Six
Cardan got her a dress.
For Dain's coronation.
It was not a good gift. It was pretty and self-indulgent and it was a distraction for himself from the upcoming rise of his most awful brother. But Cardan did put some thought into it. He asked the tailor to make it like the view from the general's house.
He wanted Jude to recognise it. He wanted to deliver it himself. He tried.
It seemed to be a pattern that — trying.
He went to her house with the box, but he could not knock. He got stuck beneath her window.
When he tried to imagine her looking down and seeing him, he felt sad and sick and tired. How could he even begin to tell her why he was there?
How could he even hope she wouldn't burn the dress right in front of him? Maybe she should. Maybe it would make him want her more.
He shook his head.
It was all so very confusing.
In the end, he returned the dress to the tailor and paid them for their discretion to deliver it to Jude.
They didn't ask why. Why should they? And he supposed if anyone found out, he could claim he did it to hurt her somehow.
Maybe he could say he bought her the prettiest dress to make up for her ugly face.
Well, he couldn't say that exactly. But he could imply it.
-O-
In the remaining days before the coronation, Cardan spent every waking moment in his head with Jude.
He fantasised about her finding out about Locke and Taryn. He fantasised about her duelling Locke and knocking him down. He fantasised about her coming then to Cardan's own rooms at Hollow Hall.
Telling him that she had only kissed Locke because she did not know his true character. Now that she knew, she understood Cardan was far superior.
It was gratuitous.
It was self-aggrandising.
But he didn't care.
They kissed like they had never kissed before.
And then he fantasised about taking her on strolls through the woods and kissing her against trees and swimming with her in the river.
And he fantasised about her meeting him by starlight, wearing his dress. She wore it with her hair tied in horns, the way she often wore it at revels.
The starlight shone silver on clips in her hair and she smiled when she saw him. They'd agreed to meet in the forest where they could hear the music of a nearby revel, but were far enough away that no one would interrupt them.
"I should like to dance with you," he told her as the music trembled through the ground, vibrating the soles of his feet. "Would you like that?"
"If dancing is all you want, Prince Cardan."
Even in his fantasies, she liked to goad him a little, but he never took it personally. Probably because he was in control in his fantasies and her goading was designed to show her affection for him, to amuse him, not to make him feel weak.
"For tonight," he said, catching Jude around the waist.
They spun until they were dizzy and laughing and then they kissed until they couldn't think straight. And then they lay together, looking up at the stars.
"Sweet Jude," he said, caressing the curve of her ear. "You are my dearest torment."
"And you," she said, with a hint of a smile. "Are mine."
-O-
Cardan did not know what to feel as he arrived at the coronation with Balekin. They were both dressed up to extreme levels. Balekin in blue, Cardan in black.
Like death, because that was what this coronation felt like. Death.
Dain would be crowned King. Dain who was the worst of them, the cruellest, the pettiest.
Dain who had never protected anyone but himself.
"Don't do anything stupid," Balekin told Cardan as they entered the dome to join the sea of masks and music and laughter.
Cardan gave him a sneering look and Balekin placed a hand on the back of Cardan's neck, squeezing.
Cardan fought the urge to wince.
"This is an important event, Cardan," said Balekin. "So you should heed my advice. Go be merry, stay away from Dain and don't do anything stupid. Is that clear?"
"Of course," said Cardan coldly.
As if he needed to be told to stay away from Dain. The other two he was less sure about. Being merry was a state he had yet to find. It implied some level of happiness or contentment and Cardan had never been happy. And as for being stupid, well Cardan might do something stupid just to spite Balekin.
In the end, he did neither.
He merely drank and drank and drank. Some might call it merry. Some might call it stupid. But it made him feel less angry and less hurt by the events that were about to unfold.
Dain, the High King — merely proof that power was everything and that cruelty was an efficient means to it.
Cardan downed another glass.
Then he looked out over the crowd, waiting for Jude to appear. He did not want to think of his family right now, so Jude was his second thought. And since he had been so abysmal at fighting his desire for her, perhaps he could indulge it for once. Tonight, he was potentially drunk enough and merry enough and stupid enough to actually act.
Especially since when he spotted her, he realised she was wearing his dress.
His heart thudded.
But why wouldn't she wear his dress?
She didn't know it was from him.
It looked nice on her.
Flowy.
Grimacing, Cardan poured himself another cup of green wine and watched as Jude and that spineless twin of hers wandered around the room.
Then he saw Locke. Cardan knew he should just drink more.
Let Jude face her own foolishness by herself. Let her face it alone. Nobody had been there for him when he'd found out about Locke and Nicasia.
Nobody was here for him now.
He was downing glass after glass and nobody seemed to care. Not even Balekin.
But as Cardan watched Jude dancing, he saw her muscles tense, her face harden. And he had another of those stupid fantasies. Sweeping towards her, pushing Locke out of the way, wrapping his arm around her waist and telling her she would not face this alone.
He realised that this might be the only time she would accept him doing something even remotely like his fantasies.
Before he could think better of it, he was striding across the dance floor. Straight through the middle of the revellers, ignoring protests and invitations.
He reached Jude as she said: "If you hurt me, I wouldn't cry. I would hurt you back."
And he felt that closeness again.
He tapped Locke on the shoulder.
"Time to change partners," Cardan informed him coldly. "Oh, did I steal your line?"
Locke looked like he might protest, but then — as protocol demanded — he ceded Jude to Cardan.
At last.
Cardan watched him go with a sneer.
And judging from Jude's expression, that was it for Locke with her too. Cardan felt a sudden surge of triumph as his hand slid into hers, as he caught his other hand under her arm.
He had to refrain from wrapping his arm full around her waist and pulling her to him. That would be too presumptuous. And maybe he wanted her to ask him to do that.
Maybe he wanted her to beg.
"What do you want?" she growled.
He didn't know how to answer that in simple words. He didn't know how to answer it without her laughing at him.
"Go ahead," she said. "Insult me."
"I do not take orders from mortals," he said. And what could he say to gratify her request anyway? That she was ugly? He did not believe it. That she was stupid? He did not believe that either.
And maybe he didn't want to insult her.
"So you're going to say something nice?" she sneered. "I don't think so. Faeries can't lie."
His hand slipped to her waist without instruction and she narrowed her eyes at him.
"You really hate me, don't you?" he said.
"Almost as much as you hate me," she said.
The room seemed to slow like they were moving through honey. Did she mean that? Could she mean that?
He tried to read in her eyes if she was hiding the same fantasies he was hiding. She had been watching him whilst she was kissing Locke.
The realisation was sudden and arresting.
He wanted to lean in. He wanted to invite her back to Hollow Hall. Now. So they could get away from this farce and his father and Dain and even Balekin.
But that was too much, too soon.
So he let her go with a reverent bow. "Until we spar again," he said.
She scowled at him.