#jude duarte strikes again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-chick-of-the-air · 3 years

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Hello my lovelies!

Wow ok I’m sorry I know it’s been a while- I kinda got into a writing slump that wouldn’t let me out, however I’m feeling like I’m getting back into things! Yay!

I want to thank all of you for your continued support in my writing adventures, I seriously can’t describe how much it means to me when I get feedback and love on my work, one of my favorite things to do is make people happy- or really just feel anything- with my writing and I love hearing about it so thank you thank you THANK YOU!!! 🥰❤️

So, now I’m back with a gift! A very long fic that took me way to long to get around to finishing but I wanna share! So here, have this!!

Sorry if the length is too, well, lengthy 😅 I do so hope you enjoy it!

Edit: have added a cut due to length, read below!🥰❤️

Some Wicked Type of Love

Cardan stared down at the vial he held carefully, the greenish liquid sparkled as it sloshed around with the subtle shakes he gave it. This. This would fix everything.

“So, he just has to drink that? Nothing else?” Rhyia asked, unnerved. That unnerved Cardan, his elder sister was hardly ever shaken, so seeing her nervous about something didn’t sit well.

The imp with golden skin smiled thinly. Despite her obvious skepticism, he was the one Rhyia had told Cardan about, the one that could fix his problem, rid him of his ailment.

“That is all.”

Rhyia’s eyes narrowed into slits, “And it won’t hurt him?” Despite how she, along with the rest of his siblings, chose to brush him off more often than not, she did care for him on a certain level. It was why Cardan had approached her in the first place. He trusted her alone to follow through with this task.

“The young Prince shall remain whole and hale. It is to my understanding that he is now indebted to me?”

Cardan was about to protest when Rhyia spoke first, “I will take on his debt to you. When you need a favor, come to me.”

The imp’s smile widened, “Oh it is not a favor I seek in return. Simply bring him back to me once the… effects of the cure have taken hold.”

Cardan didn’t like how ominous that sounded. Nonetheless he nodded to his sister and they moved to leave.

Once they had turned away, they missed how the Imp’s smile grew impossibly wider and a silent laugh fell from his lips.

~.~

“Are you sure about this?”

Her constant questioning was beginning to grate on Cardan’s nerves as they trekked back to Hallow Hall. “For the last time, yes. I am profoundly certain in my decision. Will you let it alone now?”

Rhyia hummed and stopped walking. When Cardan realized she was no longer beside him, he stopped as well and turned to face her. She was staring at him with an expression he couldn’t puzzle out.

“Having the love of a mortal is-”

Cardan turned away sharply and began walking again, “I do not have the love of a mortal! One simply plagues my thoughts, and this is the only way to cure it.”

Rhyia jogged to catch up with him. She linked her arm through his, “All I was going to say was that…being in love with, or having the love of a mortal, is no reason to feel shame. Many of us have loved them, dearly so. The General, our father. Even I have known the affections of one.”

Cardan stopped short. That couldn’t be right. Yes, there were some Folk who took mortals as consorts and lovers- they were good for cultivating many children. The General’s love, he knew, had ended in tragedy. One that produced the very person he so sorely wished to be rid of. His father had an affinity for many a thing unusual, and having Val Moren at his side was just that. Cardan had just always assumed it was out of need for a seneschal who had an undying loyalty to him. But Rhyia?

He glanced at her sideways and she held her chin up higher, “As I said. I am not ashamed of who I have come to adore. Many think them beneath us, I find that to be wholly untrue. They are born, they live vibrant, beautiful lives, and they die, just as we do.”

Cardan shook his head, “They are dirt. A fleeting thing made of dust and water, gone before they can live fully if they do not stay here. They are beneath us.” A practiced excuse, and his sister knew it.

“You feel the need to run from what you do not understand. Do not want to feel. The choice is yours but know this: You are a prince. You may love whoever you see fit to love. Mortals may be weaker than we are, but their ability to love is stronger even than our own. When they find someone fit to adore, they put their entire existence into loving them. They feel it deeply and should you find yourself the object of their affection, there will be nothing they will not do for you,” She looked at him pointedly, “It is an honor to be loved by a mortal.”

Cardan was silent for a moment as her words sank in. The vial in his pocket felt heavier, somehow.

