Chapter 1
The Reluctant King Rules With His Senechal By His Side
The new High King of Faerie lounges on his throne, his crown resting at an insouciant angle, his long scarlet cloak pinned at his shoulders and sweeping the floor.
He is very, very drunk.
He tilts his cabochon-encrusted goblet at the wine bearer for more wormwood liquor. That is when Cardan spots the chestnut hair of Jude, who's in her black doublet. His grip tightens around his glass and he brings his drink to his lips. The liquor burns his mouth and his throat, enough to stop him from screaming with rage at her. It has been almost five months since the mortal - no. The monster tricked him into kneeling before her brother and receiving the crown. A crown he did not wish to wear. A throne he did not wish to inherit. Yet here he was, a pawn in her games. The powerless, yet important King in her little game of strategy. If he must play her game as a useless King, a useless King he shall be. He will defy her in any small way he could, play no part in her scheming unless she commands it so.
He could feel Jude's presence behind himself, could feel the way she observed him like he was her prey. He wonders if she could see the court enjoying the revelry from above as he does. He wonders whether she enjoys the power that she has over him and everyone in Elfhame.
"Enjoying yourself?" He asks.
Her eyes burn with a glistening look of hatred. It fills him with so much joy to see her hate him as much as he does. He smiles at her for the reciprocal feelings.
"Look at them all, your subjects. A shame, not a one knows who their true ruler is."
She looks away from him towards the dancing and twirling bodies. Cardan followed her gaze and spotted her awful twin with Locke. Locke was a fool, he thought. A fool for playing out silly stories when the real horror stories are happening before him. A faerie approached who called himself Grimsen and declared he made the crown upon his head. The curse that weighs down on Cardan. He heard about the smith's exile, oh how he wished he was far away from this court. Far away from her. Cardan blinks a few times, as though trying to focus on the petitioner in front of him.
"So you were yourself exiled? Or you chose to leave?" He asked.
The King pondered the smith's plea to return to court, waiting to give the right answer. At least waiting for the command he feared to come from Jude. When she first leaned in to whisper commands in his ear, he would think about that time when he was bound to a chair in his brother's lair and she leant over his face to kiss him. He never quite knows whether she is leaning in to command him or to kiss him. Both options terrify him and he hates those moments. Right now, he waits for her to lean in and give him a sign of what to do. He can hear her unmoving, her breathing steady. This was a decision he could make. Perhaps the smith can craft something that can break the captivating spell his Senechal has on him. Or perhaps gift her a bracelet that can chain her murderous hands.
"Very well," Cardan says. He makes the smith pledge an oath to him. His tail tightens a little closer to his thigh under his hose, as he waits for Jude to argue against his decision. But it doesn't come.
Another petitioner came forward. Spirits have mercy on him, when do the ruling end and the revelry begin? Specifically, when can his Senechal leave him be? It is easier to behave un-Kingly and dismiss everyone without her present. The petitioner, Mother Marrow presents him with a cloth spun into a shimmering colour. Cardan leans forward in his throne, the cloth offered was beautiful. In a world surrounded by beauty, Cardan is nevertheless still entranced by the cloth. He listens to the hag describe how it was woven of spider silk and nightmares and how it can turn a sharp blade. He wonders if it was fitting to wear such a marvellous cloth made of nightmares when he lived in his own nightmare. He also wonders whether it can truly protect him from his dear Senechal's blade, should she ever decide to slice him with hers. The cloth is truly marvellous, both a protection and a testament to his living nightmare.
"I admit I don't think I've seen its equal," he admits.
"Then you accept what I would bestow upon you?" the hag asks, a sly gleam in her eye which Cardan caught. "I am older than your father and your mother. Older than the stones of this palace. As old as the bones of the earth. Though you are the High King. Mother Marrow will have your word."
Cardan frowns. An alarm bell is ringing in his head from the way the hag spoke to him like she is trying to force a bargain out of him. He has no intentions of making another bargain for a very very long time.
"You said gifts, but you have only shown us your marvellous cloth. I am sure the crown would be pleased to have it, were it freely given." Jude says.
He appreciates her careful words, a lesson in defusing snares.
"And who are you to speak for the High King?"
"I am his seneschal, Mother Marrow."
And so much more, thought Cardan.
The hag turns to him. "And will you let this mortal girl answer for you?"
He turns toward Jude, to stare at her mortal face, pondering how can a Crown Prince of Elfhame be manipulated by a mortal? She could not wield magic and is vulnerable to disease and ageing. Yet she is unlike any mortal he ever encountered at Hollow Hall. Jude is fierce and seems unafraid of the power faeries usually had over mortals.
Her soft curved ears were beginning to redden a little. Is she angry at the way Mother Marrow spoke down to her? Or was she angry at the possibility of her control over him being compromised? If it wasn't for the suspicion of a trap, he would feel sorry for the hag over Jude's wrath. His body remembers a previous command of hers; that he will do nothing to refuse her command. Perhaps a snare that contradicts her control would be a breaking of his oath.
"I suppose I shall," he says finally. "It amuses her to keep me out of trouble."
"She's clever enough," the hag says, spitting out the words like a curse. "Very well, the cloth is yours, Your Majesty. I give it freely. I give you only that and nothing more."
Cardan leans forward, intrigued. Perhaps he's really into perilous threats. "Oh, tell me the rest. I like tricks and snares. Even ones I was nearly caught in."
Mother marrow shifts from one clawed foot to the other, the first sign of nerves she's displayed. Good, he thought. She should be nervous of the dais, where the fiercest being of Elfhame stands just beside him.
"Very well. An' had you accepted all I would bestow upon you, you would have found yourself under a geas, allowing you to marry only a weaver of the cloth in my hands. Myself - or my daughter."
Cardan's eyebrows rise, that he wasn't expecting. He has never considered anyone to want him for marriage. No - he was destined to be alone and unwanted. But he won't let this hag or anyone else know that. He should feel honoured by the new prestige being the High King makes the folk of Elfhame consider his eligibility now.
"My lady, you flatter me. I had no idea you were interested."
"May you grow into the wisdom of your counsellors."
"The fervent prayer of many," he says. "Tell me. Has your daughter made the journey with you?"
"She is here," the hag says. A girl steps from the crowd to bow low before Cardan. Cardan scrutinised her thoroughly; she is young, with a mass of unbound hair. He noted how her limbs are oddly long and twiglike, unlike Jude's petite soft frame. But like his dear Senechal, she has a kind of grace. She would have been terribly unhappy married to him, especially when the object of his desires is right next to him.
"I would make a poor husband," Cardan says, giving the girl a salacious grin, who appears to shrink down into herself. "But grant me a dance, and I will show you my other talents." He wasn't so infatuated with Jude, to not take an opportunity to practice his other known talent called debauchery.
"Come," Mother Marrow says to the girl, and grabs her, not particularly gently, by the arm, dragging her into the crowd. Then she looks back at Cardan. "We three will meet again." He drained the rest of his cup as the mother and daughter walked away. He doubts he will see them again, especially the daughter after his wicked offer.
A/N: If you have stumbled on this. Thank you for reading my first Folk of the Air fanfic!
I felt compelled to write some of it because I need more Cardan in my life. I hope sharing this can give you a little bit more of him too.
Apologies for the mistakes. This was beta'd by Grammarly and if you do spot anything, I welcome messages which I will act upon.
Thanks again for reading!
