder in other, much more wicked ways. Perhaps today she would give him both.

A sinful smile curled the corners of Jude’s lips. She turned around in Cardan’s arms to face him fully and was about to seal the morning off with a kiss, followed by further disreputable behaviour, when she noticed the look on his face.

It was the same one he wore when he’d looked at her from the riverbank after pushing her in a lifetime ago. The same one that had graced his face when she’d first placed that crown atop his head.

Now, in the bed they shared, Cardan looked at her with nothing but cold ire. “How could you do it?” he whispered, and Jude’s brow furrowed.

“What do you mean?” She didn’t know why, but something slick like tar settled in the pit of her stomach. She wanted him to smooth the crease between her brows. To kiss her forehead and call her his darling god.

But Cardan’s face remained a glacial effigy of the man she’d come to love. With nothing but disdain, he looked down his nose at her and asked, “How could you kill him? How could you murder my brother?”

*Jude sat up straight and vomited all over the cave floor. Then, she was pulled out to sea by a riptide of sleep.

☽☽☽☽☽

The High Queen of Elfhame was spinning. Round and round, a circle of fever dreams.

It was like sitting on a merry-go-round and looking in towards the centre where all those mirrors usually hang. Watching whirling versions of things and lights and yourself pass you by in the reflective panels moving in the opposite direction.

One terrible vision after the next.

Locke’s water-logged body, blue-green and covered in seaweed, standing at the mouth of the cave. Valerian, dirt pouring from between his teeth as he smiled, walling up the entrance with stones, then filling the cave with blood. Balekin ensorceling her to kiss him, then turning into a giant moth right as her lips touched his. Cardan’s head on a pike with upturned eyes, jaw dropped as if mid-warning. A voice in her head.

Heeding requests, even my own, is the singular skill which evades her grand arsenal.

No key fits every lock.

I do not want Balekin dead.

How could you do it? How could you murder my brother?

Perhaps this is what she deserved. Perhaps she was a monster who couldn’t control herself long enough to keep from hurting those she loved, no better than Madoc. Perhaps Valerian’s curse was coming to fruition, after all.

If Jude could have laughed, she would have. But she could not. Dark waves lapped at the shores of her consciousness; and who was she to ignore the sea?

☽☽☽☽☽

Eventually, there was another voice in her head.

Shit, it said. Yes, she really was in very deep shit.

I FOUND HER, it bellowed, splintering her thoughts. She wondered if she should tell the voice to shut up. Though, it probably already knew that’s what she wanted, since it was in her head, and had probably heard her think it.

It was getting crowded in here. Her head was a swollen, throbbing balloon.

Fucking shit, the voice repeated.

Well, she thought, that was quite rude. No way to address a lady, such as herself. Whoever she was.

Something prodded her leg.

A sudden, violent wave of pain swept over her. It rose and rose and rose, but never fell. Darkness pulled her to its depths again.

☽☽☽☽☽

Can you hear me?

Stay awake. Stay. Awake.

*The voice was urgent. And constant. And very annoying. It felt like a cheese grater running down her mind. Her throat burned. Maybe the voice had run a cheese grater over that, too. Her hand slid into something wet. It smelled like sick.

Then, there was a cold compress on her forehead.

“Mom?” she croaked, her voice like cracked plaster. She lifted the heavy weight of her eyelids.

A figure was looming over her. It was too dark to see who, but her heart thrashed against her chest, all the same. This was another terrible dream. She was not sure she could take another one of those. Then again, she was in no position to fend it off if it decided to come. She was in no position to do anything, really.

“Not mom, Your Majesty,” the figure sighed, removing the compress. “You’re burning up.”

Not a compress. Hands.

“Whose Majesty?” she asked through the haze in her mind. Everything was so confusing. Everything was also spinning.

She heard rummaging. Next thing she knew, a match had been struck, and the room filled with warm light. The figure looking down at her was indeed a woman, though it was indeed not her mother.

She had familiar plumes of white hair circling her head like smoke. Full, wine-red lips pressed into a weak smile. “Hello, Jude,” the woman said.

Yes, that must be who she was. She opened her mouth to thank the beautiful woman for the reminder, but all Jude could seem to do was squint. She knew this woman from somewhere.

“I’m going to pick you up now, okay?”

Jude could not muster the wherewithal to reply. Strong hands gripped her shoulders, slid gingerly under her knees. Then, the world tilted, shifted, until she was right up against something warm and solid.

Jude looked up at the woman. “You’re ethereal,” she murmured, staring up at the soft planes of her face. Blush blossomed a stain of pink across the woman’s cheeks. “Are you god?”

The woman snorted, then. Jude didn’t understand what was so funny. It seemed a perfectly reasonable question to ask. Since she was dying, and all.

“That’s quite enough of that, Your Majesty,” the woman said. “Let’s get you home.”

Home, Jude mused. She’d thought she was home, but maybe… she was wrong? Wherever home was, it sounded nice. She should like to go there someday.

☽☽☽☽☽

She was deep inside a cave. She could see nothing, but echoes of conversation pinged off the walls.

Delirious. Didn’t know who I was.

Reckon it’s the fever?

The infection perhaps?

Could be, but you need to keep her awake.

Can I hold her? Please?

The moon was a Cheshire cat smile above her. It grinned, then shattered into one hundred panes of opaline glass—a dragonfly’s wing, splitting her knee wide open.

☽☽☽☽☽

When Jude woke again, she knew she was home.

She was being jostled around a bit, and her leg felt like someone had set it on fire, but she didn’t mind. She was wrapped in something soft. The sound of hooves on packed earth thundered in her ears.

Her name was being called.

“Jude,” someone said, over and over, a litany. A curse. “Jude, my love, you mustn’t fall asleep. You must stay awake. Can you do that for me, Jude? Please, stay with me.”

She opened her eyes. Blinked slow. The disembodied voice belonged to someone. That someone cradled her in his lap, holding her face between his hands. Everything was blurry, but she’d know those hands anywhere.

“Jude?” he whispered.

She summoned the tattered bits of her strength, lifting her hand to cover one of his. It was shaking.

“I know you,” Jude said, willing her eyes to focus. A keening sound tore from him.

Him. She knew his name. What was it? Her mind was so muddled by exhaustion and the riot of pain in her left leg, she could not remember. She was so angry at herself for not remembering.

Jude frowned. Huffed. Tried to refocus her eyes. It was the most important name, more important even than her own. She was a terrible person for forgetting it. She was pretty sure she was a terrible person anyway, but forgetting his name made her even worse.

She lifted a hand to his cheek. Her frown deepened. “Why is your face wet?”

“Because I’m very worried for my wife,” he said, in a strained sort of voice.

“You have a wife?” Envy billowed, a parachute in her chest. Which was ridiculous. She couldn’t even see this man. How could she possibly know if she was jealous?

He breathed a laugh. “Yes,” he told her, stroking her hair gently. “She is a headstrong, ornery fool who holds a vendetta against my poor nerves.”

Everything was quite difficult at the moment. All Jude could think was how beautiful this man’s voice sounded and how very badly she wanted to go back to sleep.

“Hmm.” She closed her eyes again. “She sounds awful.”

“No,” he said. “She is not.”

☽☽☽☽☽

*Watching his wife being carried off like a rag doll into the Royal Chambers, blood-spattered and covered in her own sick, Cardan Greenbriar had never felt so small.

~He felt smaller now than when Dain had tricked him, and he’d been kicked out of the palace for a murder he did not commit. Smaller now than all the times Balekin had removed his belt. Smaller now than when he was a kid crawling beneath the dining table, scrounging for scraps of food and attention.

The Bomb had explicitly forbidden Cardan from accompanying them further than the ante-chamber.

“If I’m going to heal her,” she’d said to him firmly, pausing outside the bedroom doors, “I’m going to need the utmost focus. Which will certainly not be achieved by you being in there, all blubbering and sentimental. So unless you know anything about mortal biology…”

Cardan had never in his life wished to be mortal; but suddenly, the desire to be one was visceral. He’d never wanted to lie more than he did in that moment. He tried to will the words past his lips, but they snagged in his throat.

He was unable as ever.

So he’d been kicked out of his own bedroom. Away from his own wife. Who may or may not be dying.

The matter was still inconclusive. Cardan read it on the faces of the cycle of people poking their heads out in intervals to check on him or bring him tea. Sometimes, it was the Roach. Sometimes, the Ghost. Only once was it the Bomb, who had been hard at work for endless hours, and needed a break.

Her face was just as dour as the rest.

“I know how you’re feeling,” she muttered, sliding down the wall to sit next to him on the floor just outside the bedroom doors. “If you need to talk—”

“What I need, Liliver, is for you to heal her,” Cardan snapped.