An honor. Cardan had never been granted anything akin to honor before. And as thoughts of auburn hair and rounded ears flashed through his mind, he realized he never would be granted such a thing. He shook his head,

“Even if that were true, my issue does not stem from running from the affections of a mortal.”

Rhyia smiled carefully at her brother, “Of course not. Simply from the possibility that she will not love you as you love her.”

He balked and tugged his arm from her hold, stalking the rest of the way home on his own. He did not love a mortal. He just couldn’t get thoughts of her out of his mind. Her name played on an indestructible loop in his brain, carefully preserved memories of her every sneer and glare followed him into his dreams and emerged with him in his waking hours. She wouldn’t leave him alone.

The liquid in that vial would fix it. It would erase her very essence from each corner of his brain, every fold she inhabited, like a sprite infestation of the mind. He would be rid of every thought, every memory, every feeling he had ever had for her.

Without any further pondering, he lifted the vial from his pocket and uncorked it.

Before he even got inside Hallow Hall, he brought it to his lips.

He threw back the potion and blessedly forgot Jude Duarte.

~.~

Lessons had never been a source of joy for Cardan. In fact, he would go as far to say they were a bane of his existence. Knowledge and learning, taking precious time to become scholarly when he could have been lounging about instead.

An odd absence in his chest pulled at him. He felt as if there was something about lessons that should have- usually would have- brought him some level of entertainment, of satisfaction. Looking around, his comrades by his side as they set up their blankets and baskets on the great lawn for the day, there was nothing amiss.

And yet there was something…

“Here they come.” Locke muttered conspiratorially, looking at someone approaching over Cardan’s shoulder. Valerian leered and Nicasia glanced in that direction before scoffing and looking elsewhere.

Had they all met someone at a revel recently? Someone worthy of their torment? Surely, they would have told him had that been the case.

Either way, he wanted to be included, so he turned as well.

When he caught sight of her, he lost his right to breathe.

There were two mortal girls, they were linked at the arm and looked exactly alike. Twins, highly uncommon amongst the Folk, though it happened often enough for the term to be familiar.

Despite there being two of them, his eyes immediately caught on the one to the right.

She was gorgeous.

Her auburn hair was twisted into a knot at the top of her head, a golden net holding it in place along with a few decorative pins. She was wearing a simple tunic with a crest across her chest that he instantly recognized. The family crest of General Madoc. He had mortal charges?

She clutched her basket in one hand and clutched her sister’s arm even closer. She was whispering something to the other girl and when she glanced up, she locked gazes with him.

It felt as if time had frozen.

She stared at him for a moment, brown eyes boring into his. It was the most beautiful color he had ever had the privilege of seeing. What a shame she shared a face with the girl next to her, her beauty was so striking that it deserved to be all her own. Even so, she was- as far as he was concerned- far more breathtaking than her twin.

She was alarmingly attractive. Distressingly beautiful. The product of tortuous, glorifying nightmares. He needed to know her, needed to speak to her. What did her voice sound like? Was she bold or soft spoken? How long had she been in Elfahme and why had he never encountered her before?

This ethereal creature… he could feel his heart beating so quickly it was growing painful, he had to force himself to take a breath least he pass out from lack of oxygen.

“Who is that?” He knew his voice was little more than a strained whisper as he continued to stare at her.

As soon as his mouth moved, it seemed to shatter some hold that had settled over her. Her eyes narrowed and she gave him a glare so delightfully heated that he could feel it burning his very blood. She was a fiery one.

Her lips pulled into a sneer and he immediately wanted to know what she would taste like. Some strange, horrid concoction of bitter and sweet, no doubt. He had to know.

He could see Nicasia looking at him strangely from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze from the mortal as she moved to an empty area on the grass with her twin in tow. He watched as they spread out their blankets and settled down.

“The Duarte twins? Madoc’s filthy mortal brats? Cardan, are you feeling well?” She asked, rare concern lacing her voice.

He would wager he’d never felt better in his life. He felt something in his chest- the previously empty and wounded area- light up as though something finally came to life in him, as though he were finally whole.

“What’s her name, the one on the right?” He ignored the strange looks his friends gave him, never looking away from the Duarte twin that had enraptured his attention, though she kept throwing disgusted sneers his way every time she looked up to find him still staring.

“Jude?” Locke inquired, glancing gleefully between the twins and the prince.

Something in his mind snapped into place, and he finally understood what had been missing, Jude.

