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I find myself waking with difficulty from a very deep sleep. I feel as though I’ve slept for a hundred years, but the stiffness through my body also makes me want to sleep for a hundred more. I open my eyes slowly, reaching out a hand toward the other side of the bed. . . only to find it empty.
Empty.
My chest lurches in panic as I throw off the covers and launch myself out of bed, all thoughts of soreness forgotten.
“Jude?” Cardan says softly as I whirl around. I put a hand over my thundering heart, relieved to see him sitting in a chair by the fire, a dressing gown draped around him. There is a tray of food and tea things on a low table beside him, and a mug steaming in his elegant hands.
My knees nearly buckle at the sight and I plop ungracefully onto the edge of the bed, still grasping at the front of my night shirt. His shirt. That I wore to sleep in.
“Are you alright?” he asks, giving me a concerned look, and I wonder if he can hear my heartbeat.
“Yeah, I just…” I resist the impulse to deflect, or to lie and say it was a nightmare. We’ve been through too much for me to be embarrassed by the truth, or to feel like he’ll somehow hold this vulnerability against me. He already knows how I feel. “I thought for a second that maybe yesterday hadn’t happened at all. That I had dreamed it all up, and you were still cursed.”
“I really am pleased that you prefer me alive, despite the unbridled power you would have if I were otherwise,” he says, giving me a sly smile.
I roll my eyes. “We’ve already had this conversation. I much prefer you both alive and not as a giant snake. And besides, ruling alone was awful.”
“Is that so?” he asks. His black eyes lock on mine, one eyebrow quirked up. He looks beautiful with his face bare and his hair rumpled from sleep. “I had thought that you would like being fully in charge, not having to share your power with me or worry about whatever nonsense I might be up to that wasn’t in line with your schemes. I am surprised that it wasn’t to your taste.”
He looks equal parts sincere and bemused, and I’m not quite sure what to make of him right now. I am unsure if I will ever fully get used to the idea that we are working together. That we are . . what? A team?
“I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m not exactly practiced in the art of diplomacy. You’re much better than I am at charming the folk and putting them at ease. Not to mention that I’m widely known to be a liar. And a murderer.”
As I’m speaking, Cardan crosses the floor and sits down next to me, close enough for the length of his thigh to press gently against mine. He rests a hand on the bed behind me, casually leaning in. His warmth beside me, this close, feels comforting in a way I am unaccustomed to. I wonder if he is as aware of every point where our bodies are touching as I am.
“I think those are both strengths for a mortal queen,” he says.
“Perhaps. But I’m afraid I don’t quite have the skillset for ruling alone -- murderous, mortal queen that I am,” I return.
That elicits a soft laugh from him. “Perhaps now you understand some of what I felt when you were prisoner of the Undersea. Only I was foolish enough that I had not considered, even for a moment, that I would truly make a poor king without you running the kingdom for me.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Of course you hadn’t.”
“Truly, I had not realized how much easier my job as High King was with you making all of the decisions and whispering them in my ear. I learned much about ruling while you were prisoner of the Undersea, and more still while you were in the mortal world. Even so, I fear that I also have not found ruling alone to be to my taste.”
I am a little overwhelmed by that. By how sincere that admission feels.
“Lucky for both of us that we don’t have to,” I say with a wry smile.
“How fortunate, indeed, that we are bound to each other for at least as long as we reign,” he says quietly, turning his face to press a kiss to the rounded top of my ear. The brush of his lips and the tickle of his breath on my skin makes me shiver.
I feel his mouth hovering so close to me, feel it pulling me like gravity, and I turn my head to bring my lips to his. He kisses me back — gently and slowly at first, then more deeply and thoroughly. He pushes my hair out of my face and threads his fingers in it, cupping the back of my head. I bring one of my hands to his neck, trailing my fingers down his chest as our mouths continue sliding together, again and again. I want to grab him tighter, or maybe push him down on the bed.