He regretted the words as soon as he’d said them. She was only trying to comfort him. She, too, had once been forced to watch as her beloved toed the line between life and death. Right now, though, the High King did not have the strength to feel sorry for anyone but himself.

The Bomb only nodded. Once, short and curt. She left him to his misery after that. Cardan supposed he’d probably have a lot of apologising to do to a lot of people by the end of this.

A while later, and rather belatedly, he realised he could very well just barge in there and demand to stay. Magical oath or not, he was still High King. They would still listen to him.

But maybe the Bomb had a point. Maybe it would only make him more anxious, to be in there; he did not want to impede on Jude’s progress. Maybe nothing was the most he could do.

All his life, he’d spent doing most every childish thing. He’d tugged on the tails of cats, threw tantrums when he didn’t get his way, threatened people when they offended him.

Now, Cardan sat there on the floor with his head in his hands, doing absolutely nothing, and felt more like a child than ever.

☽☽☽☽☽

Jude was a dragonfly hovering over water, dipping in and out of sleep. She was flying and then sinking and then flying again.

It went like this for a while.

She’d fall asleep in one place and drift to the surface of consciousness in another. Sometimes she felt no pain. Sometimes she felt a great deal of pain all at once. The latter would usually send her careening back into nothingness.

On occasion, she’d awaken just long enough to recognise the faces floating in and out of her vision. The Roach, with his scythe of a nose. The Ghost, with his sandy hair and silent demeanour. The Bomb, who Jude had a strange, vague feeling was blushing every time she looked at her. She even recognised a nurse or two.

Always, there were people. There was one face, however, that she did not see.

“Bomb,” Jude rasped, and the faerie’s eyes met hers. “If I die, would you tell him I hated him? Tell him, that’s why I did it.”

“What do you mean?” The Bomb asked. But Jude was already drifting again.

☽☽☽☽☽

Next Part

Last Part

Masterlist

AN: I am…so sorry. I’ll be the first to say, I am the absolute worst for telling you guys this was going to be a two-shot and then leaving this on such a cliffhanger and making you wait for a third part. Don’t hate me? The good news is, I have a lot of the last part written. The bad news is, the last part is what has been keeping me from updating-- writing it feels more and more like giving birth with each passing day.

So if you enjoyed this part, and would like to give me some writerly encouragement in the form of a comment/reblog/keyboard smash/message/ask, any and all of the above would basically be like giving me a dose of that sweet, sweet epidural and I would be forever grateful :’)

If you’d like to be updated on the next part of this Three-Shot (to come very soon), let me know and I’ll add you to the tag list! Back to the woods now. -em 🖤💫

Title Inspo: Follow You Down to the Red Oak Tree by James Vincent McMorrow

Tag List: @velarhysismine @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte @knifewifejude @clockworkgraystairs @jurdanhell @judexcardanxgreenbriar @hizqueen4life @nite0wl29 @mysweetvilllain @thesirenwashere

533 notes · View notes

thorns-ofthe-thistle · 3 years

Text

The Fenlands of Elfhame

[pinterest board]

RULING FAMILY:

The Fenlands of Elfhame have been ruled for the last hundred years by Prince Nettle, the eldest of the Queen’s children. He has never been married and has a reputation for being a bit of a rogue. The daughters of Prince Nettle are the princesses: Bramble, Bristle, and Mayfly. The sons of Prince Nettle are the princes: Reed, Stick, and Dragonfly. The youngest, and the crown prince, is Thistle.

Although half-human and the youngest, his father named him crown prince when he was 90, usurping his eldest daughter, Bramble’s, throne from her. While High Fey are relatively immortal and titles such as “Crown Prince” are perfunctory most of the time, it was still a slight to Princess Bramble and caused quite a stir for a few years.

Generally speaking, the ruling family of the Fenlands are well-liked. They are one of the richest kingdoms in the country and therefore, their people thrive. This is not necessarily due to the ruling family, but, well--many people like to think that way. Prince Nettle often holds galas at the palace during specific harvesting holidays and encourages those from all over the Fenlands to attend.

Court: The Swamp Court/The Storm Court Title: Prince of the Fenlands, Prince of the Stag, Lord of Shadowmoss, The Stag Prince, The Skunk Prince (derogatory) Seat: Shadowmoss Colors: dusty purples and rich greens Sigil: a rearing swamp stag on a green background Words: “Survive the Storm”

Aesthetic associations: mushrooms, moss, bioluminescence, still water, mist, dampness, crocodiles, poisons, stags, fierce loyalty

Physical attributes of the Fenlands fae: slightly larger eyes than their counterparts due to the darkness of the Fenlands; dark eyes, with no whiteness, usually deep blue or brown both looking almost black; animalistic features like fangs/ears/antlers/horns/tails/claws, often a combination of several of these elements; often a tinted glow to their skin much like the other bioluminescent creatures, very faint but noticeable if paying attention

TOPOGRAPHY:

The Fenlands have an atmosphere that is generally damp, humid, and warm. There is no snow, but storms are plentiful, sweeping in off the gorge and mixing with the warm air. Tornados are common in the west of the country, closer to the water. The weather tends to be unpredictable and precarious, made more difficult by the dense tree canopy. The Fenlands also carry a distinct, sharp scent that many visitors find unpleasant, but which those that live there are accustomed to.

The Fenlands can be split into three categories: the drylands, the midlands, and the lowlands.

The drylands are a bit of a misnomer, as they are still relatively damp and can be thrashed by storms. However, this is a place where the trees are more bare and the land takes on a more marsh-like appearance with tall grasses and peat. It is highly fertile and grains may be grown here. The underbrush is full of creatures such as fish, mollusks, birds, rodents, and snakes.

The midlands, or the marsh, as it is colloquially referred to, is the majority of the kingdom. A large, dense forest resembling a bayou. There is little dryland in this area and the trees grow thick, with gnarled roots that protrude out of the water and are used to maneuver from place to place. This is the most habited part of the Fenlands and the palace lies in the heart of it. The tree canopy is so dense that little light shines through, making this part of the fenlands relatively dark. It is often slammed by storms, but it has the best protection from them.

The lowlands are an estuary/delta plane. Most people do not live here, though they often work hunting and fishing in this area. It is mostly water and suffers the worst from the storms. The water flows in from the river gorge. (Like the Nile, it flows backward, away from the larger body of water.) Good luck trying to enter the Fenlands this way unless it is by a small boat. They are well protected from invaders from the water due to this natural barrier.

They have three seasons as well: the flooding season, the harvesting season, and the plentiful season. During the flooding season, it rains nearly every day and all the waterways swell. It is hard to get anything done during this time, as there are unpredictable storms, so most stay in their villages and towns, avoiding the worst of the weather. Some of the richer folks even travel to the Riverlands or the High Court during the flooding season. (corresponds to November-February)

The plentiful season is the second shortest season and is a time of celebration. Farmers love this time, as it is when seeds are planted in the drylands and everything is fertilized. Most of the water has receded, allowing for sowing and foraging of the rich minerals left behind. This is a time of lavish parties as well. (corresponds to March-July)

The harvesting season is the most grueling time of the year, when most of the gathering of supplies is done. Grains are harvested, tea leaves and meats are dried, and much of the fish are salted and stored. It is backbreaking work. It is also the shortest season, so all this must be done in the most efficient of fashions. (corresponds to August-October)

ECONOMY:

The Fenlands are one of the richest kingdoms of the country as they have natural resources that are coveted in other areas of Elfhame. Mostly, their medicines are highly valued, as they can cure many wounds, infections, and viruses. The medicinal properties and how they are made are a well-kept secret amongst the fae of the Fenlands, meaning that they mostly control the market on these items. During the plentiful season, prices are usually at their lowest and are highest during their short harvesting season, while Fenners are stocking for the long flooding season.

Another top shelf item that comes from Elfhame is their hallucinogenics. Many places in Elfhame have fauna that produces some sort of altering effect and the Fenlands specialize in hallucinogenics. They also have many poisons. (These are high priced and not sold nearly as often, though exceptions are made.)

Items that the Fenlands have to import are mainly textiles, which leads them to having extremely eclectic taste in fashion. [fashion pinterest] They also import metals for weapons and wood/masonry for building, as most of the wood within the Fenlands is too damp to be used in construction.

CULTURE:

The subjects of the Fenlands have several names they are known by throughout Elfhame. A neutral term to describe someone from the Fenlands is to call them a Fenner. If you would like to be respectful or complimentary, you may refer to them as Swamp Cats. To be rude, people call them Swamp Rats or Skunks, due to the sharp scent of Fenlands. They are known as being relative hardworkers, but just as hard of partiers. The demographic makeup of the Fenlands is: Fae 50%, Drow 15%, Mara 10%, Goblins/Hobgoblins 10%, Boggarts 10%, Will-o-the-wisp 3%, and Banshee 2%. They have a high Drow population in comparison to many other lands, as the Dark Elves are generally drawn toward the dense darkness of the midlands and many emigrate from Arcadia, which is just across the gorge from the Fenlands.