Her name looped around his thoughts, over and over.

Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude…

He needed her. He felt it, he…

Cardan Greenbriar was in love.

~.~

Waiting for lessons to end was nearly unbearable, the only consolation Cardan got was from staring at the object of his affections throughout the day.

Each time she caught him staring, she would glare and turn away sharply, as though his gaze had branded her. Each time it sent a thrill through him, something he had never felt before, even with previous lovers. Even with Nicasia, who was sitting right next to him through the whole day.

It was perhaps hasty on his part, this whole bodied acceptance of his feelings, but Cardan was never one to curb his indulgences. After all, when the Folk fell in love, it was often that it happened deeply and all at once. This was nothing out of the ordinary, and the prince looked forward to trying to shower this lovely fiend in affections as soon as he could speak with her.

As soon as they were released for the day, he issued Locke to distract her twin, having seen how they stole glances at one another during their lessons. The fox like faerie was all too happy to oblige and Cardan found himself trailing his new love off the palace grounds and into the forest, glad she hadn’t bothered to wait for her twin.

It took about two minutes for her to stop, once they were out of sight of the palace behind them. She turned and her gaze locked onto him.

He continued forward until he was a mere foot away from her. He said nothing and simply stood there, watching, waiting for her to speak first.

“What do you want?” Oh, how delightfully sharp her voice was! Even drenched in irritation, it was soothing as a balm to his aching head after listening to Nicasia’s grating prattle all day. She looked momentarily surprised at herself, as though she were normally much milder. Though she quickly shook it off and continued to glare at him.

He decided to forego beating around the bush, she seemed like the type of person who enjoyed being direct, getting straight to the point. That spot in his chest she now occupied throbbed a bit, “You’ve captured my attention. You’re quite alluring, Jude. That is your name, correct?”

A completely logical question, but she looked at him as though he had two heads. Actually no- there was at least one two headed faerie out there- she looked at him as though he had just asked her to shoot him through with an arrow, like he was an idiot in need of mental help.

“Is this some kind of trick?” Her voice was dripping disgust and her hand twitched as though she wanted to reach for something but thought better of it at the last moment. Her eyes narrowed further and he found himself wishing she would look at him normally so he could see her eyes fully. They must be exquisite this close up.

He shook his head, shifting towards her, she took a step back, “No trick. I know I’m being forward, but I find you most enchanting, perhaps we can walk together?” he smirked at her. He knew how to be charming, had won a few hearts that way. However, she sneered at him as though she were completely immune to it- even better!

“’Perhaps we’… What are you doing, Cardan?” she nearly growled his name and he found he quite liked the way it sounded coming out of her mouth.

“Expressing my interest in you,” he stepped closer and grabbed one of her hands gently, tried not to laugh when she casually pulled it away and unsheathed a small dagger at her hip, “As I said, you have my attention.”

She looked confused a moment, even slightly concerned. It vanished quickly and she held the dagger a little higher. Outright threatening him. Yes, he was definitely in love!

“What has gotten into you? Some sort of sickness the Folk get? Have you been drinking already?”

Already. For some reason that stuck in his head. ‘Have you been..’ it sounded as though she knew of his habits. Granted it was no secret that he preferred various wines over most other beverages any day, but only those who paid attention to him knew that. He was under the distinct impression they had never met before.

That spot in his heart throbbed again, painfully.

“You…” He took a step towards her and she backed up several paces, her blade gleaming between them.

“If this is some new way of trying to get me to back down, you can drop it. It’s not going to work. You’ve managed to pit Taryn against me already, and as long as you leave her alone, we have an understanding but that’s it. I won’t hesitate to hurt you if you touch either one of us. Now leave me alone.”

Cardan didn’t understand half of what she was talking about. Who was Taryn? Her twin perhaps? He hadn’t bothered with her name. How did Jude figure he had pit them against one another? And how had he and Jude come to an agreement of sorts if he had never met her before?

As she backed away, dagger still held offensively as though she expected him to lunge for her, he realized he was going to need answers to his growing list of questions before he tried to pursue her further.

He held up his hands in what he hoped was a placating gesture, watching as she continued to move away before she was far enough to turn and hastily make her way from him. He gazed after her a moment, wishing that had gone differently, then turned and started to trek his way home, suddenly in a somber mood.

~.~

Jude huffed out a breath of frustration as she re-sheathed her dagger, trying to figure out what on earth had just passed between her and Cardan.