I pull away for a moment, assessing, and Cardan smiles with some satisfaction at the flush on my face. I pivot onto his lap, straddling him and bringing his mouth back to mine greedily as I tangle my fingers into his curls. I expect him to grab me with equal force, but he runs his hands over my back gently. I try to kiss him with more urgency, to tell him what I want, but he remains gentle, slow.
“There’s no need to rush, Jude,” he whispers, pulling his mouth away and resting his forehead against mine. He traces a finger down the mostly open collar of my shirt. The touch down my chest, all the way to my sternum, makes my breath catch. He rests his palm gently over my thundering heart. “I like seeing you in my clothes. In my bed.”
My cheeks heat and I keep my eyes closed, unsure if I can bear whatever is on his face as he watches the effect his words have on me. I am overwhelmed by his touch, as he brushes a hand gently down the length of my spine then trails the outside of my thigh. As he crosses from touching fabric to touching bare skin, I feel a sharp spike of heat through my core. I am completely unaware of what my own hands are doing, only that they are on him. He begins tracing slow circles on my leg, the touch of his fingertips feeling charged with electricity.
I can hear my breathing grow ragged and audible, but I no longer have control of it. I can feel myself clenching my thighs around him, can feel myself arching into him and my head drifting back as he presses a gentle kiss to the hollow of my throat. I have slid into a sense of unreality many times with Cardan, but this feels particularly intoxicating. I am not sure I know how to surrender to this. To his lazy, gentle touches. To the idea that we have all the time in the world.
“This is weird, right?” I say breathlessly, unable to hold it in, to give myself over to the feeling.
“I believe you started it,” he murmurs, and I can feel him grinning into the skin of my neck. My breath hitches as his hand flattens up my thigh, his fingertips sneaking under the hem of my shirt.
“Not this,” I dig the nails of one hand into the fabric of his dressing gown with a squeeze. “Just. Being on the same side, not fighting, and not in any immediate danger.”
“You realize that’s exactly what I am trying to enjoy right now, right?” His mouth is still at my throat, and each gentle touch of his lips as he speaks sends a shock through my whole body. My hand in his hair clenches into a fist, the tension beginning to overtake me.
“We can find something to fight about, if that would make you feel more comfortable,” he says, the tip of his nose dragging with deliberate, agonizing slowness from my collarbone to my ear.
“That’s not. . .” I begin, but he interrupts me.
“We’ve already discussed your exile at length, but you’re welcome to yell at me again. I haven’t brought up your killing Balekin, against my wishes, because I think perhaps your anger at the exile far outweighed my own.”
His words wash over me like a bucket of ice water, snuffing out that heat that had been building, and I suddenly do want to fight. I pull away far enough to cross my arms in front of my chest and stare him in the face. Does he really think that Balekin gave me any other choice?
“Balekin poisoned you,” I say sharply. “He would have kept trying to kill you. And he was going to kill me if I didn’t kill him first. And it settled our debt with the Court of Termites.”
I expect him to rise to the bait, to argue back, but he just gives me a steady look. Both of his hands now rest on my bare knees, my legs still bracketing his body. “Did you enjoy it?” He asks, a little coldness creeping into his voice.
I withdraw myself from his lap and take a step back, staring down at him with as much indignation as I can muster while wearing nothing but his ridiculous shirt. I am very nearly furious, but his eyes seem sincere. As though this is something he’s wondered for a long time.
“He deserved to die, you know. And not just for poisoning you,” I say defensively.
He is still looking at me, assessing. I take a steadying breath, trying to tamp down my anger. Trying to sort out how I actually feel about killing Balekin, without wearing that defensiveness as my armor. This -- learning to be unguarded with him -- is going to take practice.
“I wasn’t sorry to see him dead, but I didn’t relish the killing,” I add, my voice a little steadier.
We stare each other down for a long, tense moment.
“I suppose I would have been even angrier at you for losing that duel than winning it,” he responds, with a softness in his voice that I have heard a few times before. A softness that I want more of. He reaches out a hand and I let him take my fingers in his, although I still stand and study his face.