The main form of travel through the Fenlands is by bridge if going a short distance through a village. Bridges are created with vine and, often, the planks are made of reinforced bark from trees. It is the intention of Fenners to blend into their surroundings and usually leave imperfections in their buildings, such as moss and plant life on bridges. For this reason, most of their houses are built in the empty space between tree branches, or right up against the trunks of trees. Houses are generally built upon the sturdy roots of trees, so that they are protected from the storms. New houses stand out sorely against the backdrop, as most are covered in moss and plant material and often have birds nesting in the gables.

Few, skilled Fenners transverse through the marshes using the root system of the trees that is raised out of the water. Often, these Fenners carry long, sometimes twelve or more feet, walking sticks that help them lever themselves from one root to another. This is a dangerous way to travel, however, as falling into the waters below could mean death. For long distances, one usually travels in a canoe-like boat. Oars and boats are often intricately for identification purposes, and also to show off. They are seldom painted, as the paint would fade easily and may affect the chemical makeup of the delicate Fenland ecosystem.

On the subject of the delicate Fenland ecosystem: a love of animals and a respect for nature is a pervasive belief of those who live in the Fenlands. There are few natural predators in the Fenlands, which means that the humanoid creatures are often responsible for population control and their role in that is taken very seriously. Many animals, such as alligators and swamp stags, are venerated as deities. Many wear totems of their chosen animal protector for safety.

Killing a creature of the Fenlands without cause (meat/skin/etc.), is forbidden by law. Punishment is severe for abusing or killing any creature in the Fenlands. Many of the creatures could be used for poison or medicine, but if their ingredients are not given freely by the animal, it can taint the tincture or result in bad luck befalling whomever stole from them or hurt them to get what they wanted.

Fenners are known by other Elfhame residents for being laidback, laissez faire, hard to rile but viciously protective. They keep their cards close to their chest and are often said to be mysterious. Unlike the ferocious Mountainlands or the cunning Icelands, it is often hard to tell what side of an argument they may take at any given time. This could be due to the fact that harsh storms and precarious environmental factors (will the drylands flood this year?) make it possible to predict how the year will go, let alone how the day will go. (Good luck dressing for the weather.) Their environment controls so much of their lives that they are completely submissive to it. This translates into their personalities. Additionally, they are protective of the natural resources that come from their delicate lands, and this protective nature translates to their friends and families.

Fae that are born in the Fenlands are known for two natural powers. They can create fog or mist from the air. This works best in humid conditions and climates, but can be done nearly anywhere there is a slight moisture in the air. They can cover a significant distance if the weather adequately allows and a denseness that makes it impossible to see your own hand in front of your face. The Fenlands themselves are often covered in a layer of fog that hangs over the whole land. Additionally, they can produce and control poisonous spores in the air. This power is limited, as they must be near a resource that is poisonous in order to harvest or manipulate it. Many carry a pouch of mushroom spores for protection.

FLORA:

The trees within the midlands of the Fenlands all sprout from one tree, known as the Mother Tree. This secret is guarded by Fenners, as any damage to the Mother Tree could spell disaster for the entire ecosystem. The palace of the Fenlands is built into or around the Mother Tree. (It is hard to say what came first, as they are more or less fused together.)

Many of the plants in the Fenlands are bioluminescent and come in a multitude of colors. Purples, blues, and greens are the most common. However, reds, oranges, and yellows are also found. Bioluminescence is often harvested on certain plants, such as mushrooms, whose spores are luminescent, not the meat of them itself. Teas are also found in the Fenlands and come from a plethora of sources, though mainly bark, leaves, and petals.

Fenland Plants and Properties:

Given Mushroom: The spores are often used to light houses/walkways/etc. Come in green/blue/purple and are grown near villages for easy access. Farmers who grow these plants are usually quite wealthy. [look like this, with different colored caps]

Lilybell Flower: used in a tea that allows one to enter Elfhame undetected. Extremely rare. Found usually by accident. The petals are bright white, speckled blue, and softly glow. Its stem is dark, chocolate colored. The trick to them is that the blue dots are actually spores that conceal you when crossing into Elfhame, the white petal itself is deadly poisonous. (Looks much like a regular moonlily.)

...more to be added as become relevant

FAUNA:

As stated above, the fauna of Elfhame is extremely well protected as Fenners understand the balance between the environment. They respect all of the animals that they share a home with. The Fenlands are extremely dense with thousands of species of animals. The most common are amphibians, reptiles, and birds. There are few mammals in the Fenlands and few large predators. Many creatures develop wings either for flying or gliding ability, due to the wetland hard to traverse geography.

Mammals:

Swamp Stags: these are large creatures, the biggest in the Fenlands. Most adults stand at about ten feet high. They come mostly in shades of green, a color which they get from the moss that grows in their fur. They have gnarled antlers, from which moss and other foliage often hangs in ribbons, dripping water. From their gnarled antlers grow prized mushrooms. They aren’t good for much but eating, but they’re delicious (think truffles.) They constantly drip water and steam a bit, especially in cooler climates. They pull the carriages of the Fenlands whenever they are trading or visiting other lands. They are protected by royal decree.

Swamp Cats: large, bobcat-sized cats. They are usually brown, but also come in deep green. One of the only other predators in the Fenlands (the others being certain birds/alligators). These cats are solitary animals and extremely vicious. They will stalk and kill humanoids, and have even been known to kill alligators. [this vibe]

Ermines: like regular ermines, except that they are often bioluminescent. [so cute]

Birds:

Owlers: sometimes referred to as “Leers”, these large beasts look almost humanoid in the way they move and are sized. However, they are covered in feathers, have wings, and have the face of owls. They are said to be bad omens and are rarely seen, more myth than reality. (Fenners tell their children that they best behave or the Leers will come gobble them up.) [these things are creepy as hell]

Waterbirds: like storks, herons, etc. many are bioluminescent as well.

Reptiles/Amphibians:

Alligators: like regular alligators, can grow up to 20ft, monstrous looking, often have moss and algae and mushrooms growing on them.

Snakes: lots of snakes. Snakes in trees. Snakes that can swim.

Flying Salamanders: fun colored salamanders, they fly! So they’ll like jump out of the water, kind of like flying fish, and about that size. [so cute!]

Frogs: a la poisonous dart frogs, very bright!, very cute!, do not pick it up!

Insects:

There are bugs. No hc’s yet. Lots of ones that are bioluminescent though.

#the fenlands #the fenlands description #VIBES #i had a lot of fun writing this #elfhame