You have my attention. That was normally a bad thing, but the way he had been gazing at her…she could feel her blood heating and it wasn’t all due to hate.

So wrapped up in trying to figure out what had just happened with Cardan, Jude didn’t realize someone else was following her until it was too late.

She jumped an embarrassingly high distance into the air when Princess Rhyia appeared beside her.

“Oh! Uh, your highness.” Jude muttered, dropping into a low curtsy.

She tried to keep her wits about her when the princess gripped her arm and looped her own through it. She smiled warmly at Jude, something she found slightly disconcerting, and said, “Walk with me.”

Her tone was gentle, but Jude understood a command when she heard one, and Rhyia was all but physically dragging her by the arm, so she really had little choice in the matter.

“Tell me, young Jude. What do you think of my brother?”

Jude didn’t bother asking for clarification. If Rhyia had followed her all this way, it was likely she had just seen whatever it was that had transpired between Cardan and herself. She was about to blurt out “I hate him, as he does me” when she stopped herself. It probably wasn’t wise to badmouth him to his sibling. Not to mention it felt…odd, to say that all of a sudden.

The princess caught her hesitation and squeezed her arm gently, “Please, speak freely.”

Well then, “Um…we don’t…we don’t see eye to eye.” A huge understatement, though Rhyia simply nodded, keeping quiet as she waited for Jude to go on. “I take it you know why he was acting so strangely back there?”

For a startling moment, the princess looked upset. She schooled her features quickly, though. “Usually, I would feel it is not my place to meddle. But Cardan… it is no excuse, I know, but… he doesn’t always understand his own feelings.”

Jude bit the inside of her own cheek. She had quite a bit to say when it came to Cardan and feelings. She kept quiet as his sister went on.

“I shouldn’t be the one to reveal all the details, but I can tell you that he feels very strongly for you. So strongly in fact, that he went to extremes to stop feeling for you. It would appear his plan backfired.”

Strong feelings? Backfired? What? “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Cardan approached me yesterday, asking if I knew of a way to rid him of feelings he couldn’t stand to feel. I took him to an imp I know of, who gave him a potion, a…cure, he called it. It would erase the thing that ails one from their memory.”

Jude was putting the pieces together now. For an inexplicable reason, something tugged at her chest, dark and ugly. “He…wanted to forget me?” She asked carefully.

Rhyia smiled, obviously happy Jude was understanding, “You were haunting him. He couldn’t cease thinking of you and it was driving him quite mad. So, he sought a solution.”

“A solution?” Jude scoffed, the hurt in her chest growing, “So rather than…than talk to me, he decided to erase me from his memory?!” She couldn’t fathom why this truth hurt, why she even cared-

“Well, he tried. I’ve been watching him today. It seems that, if anything, his feelings for you are much clearer now.” She nodded to herself, as if this was a completely logical situation.

Jude felt like she couldn’t breathe. Cardan, he felt something for her? Something other than hate?

She thought back to a piece of paper, her name dashed out over and over and over, like he was trying to immortalize her, pen her down on paper so she should never be forgotten.

Suddenly, she was recounting every interaction they had ever had, every weighted look and spiteful word. Each trick and torment and barb thrown at one another. The way they relentlessly targeted one another, trading blows in every form one could think of. She recalled the way Taryn begged her to let it go, to quit this twisted game but she couldn’t. She would not forfeit. She didn’t want to stop.

And he was just as guilty. Each time they went toe to toe, he wouldn’t back down, wouldn’t leave her alone, almost as if he needed this game they played just as much as she did, just to feel... and each time, there was an air of something heavier behind it all, something unspoken and deadly and mutual.

Something like obsession. A twisted kind of heart-breaking. A tragic back and forth dance. Evil, heated, something intense, some…

Some wicked type of love.

She didn’t realize she had stopped moving until Rhyia pulled her arm from Jude’s. They were nearing Madoc’s estate, but Jude found she didn’t want to go home just yet.

“He…We, uh…” Great, at a loss for words in front of royalty. But Rhyia just smiled wider.

“I heard there is a way to bring back memory stolen by a potion, a kiss of true love or something of that nature. But you didn’t hear it from me.” The princess leaned in and placed a sisterly kiss on Jude’s cheek before she winked and walked away.