“Wait … did you . . .?” I whisper, some knowledge shimmering just outside of my grasp, something I want to believe but can’t quite accept.
“Already love you? Yes.” How he knows precisely what I meant to ask, I have no idea. Perhaps he knows exactly what is written on his face as he looks at me now. “I knew when you were taken by the Undersea. Imagine my surprise when I realized that I was even more anxious than Madoc to secure your return. Imagine my surprise when I missed you. Not just you running the kingdom for me, but being near you. Arguing with you, provoking you, flirting with you, watching you. All of it.”
My heart stops, and I feel I owe him more. Not an apology, exactly, but as close as I can get to one without lying.
“I didn’t intend to kill Balekin when I left to meet him that night. I didn’t even have Nightfell with me. Or a sword at all, for that matter. I know you didn’t exactly have a great relationship, but I didn’t want to have to kill him, especially since you made it clear that you didn't want him dead. He was the person who raised you, after all. And the last living member of your family. Other than Oak, I suppose.”
He squeezes my hand at that, maybe relieved that I didn’t seek out his brother in cold blood. I can see how it would be easy to believe I had.
“You’re forgetting my mother,” he grins. I grimace. I am trying to forget his mother. “Although, as my wife, technically you are now my family.”
My heart stutters. Oh. Oh. I haven’t thought it through this way.
“Wait… that means Lady Asha is my mother in law. And Madoc, who tried to take the crown from you…”
“From both of us,” he corrects me, his face entirely lit with mischief. It is clear to me that he is enjoying witnessing me stumble upon this little revelation — something he has clearly already considered.
“... is your father in law,” I finish, feeling both indignant and somehow awed.
“Yes, I do believe that is how marriage works,” he says dryly. I want to wipe that stupid, mocking smile right off his beautiful face.
“But… Taryn and Vivi are your sisters. And Oak is your brother now, as well as your nephew.”
“Are you really just realizing this?” he teases, his face now full of mock innocence.
“Yes. Obviously."
“You haven’t thought of me once, this entire time, as your husband,” he says, voice soft, all teasing gone. It isn’t a question.
“I couldn’t think of you as my anything,” I snap, feeling suddenly defensive again. “I thought of you as the High King. And a jerk. And I thought of myself as the Queen. But not of you as…” I trail off. I’m the one who feels like a jerk.
“Say it, Jude,” he whispers. He tugs me back toward him, bringing me to stand between his legs as his hands go to my waist. I look down into his black eyes, suddenly feeling unable to speak. My mind is still whirling, rewriting everything I had thought I understood. I feel a little as though the earth is shifting beneath my feet as everything that has happened over the last days, weeks, and months reframes itself through his eyes.
He had told me that the letters he’d written were full of pleading for me to come back. I am so used to being tricked by the folk, that I hadn’t really considered that he had truly meant it, that he wasn’t still just toying with me. I had not thought of him willing me to come back not just to Elfhame, but to come back to him.
Each memory makes me feel as though I am being pummeled by waves, unable to regain my bearings before being knocked down by the next. The way he had spoken to me when I was pretending to be Taryn and he knew it was me. How he had tried to keep Madoc from taking me. The fact that he went to my sisters, to the mortal world , to find me. Vivi said he’d been desperate to find me, but I could not believe that his motives had anything to do with his feelings for me. He himself, Cardan, had come with the Roach to Madoc’s camp to get me out. He had shielded me and given me Mother Marrow’s cloak. He had nearly watched me die, and then let me bleed out onto his sheets for days.
And the whole time, he had loved me.
I feel both wholly unmoored and more steadily anchored than I have ever felt before.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says, scanning my face. I have no idea what he sees there.
I realize I have been frozen for a few moments and bring one hand up to cup his face, the other tracing the top of his pointed ear. He leans his cheek into my palm, and I feel my heart speed, feel as though there is not enough room inside my chest for what I am feeling. I still cannot speak.
