Another scene from Cardan's POV, set just after the wedding. An extension of the beautiful "we trade kisses in the dark" line.
Above them, the buds are blooming, as if the land approves of his choice. Cardan shudders inwardly with the weight of what he has just done.
He has married Jude Duarte.
He'd expected her to say yes to his proposal, given what he was offering. There was a small fear she'd turn him down, a fear that came from every interaction he had with her, a peppered longing where there had one been contempt.
Given his confidence, he'd been surprised with the relief he'd felt when she'd consented.
A new kind of fear gripped him now, a fear of what came next, of what this marriage would mean to the both of them.
He'd phrased it like a bargain, release me from my oath, and I will give you your own power. He'd avoided mentioning other reasons, baser desires, faint hopes, like the fact he'd thrown out his heart for her to pick at, bargain with the scrabarous thing as well as his own power.
He trusts her to rule Elfhame well. He is not sure he can trust her with the rest of him.
His body sags after the ceremony is completed, still suffering from the ebbing effects of the poison. His strength has not yet returned. Jude inches towards him, and he flatters himself, for a split second, that she means to catch him.
"You look as if you've barely rested," she says.
Her words are light, almost affectionate, as if she cares for more than his crown, more than what he can give her.
She would be the first person to ever feel that way if she did, but it's probably his imagination.
"I will lie down," he returns, and lets her guide him towards the enormous, monstrous bed. Far too big for one person. He savours the warmth of her arms all the way there, unwilling to let her go. He does not let go off her hand once he sits down. "If you lie with me."
A foolish, desperate hope. A silly one. Stay. Stay with me.
He does not expect her to say yes, but shockingly, she does. She slides into bed beside him, still holding his hand. His heart pounds in his chest. He wonders if she can hear it, if he wants her to.
She moves towards him, his arms enveloping her, his fingers twirling in her hair. A new kind of warmth possesses him, a kind he's never known, but seems to radiate from Jude.
Jude, of all people.
Yes, Jude. Of all people.
"You're shivering," she says, pulling up the covers around him.
"Lingering effects of the poisoning, I fear." He feels cold, cold and exhausted and still sick, however much he tried to conceal it before. His body spasms, the grip of a cramp folding him in two. He tries to hide it, but it doesn't work.
She shifts upwards, away from him, snatching the warmth with her. "Are you going to be sick?"
He shakes his head. "I don't think so." He swallows, lying back against the pillows and turning away from her, hoping to hide the shaking. Inviting her into bed with him had been one thing, when all he'd felt was exhaustion. Showing this was something else.
Jude hovers behind him, not quite touching.
"You don't have to stay," he says, even though he wants her to. Doesn't want her to go, even when he doesn't want her to see him like this.
Jude exhales. "I'll stay." She moves closer, her warmth seeping through him. "Here." She leans across and slides her hand against the taut panes of his stomach, moving her palm in firm, careful strokes around the surface.
The cramps start to subside, dissparting under the gentle pressure. Gentle, Jude. What an oxymoron.
"My mom used to do this for me when I felt sick," she said softly.
He hadn't even known that was an option. Whenever had been hurt or sick or alone as a child, all there had been was a servant with a bucket if he was lucky.
So he learnt not to show it. He learnt not to show anything. It made it easier to endure Balekin.
The tip of Jude's stubbed fingertip grazes his skin. He wonders if she'd learned not to show it, either.
"I didn't know you could be nice," he whispers, wondering what it said about him that he was in love with someone who could barely express affection.
"Neither did I."
He turns towards her, cupping her cheek with his hand. Jude's eyes are large and luminous, warm glassy gems. He bends his face towards her and presses against her lips, kissing her soft and slow. He has never kissed another person like this, without expecting, wanting something more.
And he does want more. But he wants more of her than any person he's ever wanted before, and at the moment he is barely scraping the surface.
Sex was nice. This is terrifying, this just wanting to be with another person in whatever way you could.
Maybe it had been foolish to marry her. This longing is sure to undo him.
But else could he prove he was worthy of her?
And she stayed with him. She is comforting him. That boded well, didn't it?
"Jude?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you really hate me?"
Jude smiles against his mouth. "More than anything else in the world."
He groans at her words, from sickness of another kind, one certain to destroy him entirely. He imagines her saying something else, and it's easy to imagine when she kisses him again. His insides turn to liquid, and if he wasn't drained and exhausted he would and flipped her over and prayed she'd let him do to her whatever he wished.
He grips her tightly instead, folding her against him, wishing his heart wasn't hammering so loudly.
He falls asleep in her arms, her fingers stroking his hair, and dreams of words he fears she'll never say.