2 notes · View notes

snusbandxknifewife · 4 years

Text

Photo Fic 2: Electric Boogaloo

Ok so this is the sequel to the first fic I ever posted on this account. (If you wanna read that one first, click on the photo fic tag at the bottom.) I think it’s cute as hell and I’m soft about it so 🥺 Jude and Cardan wanting to take pictures together makes me 🥺🥺🥺

~~~~~~~~~

In the year after Cardan and Jude took their very first photos in a photobooth, photography became a bit of a fascination in Faerie. Jude didn’t intend for it to happen, but what royalty does tends to become the fad in the kingdom.

It started when they’d bought a Polaroid and began to take pictures of one another, eventually amassing so many that they’d dedicated an entire hall to photos of them. It was both of their favorite place in the entire palace, where they both went to see the other smile and drown in happy memories.

Then a servant had left a door open and a visiting dignitary had seen inside. After that, word quickly spread around the kingdom of the King and Queen’s portrait hall: the place where they’d managed to capture pieces of real life. Jude and Cardan had sighed and agreed to throw the doors open, allowing people to tour the wonder.

(Of course they’d continued to take dumb photos and risqué ones too, but they were much better at hiding those. Jude was insistent that only the dramatic or kickass photos get sent to the hall.)

They’d graduated to a better camera and they’d started to send requests for Vivi to print them. As the photos got bigger and more detailed, the people of Elfhame grew more impressed. All over the kingdom, tinkerers and witches and everyone in between began trying to craft devices that would capture photos in ways the mortal devices couldn’t. It had become a fierce competition, one that amused both Jude and Cardan.

Now, on Cardan’s birthday, the entire kingdom was watching with bated breath. The Living Council had announced a competition to find the best camera creation and, in addition to all the gifts people were bringing for the king, the great hall was full of photographs. The king would be choosing the most realistic picture, and he’d also be awarding the most beautiful one.

Jude sat on her throne, her red empire waist dress floating down to her feet and glittering in the light. She’d worn it at Cardan’s insistence; since he’d announced that their subjects would undoubtedly be taking pictures of them and he wanted his wife to shine just as much as her.

Beside her, Cardan smiled and greeted the family of a soldier from the Court of Termites. Bomb took their gift and stacked it on a table to the side of the royal dais. The picture they brought with them is a gorgeous rendering of a hill overlooking a lake at sunset. It appears to be painted, the work of an extremely diligent artist who had undoubtedly spent days getting everything right.

The photos people came with weren’t all actual photographs, most were art pieces, but it made Jude smile. She couldn’t help but feel proud at the fact that she’d inspired her kingdom to try something they’d never really focused on before. At least she knew she wouldn’t have to keep going to the mortal world to get pictures with her husband. She’d be able to stay in Faerie, safe in what she was familiar with, and she’d still be able to capture important moments in her life.

Still, she’d had to go to the mortal world to get the gift she wanted for Cardan. She’d done that a few times in the past year—her husband’s favorite had been the pinup shoot she’d done about five months prior—and he had a habit of rotating the framed pictures of her he kept on his desk.

She knew she’d have to stop eventually, so she took all her chances while she still had them. She was glad that the timing of this one has worked out.

Time passed and she played the dutiful queen and adoring wife, dancing with Cardan and eating to her heart’s content, greeting her subjects and accepting gifts that didn’t come with any strings attached.

Cardan watched her over the top of his chalice, grinning at how effortlessly she swayed across the floor. With her head held high and her shoulders back, she commanded the whole room without a word. His wife was gorgeous, she was his everything.

Eventually their people became antsy, looking around at the pictures hanging all around the hall and wondering who would be announced the winner. Members of the Living Council were interviewing everyone who’d put in an entry to find out how they made their picture as Cardan led Jude to look at each piece. They’d make the decision on the most beautiful picture alone, and they’d take the Living Council’s input on the best camera entry.

Jude’s favorite was definitely the picture someone had turned in of a revel from a few weeks back. It had been outside, everyone barefoot and dancing until the sun had long come up. The picture showed a dance floor lined with faeries in all manner of dress, watching on as she and Cardan danced. Her dress that night had been a spring green piece with a dangerously low back and skirts that danced around her ankles. Her husband, shown smiling as he swung her around, had a ruffled shirt open low on his pale stomach and breeches of forest green.

Cardan’s favorite was a picture put in by a guard, one that showed his wife dressed in fighting gear as she practiced out in the gardens; her hair sticking to her skin and her face fierce as she lunged towards her sparring partner. He always adored little reminders of how deadly his wife was, loved to see glimpses of the creature that he’d managed to tame, the one who’d tamed him in turn.

They retreated to their thrones to deliberate as Cardan opened gifts. The whole hall went silent, watching the king’s reaction to each parcel. While gifts had to be freely given, everyone knew that those who gave the best gifts would be looked upon favorably.

Jude watched the room for threats as her heart began to race. She knew that the last gift Cardan would open would be the one from her. She’d made sure that Bomb arranged everything that way.

She’d worked her ass off to keep her gift a secret from him. Cardan had been a pain in the neck for WEEKS, trying to catch her in a slip up. She had to engineer a diplomatic mission for him to go on just so she could sneak away to the mortal world and she’d threatened a few lives to keep it from him. Thankfully, it would all be over in a few hours.

Cardan opened all manner of magical gifts: cloaks meant to make the wearer invisible, doublets of impenetrable spider silk, jewelry that helped you understand and speak other languages. Everything he was given was gorgeous and unbelievably expensive.

Everything except for one thing.

Cardan was just about to grab the parchment from Randalin that announced the best camera so they could make their announcements when Jude stopped him.

“Cardan, you’ve got one more gift,” she gently announced and his brows furrowed. One, Jude was hardly ever gentle and two, he had opened everything he’d been given.

Bomb walked up and handed Jude a box, one made of lush purple velvet and wrapped up in a bow of the cleanest white satin.

“What on Earth?” Cardan tilted his head to the side as he accepted the gift, his long fingers wrapping all the way around it as he tried to weigh it to guess what was inside.

“Consider it my entry into the photo contest,” she grinned, only confusing him more.

He pulled the bow off and the entire crowd watched closely. Some were intrigued, others were angry—nobody had been told the queen would be submitting a photo—and others were just being quiet to avoid the ire of the royal family.

When Cardan took the top off the box, he found a picture frame upside down and he snorted. It was just like Jude to prolong the drama.

Jude grabbed fistfuls of her fluffy tulle skirt and bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to make it bleed. She knew that she’d have to explain what it was and that was making her nervous enough to shake.

She’d debated for hours if she should give him his birthday gift in private or if she should do it at his party. Eventually, at the insistence of Vivi and Heather, she’d taken the plunge and decided on a public announcement. She knew everyone would find out eventually.

“It’s.....a photo?”

Jude snorted at Cardan’s evident confusion as he looked at the black and white fuzzy picture, no larger than his hand. She’d put it in a pretty white frame, one that she would eventually write a name on.

“You’re right, my love,” she agreed. “It’s a photo from the mortal world. You see, mortals have figured out how to take pictures for medical purposes. They can use special devices to see inside the body.”

He looked to her, delicately clutching the frame in one hand. She fought the urge to laugh at how he still hadn’t put two and two together. Out in the crowd, faeries were tittering amongst themselves, trying to figure out what their queen has given their king.

“Is this a photograph of you?” He turned back to the picture, gripping it in both hands again and turning it like a different angle would make it make more sense.

“Sort of,” she shook her hand in a so-so gesture. “I’d say I’m the background of the photo. You should be focusing here.”

She walked over and pointed, her nail with its unchipped purple paint tapping against the glass over a strangely shaped white blob. Cardan naturally leaned closer to her, as he always did when she got near, one of his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close as he tilted his head and squinted his eyes.

Silence stretched out for a few more seconds before Jude, near giddy with mirth, stepped away from her husband.

“Maybe it’ll help if you know where the photo was taken,” she offers as she grabs the frame from his hands. Cardan, his mind still swimming with possibilities, allowed her.

Then, as his wife turned the photo to face him and drew it back so the frame was flush against her lower abdomen, his jaw dropped.

If she was the background, and the photo was taken inside the body—

“Jude, gods above, how long have you known?” Cardan’s eyes welled up with tears and he fell to his knees, his hands coming up to cup his wife’s hips and his thumbs running over where the frame covered her stomach.

Just that quickly, her throat closed up from emotion and all she could do was nod. Cardan grabbed the frame from her and tucked it against his heart as he pressed his face into her skirts, trying to kiss her stomach and hide his crying all at the same time.

Some faeries had put the clues together and were watching with gaping mouths, unsure of what to do as their king hugged their queen.

Then, Jude pulled Cardan to his feet and she turned to the crowd. “The gift I present to my king and husband is the first photograph of our child, which grows inside me as we speak.”

And, just like that, the entire hall erupted with celebration. Most of their subjects had grown to love their new king and queen and, even if that weren’t the case, a pregnancy was always cause for celebration among the fertility-challenged fae. A royal baby, especially so early on in both the king and queen’s rule and their marriage, was unheard of.