“Please, Jude,” he whispers, his eyes still on mine.
“I am so used to being tricked by the folk that I didn’t consider you had meant it. That you had wanted anything more than just your freedom from your vow of obedience. And that you used my desire for power to get it in the only way you could,” I finally reply, the words coming out more softly than I intend.
His fingers dig into my waist, and he continues to look up into my face as he says, “Then let me say that I did trick you, but perhaps not in the way you thought. I had begun to fear what would happen when my vow of obedience was up and I was no longer useful to you. If you would depose me from the throne and not ever have need of me again. If you would not make me abdicate before my vow was up, if you would bide your time and join Madoc in finding another way to get Oak on the throne when he was older. I did use your desire for power. Not just to convince you to rescind your power over me, but also to convince you to tether yourself to me for longer than a year and a day. To rule beside me, and to grant me what I hoped would be enough time to win your trust. And perhaps, eventually, your heart as well.”
I lean down and kiss him then, soft and sweet. I know that nothing I say in return could possibly be an adequate response to what he just confessed. So I settle for a confession of my own.
“When I agreed to marry you, I had hoped that it meant I could stop being afraid to love you,” I say.
The way he kisses me in response makes me glad I told him. Although I don’t think either of us knows what to do with this much sincerity, this much trust. All of this is going to take some getting used to.
“I am certain we have many conflicts ahead of us, but I hope never to make you afraid to love me again. I am yours, Jude. I would like for you to think of me as such.”
“As my husband?” I ask, unable to stop the shy smile that is breaking across my face. It’s impossible not to be affected by his words, by the truth of them. “I guess after that little speech, I can do that.”
He pulls me to him and I oblige, ready to climb back onto his lap. But he moves until we are lying on the bed. One of his hands makes its way back into my hair as he brings his mouth to mine again, this time with some of the urgency I was looking for earlier. He is touching me gently, though, one of his hands tracing up the curve of my hip. I clutch him tightly, wanting to feel the press of his body against mine. It is simultaneously too much and not nearly enough, the way he is kissing me over and over again. The heat of him and the weight of him as he rolls me onto my back and settles his body between my legs.
I feel his warm palm drag up the side of my thigh and am dimly aware that the hem of my shirt has ridden up dangerously high. I slip one of my hands inside his dressing gown, which has fallen mostly open, and dig my fingernails into his back as he brings his mouth to my neck. I arch into him.
“Tell me again,” he whispers.
I am about to ask him what he means when I am hit with the memory of the first time his hands were on me like this.
“I hate you,” I say softly into his ear with a smirk. He nips my earlobe in a way that sends a shock of pleasure through my whole body.
“The truth this time, Jude. Please,” he says. But I see that he is smirking, too, as he pulls his face away to look at me. It still feels too intimate to say to him, this close, his gold-rimmed eyes burning with hope and desire. So I close my eyes and close the distance between us again, our mouths sliding together.
“I love you,” I breathe into his mouth between kisses. He stills for a moment, his fingers digging more firmly into my skin.
“I love you,” he returns with equal softness. Then he continues kissing me. My mouth, my ear, my throat. I feel like I am burning up, overcome with a heady combination of affection and desire. It is too much.
I try not to shy away from the feeling, try not to push it down. Instead, I think about how I can feel his heart beating with his body pressed on top of mine. I think about his mouth moving along my throat, my collarbone. I untie his robe and think about his warm skin under my callouses as I drag a hand down his chest, his abdomen, lower. I think about his sharp intake of breath, his low moan against my skin as I touch him.
I think about his hands and nothing else. One is still tangling in my hair. He sweeps the other underneath my clothes quickly, the shirt gathering around my ribs. He traces a slow burning trail down my throat, my chest, my stomach, making his way down, down, down.
I think about how much I have wanted this, and how much more it is than I even allowed myself to want. To be wanted. To be loved.
Then suddenly, blissfully, and without my notice, I am no longer thinking at all.