Jude stood there, stupidly staring at nothing just off the edge of Madoc’s estate for far longer than she would have liked to admit.

She… she loved him? She wanted to be wrong, but it felt like she had just discovered the answer to everything she never realized she was questioning. Her chest ached, she had to get to him. What had Rhyia said? ‘kiss of true love’? Like from a story book? Ridiculous. And exactly the kind of thing that would happen to her.

Jude squared her shoulders, resigning herself to her decision.

Without giving herself a chance to reconsider, she turned on her heel and started to backtrack to Hallow Hall.

~.~

Cardan was only slightly surprised when Jude traipsed through his open balcony doors an hour later. He wasn’t sure what she had against using the front door like a normal person but epic declarations of love were often much more, well, epic when preceded by dramatic entrances.

He liked her flair.

“Somehow I knew you would show up.” He was genuinely glad to see her, though if she was here to tell him off again, he wasn’t sure how he would manage. He would find a way, though, for her.

“Shame on me for being predictable.” She muttered, moving further into the room. She regarded him coolly, “You really don’t remember me?”

Cardan held up a finger and moved to his desk. He picked up an empty vial that was sitting atop. He held it out to her.

“I assumed I was at a revel last night and that was why I couldn’t recall anything, however today’s events are making that hard to believe.”

Jude took the vial from him, careful not to touch him as she did so. She examined the glass, rolled it over in her hands a few times. She glanced back up at him and he was happy to find her eyes open wide. He was right, a gorgeous color.

“I assume you don’t know what this is.” She shook the vial.

He shook his head, “I figure it’s the cause of my lapse in memory. Now I wonder what was in it and why I needed it,” He looked her over carefully, head to toe and back up again, “And why it seems tied to you.”

She pocketed the vial, though he wasn’t sure why she would want it, “Have you spoken with Rhyia today?”

Rhyia? “What does my sister have to do with this?”

“She accompanied me home, don’t give me that look- she snuck up on me. She told me that yesterday you asked for her assistance in acquiring something. A cure, of sorts.”

Cardan ignored the jealousy he felt against his sister-how unfair that she got to walk Jude home- and mused over Jude’s words. A cure… “I don’t recall being ill before last night.” He crossed his arms, watching her. Even the way she just stood there was astounding. He could look at her forever and it still wouldn’t be long enough to give her the attention she deserved.

“Well, you weren’t sick, exactly. You…wanted someone erased from your memory.” Her voice went quiet. Odd, from what he knew of her thus far, that seemed extremely out of character for her.

“That would explain the memory loss.” Horrible attempt at a quip, though her mouth quirked up at the corner, he got her to smile! Despite her obvious upset, his chest warmed. He wanted to see her grinning, to hear her laugh. Perhaps he would, one day.

“Yeah, well, it definitely did its job.”

It hit him, then. He had wanted to forget someone, his comrades had displayed obvious distaste for the Duarte twins even though Cardan could not recall ever meeting them. Rhyia had gone to Jude after their…talk in the woods, and Cardan hardly believed it had been Jude’s twin he had wanted to forget.

“You.” He said quietly, watching her shift her weight from one foot to the other, “I wanted to forget you?” He hardly thought it possible, she was a delight! He had never known what the missing piece of his entire existence had been until he laid eyes on her for the first time- ok, not first time, rather the first time he remembers. All the same, looking upon her beautiful countenance now, he could quite confidently declare his past self absolutely mad for attempting to purge her from his thoughts.

Jude shrugged and stepped closer, “I guess I was haunting you. And you don’t like knowing there is something out there that you can’t have.”

His heart plummeted. He wished it to soar at the obvious fact that she seemed to know him so well, however her words crushed the fragile hope that had been budding within him since he left her alone in the woods, “And I can’t? Have you?”

Her gaze was intense and piercing when it landed on his own. Again, he marveled at the color. The rich hues of brown one found upon the forest floor, the cracked deck of a mighty ship, all the copper and wood and soil of the earth blending together to solidify themselves in the alluring shade of her eyes. He couldn’t breathe.

She forewent answering his question, “Your sister told me there is a way to restore your memory, if you would have it.”

“Yes.” He found himself breathing, already enticed at the prospect of remembering this wicked girl before him. Obviously, his past self had been an idiot for trying to forget her. He cleared his throat, “What is it?”

She took another step, then another, stopping only when they were so close he had to tilt his head down to meet her eyes.