Randalin—who looked a bit annoyed at not being informed of the royal pregnancy before the court was—led the partygoers in a toast, one that Cardan happily joined in. Beside the beaming king, Jude raised her glass of water in solidarity; no wine for her for a few more months.

“How long?” Cardan asked her, near giddy with excitement.

“The doctor said twelve weeks,” she whispered back, wrapping her arm around her husband’s hips as they raised their glasses again. “I’ve suspected for a month or so. I should’ve known sooner, but my first missed period was during that last uprising attempt, so I was a bit distracted.”

Cardan held out the photo and Jude pointed out the body parts that were already forming. When she told him that she’d be going back, that he’d be able to come with her and hear their baby’s heartbeat while it was still inside her, he nearly began to bawl again.

“When do we announce the winners?” Jude asked, thinking back to that gorgeous picture of them dancing.

“I can’t think of anything more beautiful than this.” He held up the photo of their baby and Jude blushed, elbowing his side and telling him to be serious.

Cardan told her that he was being serious and she bit her lip, looking down at the photo she’d already stared at so much.

The party would grow into a week-long celebration of the new heir; a practice run for the celebrations that would rock Elfhame when the child was born. Eventually, both the faeries who made the two pictures Jude and Cardan had enjoyed the most were made aware that their works were hanging in the royal picture hall and another faerie who’d made the best camera was given a job by the Living Council and they became the first official royal photographer.

Elfhame would grow to love photography, all because of a mortal queen who wanted a picture with her husband.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hnnnnng pregnancy announcements are so cute lol

Tag list: @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @hizqueen4life @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thewickedkings @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @cheekycheekycheeks @queen-of-glass @b00kworm @doingmyrainbow @andromeddea @jurdanhell @thesirenwashere @sweetlyvillainous @clouds-and-peonies @clockworkgraystairs

#cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #tfota #jurdan #judecardan #photo fic #tyrannosaurus lex writes #pregnancy announcement #im SO fucking soft for this

99 notes · View notes

acourtofcouture · 4 years

Photo

An Insider’s Guide to the Folk of the Air: the Crooked Forest, 1/?

186 notes · View notes

toartemis · 5 years

Text

Speaking with the Wind

As promised, here is the sequel to Feral Without Teeth. I wrote this a bit over a month ago, but got caught up in summer classwork and medical issues, and to top it all off, my beta dipped out of the equation. But here it is! This is part 2 of The Moon’s Serenades series, you can read part one here. If you want to skip it, it’s not necessary to read before this, but it does add some extra flavor. Also, you can read this on Ao3. This isn’t what I think will happen in TQoN, this is just for fun. Creative liberties were taken in the writing of this.

Summary: Jude’s coronation is coming up. She tries finally dealing with her emotions. Magic!Queen!Jude.

Word Count: 7,348

Warnings: Brief mention of sexual situations, overview of anxiety, failing to compartmentalize lol.

Preview:

“For a moment, I considered you might run,” He murmurs. Something about this makes Jude’s throat tighten.

She wants to say she isn’t afraid; that she’s ready for this and that she knows what she’s doing.

But she doesn’t want to lie to him right now.

“Would you let me?” She asks instead.

With the arm he has draped over and around her, he begins tracing patterns delicately on her chest with his long fingers.

“Yes,” He whispers. “If you wanted a life free of chaos and of me, I would let you go. I would do anything so long as you are safe and happy.”

---------

Vivi's apartment seemed to welcome her with open arms when Jude arrived from Elfhame earlier in the day. From the moment she stepped back into the mortal world, the sky couldn't quite seem to stop pouring down thick sheets of water. For once, Jude found this puzzling. Then, to her surprise, she felt consoled.

During the months of her exile, Jude never paid any attention to things as mundane as weather patterns. She was very much caught up in her deep hole of self-pity, which she wallowed in as gracefully as possible for someone in that same situation. Until the end, at least.

Even before, during her younger years, Jude gave no mind to the weather most days. She focused on strategy training and sword practicing. She focused on staying at Taryn's side and keeping her head down even when she didn't want to.

And when she was caught up in the game of crowns and princes, she had no time to think of sunshine or rain.

But it's different now, Jude supposes. It will be different now.

All day, the mortal world's sky crackled and rolled. Vivi was not home when Jude arrived. She and Oak made their way to Faerie some days ago. With no need to avoid anyone like she usually does, Jude simply made her way to her closet-room and found a place to sit on her bed near the window. The sheets were left untouched from the last morning she was there.

Here Jude sits. Her arm is propped on the window sill and her chin rests atop her hand. She watches the rain come down for hours until midnight comes and goes, until the dark night fades and the early dawn creeps in. Here she lets herself ponder something as simple as the weather for the first time since long before her arrival in Faerie.

Here she thinks of her mother.

Eva loved storms. She remembers this vaguely. Jude always listened intently to her mother when she spoke of them, hanging onto every word. She relishes in those memories now. Those words are blankets of comfort she never let herself yearn for all of her years of betrayal and enchantments and power.

When the wind is silent, be sure to speak. It is listening, and will gobble up your words and make them magic!

Her mother’s voice echoes in her head. Jude smiles at how real Eva’s advice seems now. She knows now the wind really is magical, like how all forests are magic. The wind carries enchantments like the creatures that sit quietly within it waiting to snatch up whispers when people think no one is around. When they think nothing can go wrong. When they think they are perfectly safe. Jude knows this well.

Do not step outside when the wind is howling. Spirits are close.

Don't speak badly of the wind, it will hear you.

Listen when storms speak, it is rude to ignore them.

When the wind dances around you, dance with it, maybe one day it will carry you on an adventure!

Right she was. Jude's life has been an adventure, and she supposes it will be until the end of her days.

She closes her eyes and wishes she could hear the exact tones of her mother's voice in this moment. The storm is speaking outside and droplets of water are pattering against the window. Jude is silent, contemplating and listening. If a few tears have slipped down her cheeks in the past hours, Jude does not care and feels no weakness because of them.

Spending an afternoon thinking about her mother was not the sort escape she had planned, but it led her closer to the peace she was searching for nonetheless.

Jude places hand against the window and watches as it begins to fog around her fingers. The ruby ring on her finger glints gently in the dim moonlight.

She closes her eyes and breathes.

I miss you, Mom.

My coronation is tomorrow. I wonder what you would think if you were here to see it.

---------

The last few weeks have been unlike anything Jude could have imagined. After her reunion with Cardan, she spent three days with him alone in his chambers. Those moments are more precious to her than she intended for them to be, but then again, she has, of late, been trying to force away old habits of never letting herself have anything good.

So, yes, Jude has kept those days close to her heart. Those memories with him, of kisses and promises, of the two of them letting themselves be without any of their usual games. They are like a fragile star cradled to her chest that has lit her up from the inside. She's done nothing but glow as they began to melt away months of wounds.

But they eventually came to an end, and Cardan had to return to his throne. They'd spoken of what was to come now that Jude was home, but their plans never seemed quite real to her. There were talks of titles and crowns, and a seat to match his on the dais in the throne room. All of it made Jude feel anxious, so she avoided those conversations whenever possible.

Then there was a feast in honor of her return. The Court’s confusion caused by this announcement lasted only seconds and gave way to the idea of more drinking and dancing, the Folks’ favorite things to do.

Everything surrounding the actual event was surreal for Jude. Cardan insisted on a brand new gown to be tailored for her, while Jude was perfectly happy with wearing something simple and countered that a new dress would not be ready in time.

It was ready, though. Turns out a light demand from the High King is as magical as the crown on his head.

Upon waking on the night of the feast, Jude opened her eyes to an empty bed and a grumpy Tatterfell in her face. They did not exchange pleasantries, but Jude complied when the imp told her she was sent to style her hair for the day. She sat in front of a large mirror as Tatterfell expertly pulled her hair into a flattering bun in the shape of a rose at the base of her neck, braiding and knotting some strands as she went. She left quickly after she finished, when Cardan entered his—their—rooms with Jude's new dress in his arms.

"I wanted to give it to you myself," He said, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. "I described to them what you usually wear. I thought you'd like something that befits you." Jude had given little thought to the rushed tailoring of her new outfit, so it hadn't occurred to her that Cardan might have had a part in the design. The thought was incredibly ridiculous, but her heart fluttered nonetheless.

Jude stood as he laid the dress on his bed and looked expectantly at her. She'd never been one to care much about fashion, but she felt at home as she laid eyes on her new gown. It was made of a thick, smooth material, all white and high-collared with gold embroidery on the neck and lines of the bodice. It looked like a fancier, sleeker version of one of her doublets from her time as the Shadow Queen. The sleeves were long and dipped to the floor, with a heavy, short train featuring more gold patterns. It looked like a perfect mixture of armor and elegance.

It was very her. She couldn't help turning to beam at Cardan, and found him watching her face intently to gauge her reactions.

