A/N: Takes place during the last few chapters of Queen of Nothing. Some parts omitted for speed.
When Madoc's sword cracks the throne in two, and he sees that ancient thing in ruins, a strange kind of dreaded relief comes over him.
The prophecy flashes before his eyes. The destruction of the crown and the ruination of the throne.
All his life, he had lived in the shadow of that ill-fated star, fearful that it would one day come to pass, that his choices—or lack therein, would lead to the fall of Elfhame.
It had never occurred to him that it could be literal.
That it might not be his fault.
That it might not even be a bad thing.
The throne is already ruined. That just leaves the crown.
And before he knows it—with some rather powerful speech, if he does say so himself—he's cracked the Blood Crown in two.
Jude lets out a sound between a scream and a gasp. He wonders if he's finally impressed her. Others are murmuring too, some faint commingling of joy and horror, but for a moment, Jude's is the own reaction he cares for.
And yet he still cannot read her face.
One by one, everyone in the burgh begins to bow, swearing their fealty. Something like joy, like hope, rises within him. Jude has to be impressed by this.
Maybe even a little bit in love with him.
He'll take whatever he can get.
Then something else rises. A hard, dark feeling, like every muscle in his body twisting at the exact same moment.
Grimsen's voice cries out in despair. "My work. My beautiful work. It was supposed to last forever."
The flowers on the throne turn black as oil. Cardan's hands are flecked with it. He turns towards Jude, opening his mouth, to scream or call her name, he isn't sure, but he reaches out to her like the last light in the dark.
"It will poison the land," cries the smith. "No true love's kiss shall fix it. No riddle break it. Only death."
The room is spinning. His body is on fire. He lashes out, taller, wider. His arms have vanished, and he is losing every shred of sensation.
And yet, there is still Jude, Jude staring at him in horror, fixed in place, unmoving.
He wants to ask her not to leave, but he has no voice.
The last thing he truly knows is that Jude is standing between him and Madoc, as though she means to cut down anyone that tries to touch him.
He is trapped in the dark, in a place of pain and anger. He wants to lash out, to wound, to kill.
And he does.
He forgets the boy who proudly proclaimed that his one virtue was that he wasn't a killer.
He doesn't remember enough of himself to feel shame in that, or guilt.
The only thing he remembers is Jude.
Little else, but her.
There are moments in the shapeless space of time between gorging and growing when he feels something like peace, and he knows that those are the moments when she is nearby, like a balm to a burn.
He does not know why she doesn't kill him. She's never been adverse to killing anyone, if it solved a problem. And he cannot live like this. It is not life.
There comes a battle, and everything about it is hazy and dark, hazy and dark apart from her, brandishing a golden bridle in her hands, calling to him. He races towards her, but stops like a crack of lightning. She touches his scales, and he can almost feel it.
And through all the darkness, through the senselessness and chaos, a voice, clean and clear as blade. "I do love you," says Jude, "I will always love you."
If there was a way he could smile, he would.
It's a pretty lie to die to.
She swings her sword, and the darkness swallows him whole.
A new kind of darkness grips him, thicker and more tangible than the one he's lived in for days. It congeals around him like muscle, slippery.
His chest hurts. It's hard to breathe—
He can still feel.
He crawls through the dark, upwards, to the sound of someone screaming.
Jude.
He slides through the skin of the gigantic beast, the light rising to greet him like an avalanche. Somehow, he climbs to his feet, and the rest of the world slides into focus.
The first thing he sees is Jude, covered in blood, standing shakily, supported by Madoc.
The look she gives him when she sees him is liquifying. He wants to collapse into her, to bury himself in what looks like joy.
He stays where he is, not sure he can move at all.
All around him, people are bowing. Grima Mog kneels. Lord Roiben kneels. All of Elfhame bows to him.
"I will bend my head to you," Madoc says, "and only you."
He hopes that Madoc's vow extends to his daughter, for Jude is every bit the monarch he is.
His blood is all over the floor. Only from his spilled blood can a great ruler rise.
He supposes the prophecy could still be talking about Jude, but he thinks it might be nice if it isn't, if the powers that be are finally bestowing on him something that's akin to luck.