“I’m not sure it will work, but I know you’ll find it entertaining.”

Gently, he reached up to wrap a lock of her hair around his finger. She didn’t seem to mind as he asked again, “Is there a chance? That I could have you?” He’d never had anything solely his, never won affections simply because someone had cared for him. He knew if she could be that for him, he’d want for nothing more in his life ever again.

Slowly, she lifted a hand to his cheek. He found himself leaning into it readily as she pulled his face closer to hers.

She seemed to hesitate, considering something before she answered, “So long as I could have you.”

He would have answered, ‘Anything, you can have anything you want’ had she not closed the distance and pressed her lips to his.

~.~

The memories came rushing back all at once and they nearly knocked his breath out of his chest. But he only gave his history with his gorgeous villain a passing thought as more pressing matters settled themselves in the forefront of his mind.

Namely, the fact that Jude was kissing him. Jude. As everything he knew about her, about them fell into place he had to wonder if he was dreaming. But no. He’d imagined this very moment before and… It had all his hopes, his expectations paling in comparison to the actual sensation. She was warm and her mouth was soft even as she roughly slanted it against his own. Even when showing affection, she felt the need to be in control and he lent it to her willingly.

In the back of his mind, he recalled having always assumed that their first kiss would be intoxicating and drenched in delirium- why else would either of them fall into the other without a fight, if not for the moment being brought about by emotions stronger than they could contend with? And while it definitely lived up to that expectation, he had also always assumed it would be over rather quickly. That she would pull away abruptly, muttering about mistakes and small, ironic acts of vengeance.

That is where the likeness between imagination and reality broke away.

In reality, as soon as her mouth met his and she gave him a moment to feel the onslaught of memories, she stepped closer, forcing him to bend slightly to accommodate their height difference. The hand that had been resting on his face slid up, over the pointed tip of his ear and into his hair while her other arm fastened tightly around his shoulders, pulling him flush against her.

He fumbled for a moment- which was really something wasn’t it? Wasn’t he the more experienced of the two? How thoroughly she had undone him already!

Once his bearings were back intact, he slipped his arms around her waist, molding himself to her. He marveled at how seamlessly they seemed to fit together. A lock and- wait, no. No Locke. Two pieces of the same puzzle finally snapping into place.

His mind gave over to a blank sort of haze, melting along to the backdrop of her name looping around his thoughts, Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude Jude and for a bare moment he understood again why he had forced her out of his mind, for she was the only thing in the universe that had the power to drive him into pure madness.

He would happily crash into insanity now, with her wrapped around him, teeth tugging at his bottom lip demandingly. He obliged to her wishes, would cater to her every twisted whim if she would have it. One of his hands snaked into her hair as he deepened their kiss, he felt her fingers dig into his back harshly in response. He felt that should he die now, he would leave this existence fulfilled and whole.

Once the need for oxygen became unrelenting, he pressed his mouth firmly against hers, once more, and pulled away.

Again, his imaginings of this moment ended here or before, with her pulling away, that beautiful scowl etched across her perfect face, muttering foul and soul wrenching words like mistake and useless.

And again, reality outshone even the darkest parts of his mind. As soon as he pulled back, she stayed near a moment, waiting to see if he would come back. When he didn’t, she sighed through her nose, the sound almost content and she peered up at him.

His eyes locked on hers as she let her hands explore the breadth of his shoulders, the column of his neck which she glanced at briefly before her gaze snapped back to his own, full of something like longing.

When he didn’t move, said nothing, she tilted her head to the side as she tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. “Well?” was all she said.

It took him a moment to register what her meaning was. She wanted to know if he remembered her, their history. He blinked, “I…remember.” He stated cautiously. He couldn’t lie of course, but he almost wanted to. So terrified was he of what that knowledge would mean for them, for what had just transpired between them. His imaginings never prepared him for this.

Or for what she did next.

A smirk, more of a small smile, really, bloomed across her features. That in itself was jarring but since this was Jude and ambition was what drove her out of bed in the morning, of course she took it further than simply jarring. She leaned in again, placing a kiss to his cheek, along his jaw, his nose even, before she finally claimed his lips again. It was past shocking. Had he known memory loss would lead to this he would have sought out his sister for help much sooner.

Though really, why was she even doing this? Just yesterday she had been scowling at him every time they glanced at each other, just an hour ago she had been threating his life, warning him to back off. What had changed?