She had yet to leave his quarters in her few days back in Elfhame, but now that their period of bliss was over, she found she was looking forward to making her entrance back into the Court with Cardan by her side.

---------

The festivities were in full swing and Jude barely had time to catch her breath as a royal guard announced the arrival of the High King and herself. She felt as if she was being swept along as they entered into the great hall of the palace.

Every eye of the Court was on them in an instant. Despite that being disconcerting to Jude, Cardan seemed in his element with her hooked on his arm, and he strode straight to the middle of the room. What baffled her the most that night were the looks shot their way throughout the revel. Everywhere she glanced there was anger, curiosity, disbelief, and, just once, delight reflected on the faces she saw. Cardan and Jude never parted once during the feast, they stayed properly attached by arms or hands the entire time, even when the occasional Courtier came to mingle with them. They were each other’s lifelines that night. faerie after faerie, creature after creature approached them in waves, the chatter they brought stilted and short.

Jude could tell what was on everyone's minds, but was being left unsaid.

What exactly is her relationship with the High King, and just how solid is it?

Cardan, it seemed, never felt it necessary to mention their marriage during conversation. Jude didn’t study that fact closely, but she did suppose that she had already announced it herself when she was exiled. No one seemed to believe her then, though, so the guessing game the Court was playing was in full-swing. It left a horribly thick tension in the air. Jude could feel sweat cooling on her brow. It had been hours since their arrival, and for a second or two, she wished someone would just ask.

In the end, she took care of it herself.

Shocker.

Jude locked eyes with Oriana, who seemed to be staring at her with some form of indifference, but there was something else lurking in her eyes. Jude decided to file away that away to pick apart another time. Behind her was Madoc, looking off to a door in the palace. Jude quickly tore her eyes away then, and neither one of them approached her. She was so caught in her own thoughts, she barely even noticed Cardan was leading her towards to dais.

"Jude."

She snapped back to attention at the sound of his voice.

"Were you listening?" He asked quietly, face bent towards hers as they skirted the dancing Folk in the middle of the floor.

"No," Was all she said. He raised one impeccable eyebrow at her. She wanted to scoff, but at that moment, Taryn flitted by on Locke’s arm.

Anxiety grew in Jude’s chest. She halted her feet, tugging Cardan to a stop near his throne in the back of the room.

Her eyes caught her sister’s, but neither exchanged words. Jude simply stared at Taryn with a mixture of anger and sadness rolling in her stomach.

Then Cardan had a hand cradled to her face, lifting it so she could look him in the eyes.

"Jude, darling—"

He never finished, because at that moment, they both saw Nicasia strutting towards them at a graceful, yet chilling speed. Jude briefly realized she hadn't seen her at the revel just days ago when she returned to Elfhame, or thought of her at all until this moment, but suddenly they were standing face-to-face.

The fury in Nicasia's eyes was mighty. Cardan tightened his hold on Jude's arm. Without warning, Jude’s mouth acted before her mind could even hope to catch up.

"Lovely to see you again," Jude panicked a bit internally at herself, but was relieved only annoyance could be heard dripping in her voice. Nicasia looked livid, but even with her murderous expression she was stunning. She barely spared Jude a single glance. All her attention was on the High King.

"Is it true?” Nicasia snarled pointedly at Cardan. "You've married in secret?"

Instantaneously, a pin could drop in the room and Jude would be able to hear it. This is what the entire Court has been waiting for.

Cardan said nothing back to her. Jude, even with her thoughts gathered then, decided on her own to exercise that incredible talent she has to piss magical creatures off.

"It was never a secret. I believe I announced it myself some months ago."

A few crazed, thrilled giggles went around the room with some sharp breaths. Her nerves soared with each one.

Oh, the way Nicasia shook with rage. She still did not acknowledge Jude.

"Is this a joke, Cardan? You are the High King, and you married a mortal rat?"

"It’s far from a joke." Cardan said, jaw clenched.

Nicasia snorted. "And you think the Court will accept this? A mortal as their Queen?" This sent whispers through the hall. Jude wanted to knock her pretty teeth in.

"They will." The finality in his voice sent chills down Jude's spine. Nicasia kept on.

"She is nothing compared to you. To us. She is the dirt beneath our feet. Less than vermin. Her kind are born to die. She is bones and dust, she will rot away while you live on, and yet you bind yourself to her."

The Court was on edge, drinking in the sight before them like they were foaming at the mouth, greedy for the dramatics. Jude felt detached from the situation, like she was watching this be said about someone else. Honestly, it was nothing she hadn’t heard before, nothing she hadn’t heard her entire life in Faerie. But Cardan trembled in her hold. Distantly, she was aware of roots cracking out of the ceiling. Jude squeezed his forearm and hoped it was reassuring. Cardan relaxed, and the ceiling settled immediately. He took a breath.

"You, Nicasia, are, and will never be anything compared to her." He was eerily calm, his voice almost sweet.

Nicasia looked like she took a hit to the gut.

"As you so kindly pointed out, I am the High King, and if you speak poorly of my wife again, I will make sure you regret ever crawling out of the sea."

Nicasia gasped.

"Get out," Jude said, feeling more powerful than she thought she could at that moment. Cardan gestured to the guards a few paces away from them, and they marched towards a frightened Nicasia as she backed away.

Jude felt sheer triumph as she watched the girl be led out the doors, hurling insults and threats at the guards.

The Court looked excited yet stricken, and eventually, all eyes peeled from where Nicasia left to settle on them once more. Jude's anxiety returned tenfold. She was trying to process what was happening and what it might mean, but it was too much for the moment.

What is wrong with me? Compartmentalize, Jude. Compartmentalize.

Uncomfortable with all of the attention of the night, Jude looked to Cardan as a way of focusing her scattered thoughts. He was staring off to where Nicasia was just dragged away, and though he looked settled and perfectly regal on the surface, Jude could read him well enough to know that he was close to snapping.

"Can we even do that? To her of all people?" She was mostly sarcastic, but she felt the need to break through the silence surrounding them. The tension left his face.

"We just did." He drawled, then met her gaze with a smirk. "Let's see what happens now."

With that, he turned to their audience where the Roach stood in the crowd. Jude was so caught up in the pandemonium of the recent events that she didn't notice him.

"Find Grimsen," Cardan said, a command loud enough for all to hear. "I need him to make my wife a new crown."

Murmurs spread through the crowd.

The night went quickly after that. The dancing and drinking resumed full swing, the Court seemed well fed off the drama that ensued earlier, and there was even a sense of excitement and celebration in the air. Some Folk even came to give their congratulations to Jude and Cardan, to which Jude took each eerie word spoken to her with caution. They retired to Cardan's rooms soon as it was deemed appropriate, and, for the first time since she had returned, promptly fell asleep without any activities beforehand.

---------

The following weeks were tedious and exhausting. Except for when she accompanied Cardan throughout the day as he signed paperwork and had various meetings, Jude roamed the palace without much to do. She missed the responsibilities of a monarch that she had some months ago. It was quite annoying not officially having a say in things yet. She had, in a sense, her power back, but this time it was public, and she had to bide her time.

So she did, and in the meantime, she had the chance to pay close attention to Cardan.

It was remarkable to see just how much he grew into his role as the High King in just a few months. When she left Elfhame, he was just beginning to hold himself as a true ruler. Now, Jude saw personally that he was born for the title of King.

As Jude slowly integrated herself back into to happenings of the palace, she was also involved in meetings to plan her upcoming coronation. First, there were talks with Grimsen about her crown, and what magic it would hold. Then there was a discussion, albeit short, of what her official title would be. The Council argued with Cardan that he should make her Queen Consort, which sent Jude's nerves spiraling throughout her body, but Cardan viciously crushed that idea immediately.

She is to rule beside me, and her power shall equal mine.

And that was that. She was to be the High Queen of Elfhame through and through.

Jude decided it best that she wait to speak with Madoc until after her coronation.

Plans upon plans were made to ensure extra protection for Jude's ceremony.

She sent a messenger to Vivi, inviting her and Oak to witness her crowning. They arrived the week before. Jude didn’t see why it was necessary for them to arrive so soon, but she was secretly glad because she missed them and they kept her busy.

She caught up with the Bomb and the Roach, and marveled at how much they built up the Court of Shadows in her absence. There were at least twenty new recruits, some of them human.

She spent time with Cardan, which at first was an utterly strange concept in her head. She could never have pictured it happening, but she soon realized that they can simply enjoy each other doing normal things. Jude grasped and held tightly to each memory of them walking and talking in the palace gardens and gazing at the stars while Cardan wrongly interpreted them, which she knew was entirely on purpose. She knows they're both quite terrible at being vulnerable, but they’ve been working on it together, and occasionally making each other laugh along the way.

It was all going smoothly, despite a few bumps in the road, but to Jude this was a problem. She was used to extreme turbulence, not easy, calm waters without much to do. So, her time since she returned—though partially wonderful—has done nothing but slowly set her on edge. She has felt so much built up anticipation that she couldn't bear to sleep for two days before the eve of her coronation. Cardan, in turn, has been on edge as well, though he flitted from being tense to his usual dramatic antics. It just added fuel to Jude’s disquiet.