He finds the strength to walk forward, to speak, dimly of the magic flowing through him, of the cracks appearing at every footfall. When he speaks, his voice echoes. "The curse is broken. The high king is returned."
Everyone stares in sheer and utter reverence, as if they cannot believe what they are seeing, hearing.
Everyone apart from Jude.
She tears away from Madoc and bolts into his arms.
In all his life, Cardan is certain no one has ever held him in the way Jude is holding him now, with a permanence to the grasp of her fingers, as if she hopes never to be removed. It's probably just wishful thinking, born of his own relief and desire. He's holding onto her just as fiercely.
She could not have meant those words she said.
He almost doesn't care. He trembles in her arms, not wanting to release her. Everything will be fine if he can hold on.
But soldiers approach, and he lets go abruptly. They offer him a cloak, but he waves it away. "I haven't worn anything in days," he says, glad his voice sounds harder than he feels. "I don't see why I ought to start now."
"Modesty?" says Jude, with something almost like a laugh. Silver lines her eyes. It must be the light.
He flashes her a smile, playing along. "Every part of me is a delight."
Orders are given, and they are ushered into a carriage. He slumps against the seat. He doesn't understand why Jude is sitting so far away, why her eyes are looking elsewhere. He supposes he must be a sight, covered in blood and ichor. He wouldn't want to sit next to him.
But he would want to sit next to her.
"How long have I—" He hesitates.
"Not even three days," she tells him. "Barely any time at all."
He cannot read her expression, much as he wants to. Nor can he find the strength to ask if she missed him.
The carriage draws up, and they are chivied out. Servants have brought an enormous velvet cloak for him, and this time he accepts.
Randalin suggests a bath. He demands to see the throne, first.
The burgh is full of overturned tables and rotting fruit. The great throne is cracked clean it two. He flicks his fingers, and the pieces diverge further, into two separate seats entirely, blooming with briars.
He turns to Jude. "Do you like it?"
Jude blinks at him, her expression dizzying.
"Impressive," is all she says.
He gives her a slight nod. He will take it.
Finally, he lets himself be guided to the royal chambers, which are overrun with people. A bath is drawn, wine is summoned. Fala sings a song about the king of snakes, which is both charming and horrifying.
In the chaos, Jude slips away. He doesn't want her gone. He wants her back. He waits for her to return, certain she's just gone to change, but she doesn't, and he's ushered away.
He thinks of when she was hurt, how he refused to leave her side, and realises what whatever she might feel for him, it isn't love. He flatters himself that there's some kind of fondness, but if she loved him… she'd be here.
And she isn't. So she doesn't.
And yet, when she appears before him in the brugh, dressed in her finery, he doesn't need the trumpets to announce her arrival. His heart thumps desperately in his chest, and he feels like he might break under her gaze. Desires and fears uncoil inside him, and he thinks how monstrously unfair it is that kings and queens are seated so far away.
As much as he fears her heart, he cannot wait to be alone with her again.
Maybe it doesn't matter that she doesn't love him. They're both alive. She's still his wife. He should be content with that. She won't leave him, not until their ten years are up.
Not unless she finds someone else, some brave and serious knight that can hold her sword and match her in battle. Someone else is sure to notice her magnificence eventually. They never promised each other faithfulness.
And yet, he thinks, looking up at her across the table, he is doomed to love that stubborn mortal until he's nothing but ash.
People want to talk to him, and he tries to entertain, but he does not care for it. He cares for nothing but the next moment when he might speak with Jude.
When the dancing begins, he takes a draught of his goblet, and walks to her side.
"Will you dance?" he asks, presenting his hand.
"You may remember that I am not particularly accomplished at it," she says, rising. But she takes his hand nonetheless.
He remembers the first time they danced, when he'd seen her in the gown he'd sent anonymously as some backwards apology, and not been able to resist. He'd drunk too much to be afraid of her.
How much has changed since then.
And yet he is still afraid of her.
"I don't know what to apologize for first," Jude says, and her voice is strangely—unnaturally—soft. "Cutting off your head or waiting so long to do it. I didn't want to lose what little there was left of you. And I can't think past how wondrous it is that you're alive."