The night before she was supposed to be crowned, Jude sought out Vivi to ask her a favor. An hour later, around midnight, she was back in the mortal world for some sense of peace and quiet. Instead, she got the sound of a storm, which lulled her anxieties more than silence ever could. It turns out she is still practiced in finding comfort in chaos.

---------

Jude slept at the window until late afternoon in the mortal world. By the time her eyes open, the rain has ceased and the sky is clear. She knows it's early in Faerie, but she decides her time is up here, so she stands and folds her bed back into the sofa, picks up a few strewn items, and leaves with the apartment door locked.

She's back in Elfhame before the sun dips behind the horizon, the doors to the High King’s chambers closing behind her, and Cardan is there waiting. He knew where she was going, she told him before she left, and she feels somewhat settled knowing he was anticipating her return. The sight of him sitting at the end of his bed, hands clasped in his lap, brow furrowed, eyes showing relief as they find her form, causes Jude’s heart to lurch in her chest.

He’s worried. About me.

For some reason, Jude has the sudden urge to cry.

She doesn’t, though. She takes a step forward. Then another. And she’s across the room in seconds, standing before him as he rises to meet her. They’ve gotten better at casual affection and seeking one another’s comfort, but it still doesn’t come easy, so there is a moment of hesitation from Jude and she takes a shaky breath, muddled thoughts clogging her mind that she still can’t shake in moments like these.

Don’t do it, you’ll be giving in.

He doesn’t want this with you.

You can’t trust him.

Turn around and leave.

Hurt him.

But then she sees worry flicker across his features, as his hands twitch where they rest, careful and unthreatening at his sides, and Jude feels guilty. She understands she is an idiot for letting her mind push those thoughts to her attention even now, when they have been learning to prove themselves to one another. She feels tears prick behind her eyes. Maybe she will cry after all.

Now, all she knows is that she has never wanted to be held so badly as she does in this moment. Without letting herself think any longer, she steps into him and wraps her arms around his waist. As soon as she’s against him he reciprocates, embracing her and dipping his face into her neck. In an instant, all the tension leaves Jude’s body. She sags against him, eyelids drooping, muscles loose. She presses her cheek into his shoulder. She never thought something like this could feel so nice.

It’s some time before he scoops her up and onto the bed. They lay pressed against one another, her back to his chest, her knees curled up, his arms cradling her to him, his breath tickling her neck.

“For a moment, I considered you might run,” He murmurs. Something about this makes Jude’s throat tighten.

He thought I’d leave him. That I’d be too scared.

She wants to say she isn’t afraid; that she’s ready for this and that she knows what she’s doing.

But she doesn’t want to lie to him right now.

“Would you let me?” She asks instead.

With the arm he has draped over and around her, he begins tracing patterns delicately on her chest with his long fingers.

“Yes,” He whispers. “If you wanted a life free of chaos and of me, I would let you go. I would do anything so long as you are safe and happy.”

She breathes this in, lets in settle in her. Her eyes close and she stops him making patterns on her skin by bringing a hand up and lacing their fingers together. Jude never thought she would have this: The experience of sharing oneself with another, of living to see that person smile, of someone caring as deeply for her as she does them, of feeling… whole when near them. She wants to say a thousand things to him, but they’re a thousand things she isn’t ready for.

She does say, “I don’t want to leave.” Her tongue feels heavy and her jaw awkward, like she didn’t speak correctly. It’s such a simple thing to say but she feels as if she’s baring her soul for all of Elfhame to see. “I…” She starts, then starts again. Cardan waits, silent. Jude stares at their clasped hands lying together on the coverlets before her, and as she works up her courage, she unlaces them and cautiously runs her fingers over the bones of his wrist and the lines of his palm. She thinks it is probably silly, like something a little girl would do, but Cardan does not give any complaint as she plays with his hand.

“I never want to leave you,” She says, voice barely above a whisper. It is both a relief and an accomplishment. She waits for him to respond, but he doesn’t say anything, just turns her in his arms so they can face one another. When she looks at him, all of her breath leaves her body like she’s been punched in the gut. Cardan has given her many looks since they’ve known each other: looks of anger or indifference, lustful gazes, loving glances, but never has he looked at her the way he is now. Like she is so precious to him that she might break. His eyes are soft. He’s smiling, just barely, but it is a small smile that’s reserved for her.

Jude gives him a matching smile back.

As the palace wakes up, Jude is brought to an unused set of rooms near Cardan's. According to the schedule, they are both to get ready separately, and she will be crowned by him when the moon reaches its zenith. She tries not to think too much about it.

Time passes in waves. Her hair is fixed into an intricate updo with strands framing her face and curling around her cheeks. Her nails are shaped to look pointed and painted black. She wears no jewelry, but her face is painted to smooth out the dark circles under her eyes and make her cheeks glow. Kohl is smudged into alluring shapes around her eyelids, and her lashes have thick substance spread on them to make them longer. Gold adorns her lips in the form of a sheer, sticky liquid that makes her mouth shine at certain angles.

Her coronation gown, which has been kept a mystery to her as much as her crown, is brought to her room as fine flakes of gold are applied to her cheekbones. When she has the chance, she approaches the massive pile of fabric for a better look. This gown seems the exact opposite of the one she wore to the feast some weeks ago.

It is not her at all.

The dress looks like pure magic. It is layers upon layers of gold spider silk and black tulle, with gold leaves spread across the back and around the front, vines of sunset wrapping around the sleeves and twisting off into the air. When Jude gets close enough, she sees that tiny pieces of orange garnet set in gold make up the bodice and are littered about in the black train, which must be close to ten feet in length and covered in leaves as well. She spots a pattern in there as well, and when she looks closer she sees the Greenbriar crest made entirely of jewels encrusted near the end of it.

That’s quite a statement.

Jude thinks this dress looks like the sun, and that it will weigh more than she does.

She's almost right. A team of people arrive to help her into the gown, and it is extraordinarily heavy, but not as much as she thought. Jude couldn't tell before, but the leaves making up the wide, boat neckline swoop with the sleeves, leaving her shoulders bare save the vines curling off of the fabric. The same sticky liquid on her lips and flakes of gold are applied to her collarbones and shoulders before she is allowed to see herself in a grand mirror on the wall.

When Jude catches her eyes in her reflection, she doesn't recognize herself.

At first glance, she thinks she's looking at Taryn, because her face is glowing naturally and her eyes are bright and glittery, save for the sultry smudges. There is a dewy finish to her skin, and the gold on her lips and body looks positively striking. The dress fits her perfectly and accentuates the curve of her hips, but the swell of her breasts disappear in the mix of leaves and gems. She looks—

Magnificent. And terrifying. The cosmetics and gown makes her look hauntingly beautiful, like autumn incarnate, a startling mixture of faerie and human.

Like a queen.

So, no, the dress is not her. But perhaps it is who she is meant to be.

Her entourage helps her into some simple leather slippers—for which she is thankful, because the dress is hard enough to walk in as it is—and leave her to her own devices.

Jude loses track of the amount of time she has spent standing in front of the mirror, but it's long enough that her carefully placed boxes of thoughts start to spill over in her head.

This is really happening.

The mere thought of being crowned High Queen of Elfhame makes her want to lock herself in a room and never come out, and she can't make sense as to why. Is this not what she has worked for her entire life? A place among the Folk, all the power she could ever want, and being, in a sense, better than them.

It's too much.

But she's done it before. She has been the queen behind the puppet king. She has juggled the responsibilities, the poison and schemes, the games with Cardan. Why is this so frightening?

Because it's real, now. A voice says in the back of her mind. You were in the shadows before, playing pretend. This time It's all on you.

Jude's breath hitches.

It's true. It's all different, this time around. She gets her own crown, her own throne, her own power, and she gets to share it with Cardan.

Cardan, though the moment they shared earlier was special and incredible progress, is another thing she's reluctantly filed away in her mind, because he is so different from how he used to be.

Sure, they still hurl insults at each other more often than not, and they still bicker, they're still them, but there’s that something between them, delicate and tender, that’s been there ever since the night she returned. Cardan showers her in compliments when they're alone. He worships her body, tugs playfully on her hair, and traces the shape of her ear while she falls asleep.

Cardan has been a dream, and Jude has been frightened that she will wake up from him, so she has kept a minuscule part of her heart guarded still, even though she knows that they are in this together and sincerely. It is painfully hard for her to be candid about what she feels with him.

And she shouldn’t doubt, but some toxic part of her mind has led her there.

She has doubted them, and herself, and she feels crushing guilt because of it. What Nicasia said the night of the feast brought back every insecurity she felt and insult thrown at her since she was a child, though she tried not to admit it. She is still terrified of the monsters she grew up with. She is terrified of her own mortality. Terrified of not being in control. And now, terrified of losing Cardan.

It’s funny, in a way. If only she could tell her younger self just how important that absolute brat of a boy would become to her. She’d love to see the reaction.

Staring at her own reflection, she steels herself and decides that from this day on, she will be different. She won't let herself lock the thought of them, or of him staying with her, away anymore. She wants every day to be like it was earlier. Just them being honest with one another and holding each other. Them together. Yes, she will embrace herself and her feelings and what she will become.

She is powerful. Cunning. Ambitious. Stronger than most everyone she knows.

A queen, and rightfully so.

There is a knock on the door from across the room behind her. Vivi enters. Jude's gaze stays locked with her own reflection..

"God," Vivi says. "You really look amazing, Jude."

Jude meets her sister’s eyes through the mirror.

"Is it time?" She's glad her own voice sounds mostly put together. It's not how she feels.

Vivi just nods.

Jude turns and strides out of the room, her train as heavy as everything she's felt since she was seven years old.

---------

Vivi leaves her surrounded by guards to take her place in the crowd some distance away from her current destination. She is supposed to begin her procession at an eastern exit to the palace grounds. Her coronation will take place outside under the full moon, and the grounds have been completely transformed—with the help of the High King—so that as many Folk could come as possible. It is riskier than being inside the palace, but it is a risk they are willing to take.

It is a special thing, the crowning of a queen. I want the entire world to see you.

Jude stands where she is told to, exactly where she rehearsed two days prior. Hundreds upon hundreds of bodies line as far as her eyes can see. The sheer mass of creatures that gathered for her procession and crowning sends her stomach swooping.

She takes a deep breath, and she can hear the tiny gems and gold leaves on her gown clinking together as she shifts.

Her job is this: Walk through the crowd, ascend the dais, respond to the ceremonial words Cardan says to her, and wait for him to place her new crown on her head.

It's simple, except she's sort of freaking out.

Another deep breath. And another.

She clenches her fists. Two attendants appear behind her to fix her train in place, fanning it out. Knights flank her sides some paces behind her.

Just breathe.

Before she has the chance to feel prepared, magnificent music plays somewhere in the distance, but the instruments must be enchanted because it sounds like they are in a grand chamber.

The knights lining each foot of her processional pathway stand straighter.

Jude knows it's time to walk.

One foot in front of the other. Just make it to him.

She steps into an old habit and lets a mask fall over her features.

She walks.

The extent at which the grounds were remodeled is much more than she expected. Small hills have risen from the land to allow a vantage place for more eyes to see her. Wiry branches sprout from large white trees spread throughout the crowd and near her path. Lanterns harboring bright orange fire hang from them, and some places she can't make out. They glow like stars, and would provide enough light to properly let her see even if the full moon did not.

Jude was wrong about the hundreds of attendees. There are thousands here. She squares her shoulders and keeps her chin held high.

It really is like the entire world can see me.

Jude sees a strange, radiant light coming from the armor of the knights that she passes, and she realizes that it's from her. The firelight hitting her gown is causing her to glow.

She must look like a deity.

Let them see what I have become.

The flowers beneath her feet bend away from her as she passes over them. Finally, she sees the dais in the distance. Stone steps have been laid into a new hill that stands higher than the rest. Torches line the stairway and light the area at the top, where she can see Cardan beneath another white tree, bigger and more glorious than the rest. She can't see his face from this distance, but she knows he is watching her with all the rest.

A few times, she glances to the crowd around her. She sees a mixture of emotions across different faces: there is anger, yes, but surprisingly more envy and excitement.

Maybe they won't accept me. They will just need to learn how to live with the knowledge that I bested them all.

She's yards from the stairway before she even realizes, but before she rises, she looks to her left.

There is her family.

Oak, who looks mesmerized. He's beaming at her.

Vivi, who looks incredibly proud, smirks.

Oriana is there by Oak, and Madoc stands beside her with no weapons, Jude notices. This was a requirement for the ceremony, a safety measure. Guests must turn in all weapons and jewelry, along with anything in pockets before they arrived.

His face is unreadable. Jude channels all of her feelings of triumph and victory into the smile she gives him.

As she reaches the first step, she sees Taryn as well. On her face is the most confusing expression she sees that night. Taryn looks, quite simply, ferociously jealous of Jude, but she seems to be genuinely smiling at her as well.

There is no time to dwell on it.

Jude looks to the top of the dais, and thinks of nothing but who is waiting for her up there.

Make it to him.

Her dress fans over the stairs as she climbs, the crest on the train glittering. Step by step, Cardan's face comes into view. In a far-off thought, Jude notices that his clothes match hers, but they’re less lavish. They are black and gold, with a sparse number of leaves and gemstones spread about them, but with much more embroidery than her gown. The crown on his head looks like it’s fluctuating in the firelight.

Jude’s breath hitches at the sight of him. She will never get used to his otherwordly beauty.

Cardan stares at her with such intensity that she feels the need to look away. She doesn’t, though. She gazes right back.

Like earlier in bed, he smiles, small and just for her, as he extends his hand to her. When their fingers touch, it feels like lightning. Surely there are embers in the air, sizzling on her skin at this moment. Surely this is a dream.

Cardan leads her to where there are two matching thrones, each made of twisted, creamy white branches and solid gold, and a small, stone pillar stands to the side, holding up her crown. She does not take her eyes off of his until the moment she’s required to.

There, during the night of the full moon, on the transformed palace grounds, Jude Duarte, daughter of clay, was crowned High Queen of Elfhame. The stars in the clear skies and the lanterns around her make her form luminous as she kneels at her husband’s feet, facing the crowd. The layers of her gown and sleeves spill around her in pools of autumn and midnight.

Her crown was made of pale gold, and the slender circlet twisted around and down onto the top of her forehead. Small stars of diamonds and moonstone spike up into the air at points around it. It had been forged by Grimsen himself, and with it came special properties. Jude told Cardan there was no need for anything other than an ordinary crown, but he bargained with and bribed Grimsen instead. She does not yet know the full extent of what magic she is supposed to feel when it is placed on her head.

Jude stares at her radiating sleeves until Cardan has the crown in hand and stands above her.

She knows what happens next is more formal than usual by Faerie standards, but the occasion, plus the element of her being human, calls for it, according to the Council.

Nevertheless, she braces herself for what feels like the hundredth time that day, and waits.

When Cardan speaks, his voice carries through the crowd unnaturally with magic. He speaks royally, yet softly. She knows this is for her sake.

“With this crown, you take up the mantle of protector of the realm,” Cardan says, holding the circlet to hover over her head. Jude’s eyes go to the distant horizon. “Do you swear to defend the creatures of Faerie from those who would harm them and govern them according to the principles on which Elfhame was founded?”

“I swear,” Jude says. She doesn’t know whether or not anyone can hear her, but there’s no chance to think on it because Cardan continues.

“Do you swear absolutely to maintain and defend the realm in all of your deeds?” Still, his voice is soft.

“I swear,” She repeats.

“Do you swear to employ all means at your disposal to preserve and promote the prosperity of the Folk and of the land,” He pauses here, taking a small breath, then begins again, his tone almost bordering wistful. “From this day until your last day?”

A breeze rolls past her. The tree above her shifts in the wind like a song.

When the wind whispers, listen closely. It is trying to tell you something.

Just for a single moment, Jude’s eyes fill with tears. She thinks of her mother’s voice.

I know you’re with me, Mom.

Jude inhales, and blinks her tears back.

“I swear, from this day until my last day.”

Cardan’s voice changes, now. He speaks with complete satisfaction and pride.

“Long live Her Grace, Jude Duarte, High Queen of Elfhame, first of her name and protector of the realm.”

He places the crown on her head, and Jude’s world erupts.

It is the feeling of acid simmering like mist through her bones, like each of her atoms are being split apart and zapped back together simultaneously. Then everything stretches.

She hears herself gasp, but she can't focus on anything except the fact that her senses have been extended for miles.

If she were watching from the crowd, she would be able to see the air and light shifting around her, the branches of the tree reaching towards her.

Grimsen said her crown would be connected to Cardan's, but she didn't understand until now what he meant, or that he meant this.

She can feel the land beating beneath her, and the space occupied by each and every creature in the crowd. She feels the magic in the air more than ever, and the pulse of it through the wild. She feels Cardan beside her, like a beacon drawing her in.

This must be what Cardan feels all the time.

She realizes she's had her eyes closed, but comes back to herself when Cardan's hand brushes her bare shoulder. When she finds the strength to stand, it is with her hand in Cardan’s, and together they face their audience. For the first time since ascending the dais, she looks out to the crowd.

Her stomach flips. The Folk before her span like a sea, their faces indistinguishable. Her eyes rove the expanse of them, and the mass of them gathered on hills. Some of them judge her. Some hate her. Some envy her. Few admire her. But each and every one of them have come to see her, the human Queen of Faerie.

She sees the land before her, feels Cardan’s power pulsing through it.

This. This is hers.

Flowers bloom and glow in the moonlight. Red vines sprout and curl down from the white trees. The colors of the fire grow hazy, then more vibrant. The very air seems ready to dance.

It’s as if the land itself has accepted her as its own.

Only then, with one enormous voice, do their subjects speak back to them both with awe and fear and hunger.

“Long live High Queen Jude!”

And row by row, they all bow before the High King and Queen.

96 notes · View notes