He blinks, certain he's misheard, searching for the motive in the lie.
Unless… unless it isn't one.
But it must be, surely?
"You don't know how long I've waited to hear those words," he says, "that you don't want me dead."
"If you joke about this, I'm going to—"
"Kill me?" he raises his brows, still waiting for the lie to form, or make sense. But it doesn't.
Dancing loses all appeal. He drags her away to the secret chamber behind the dias, his heart thumping with a dangerous thing like hope. He thinks she might like him after all, that her elation at having him alive may not be a lie.
He isn't sure what to do with that.
He strips off a piece of armour instead. "I only know how to laugh or be cruel whenever I am decomposed," he says, sitting down on the couch. He finds it hard to stand under the weight of her gaze. Hard to speak, even.
Jude tugs her hands free, and before he can grapple for them again, she rushes, "I love you."
It's over so quickly, he's half sure he's imagined it, or perhaps she's spitting it out so fast because it's a lie, and she wants to get it over with. Mortals say all sorts of things because they think they should.
He hardly dares to hope it's real.
"You need not say it out of pity," he says, keeping his voice as measured as he can. "Or because I was under a curse. I have asked you not to lie to me in the past, in this very room, but I would beg you not to lie now."
Jude's cheeks prickle, as if he's shamed her. He doesn't want to make her uncomfortable.
"I have not made myself easy to love," he continues, trying to let her know that it's all right, that she doesn't need to lie, that he understands why she may never come to love him. He tries to convince himself once more that it does not matter.
He expects that to be the end of the conversation, but it isn't.
"I first started liking you when we went to talk to the rulers of the low Courts," she says, and his heart skips a beat, because these are details, the sort that are more difficult to make up, and that… that moment was a long time ago. Why start a lie there? "You were funny, which was weird. And then we went to Hollow Hall, and you were clever. I kept remembering how you'd been the one to get us out of the brugh after Dain's coronation, right before I put a knife to your throat."
He'd grin at the memory if he wasn't so amazed.
"After I tricked you into becoming High King, I thought once you hated me, I could go back to hating you. But I didn't. And I felt so stupid. I thought I would get my heart broken. I thought it was a weakness you would use against me. But then you saved me from the Undersea when it would have been so much more convenient to let me rot. After that, I started to hope my feelings were returned, but then there was the exile—" she takes a ragged breath. "I hid a lot, I guess. I thought if I didn't, if I let myself love you, I would burn up like a match. Like the whole match book."
It seems impossible that she's saying these things, and that they're true, but he finds himself daring to believe them. There's something new in her voice, raw and exposed, and ever so slightly giddy. Honesty. This is Jude being honest.
Amazement doesn't come close. And then her words sink in.
Relief, and, unbelievably, joy.
She loves him.
"But now you've explained it," he says, finally finding his voice. "And you do love me."
"I love you," she confirms, and this time, this time, he really does believe her.
He thinks his chest is going to break, and he needs to laugh, quickly, before he's completely unravelled. "Because I am funny and clever," he says, "You didn't mention my handsomeness."
"Or your deliciousness," says Jude, almost laughing, "although both are excellent qualities."
He pulls her down to him, holding her against the cough. Her proximity turns anything hard inside him to liquid. He wants to sink into her. She stares at him, no gazes is a better word, and picks a fleck of something from the tip of his ear.
"What was it like?" she asks, breathing against him. "Being a serpent?"
He pauses, but finds he wants to tell her. "Like being trapped in the dark," he says. "I was alone, and my instinct was to lash out. I was perhaps not entirely an animal, but neither was I myself. I could not reason. There were only feelings-hatred and terror, and the desire to destroy."
She starts to speak, but he stops her with a gesture.
"And you," he says, feeling his heart unravel inside him. He gives her something that's half a smile, half something else entirely."I knew little else, but I always knew you."
He kisses her, and for a moment, he wonders if Grimsen was wrong, and maybe true love did break the spell after all.
A/N: There you go! Please review if you enjoyed. I am slowly working my way through the Jurdan key scenes, so feel free to leave a request! ^_^