This, while thrilling, wasn’t ideal. Insecurity was not something Cardan was overly familiar with these days, not when it came to her. This information is what had him puling away gently, looking at her in earnest.

“Why the sudden interest?” He debated throwing a quip or scathing remark of some sort her way, a sudden and desperate need to get back to their malicious bantering washing over him, though he shoved the thought away. He was genuinely curious as to what changed her mind.

She shook her head as she finally left his embrace, “I had just been thinking and realized that somewhere along the way, strong feelings of hate had shifted into strong feelings of…something else.”

She looked put out at the thought that she had developed any sort of emotion for him other than contempt, but he had to agree with her sentiment. He bristled to think that that potion hadn’t done its job right, but it had done something. Before, he had been content to half-lie to himself, to convince himself so profoundly that he was not enchanted, mind and body and soul by this girl before him.

What was it Rhyia had said? It is an honor to be loved by a mortal.

Cardan felt that maybe there was honor in loving one, too.

He bit the inside of his cheek before asking, “And you meant what you said, before?”

So long as I could have you.

“Yes.” She sounded so sure. He liked to believe she wasn’t lying. She rubbed at the missing tip of her finger as she watched him, “So, where does that leave us?”

Bring him back to me when the effects of the… cure have taken hold. He’d gotten more than he had bargained for. He held out his hand to Jude.

She reached for it instantly and he tried not to let it show how deeply that affected him, his head already wanting to go fuzzy with nothing but the thought of her.

“I owe a visit to a certain imp.”

Fin

And that is that! Please let me know your thoughts! And I am so excited to be sharing again and looking forward to what I plan to write in the future☺️ (jeez it is so long I’m so sorry for everyone who has to scroll all this way😬😅)

Here is my tag list, as always please let me know if you would like to be added, I’m always excited when people ask me tag them and it is my greatest pleasure to oblige!❤️ (also- over 500 followers now? What!? You guys are amazing and I honestly don’t think I would have come this far without you guys! Sending all my love!🥰)

@maleckanejnessianjurdansolangelo @woodsbeyond1 @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @thewickedkings @aneurwin @snusbandxknifewife @jurdanhell @andromeddea @dressedindustandshadows @thesirenwashere @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @unidentifiedblackthorn @iminsanenotobsessed @df3ndyr @brittneyal @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @thefolkofthefic @yafandomsdotnet @fuzzypineapples @nahthanks @charrise @thefolkofthefic @theviolettulip @embersfromink @kittkatandbooboo

#cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #jurdan #the cruel prince #tcp #fic #long fic #a test in which I see how many times I can write Jude’s name without going insane myself

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angrylittletrashpanda · 2 years

Text

I’ll teach you a lesson you will never forget (pt.1)

ao3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/38947176/chapters/97405050

Summary: Jude x the Ghost crack fic, set during TWK. In this AU Locke commanded the Ghost to seduce Jude.

Baby Duarte has apparently taken her new code name too much to her heart. Garrett finds the mortal, chucking her way about the Court of Shadows pretty annoying and does not understand why Liliver and Van accepted the reign of the bossy girl, commanding them as if was she actually a queen of spies so easily. It is quite impossible to ignore Jude's ambition, so typical for the young, her capacity to lie as well as the girl's lively, resourceful intelligence, which obviously does not change the fact that the giddy, hot-headed mortal, who really has the makings of a fine spy, should focus on schooling rather than bossing around.

Jude still commits numerous mistakes. For instance, she should have checked whether the new king's private chambers were actually safe as soon as Prince Cardan was crowned. Garrett didn't even try to point this little yet extremely important detail out - if he advised her to do so, Lady the Seneschal would consider his remark as a gross personal insult, throw a tantrum and ignore his gesture of goodwill. Under normal circumstances Jude would be still an apprentice, gradually learning about the secrets on espionage, presumably also from her own mistakes… And yet the girl, unexpectedly raised up to power became an unnerving little tyrant who can't bear even the most justified criticism. It's a pity indeed, since she has always been a very apt student, even if Garrett never felt like complementing her more often than necessary. He also has to admit Baby Duarte is talented and resolute - she must know it very well and there is no point in repeating it time and time again. Just two or three weeks ago Jude used to attach great importance to her fellow spies' advice, but if someone dared to pick her up for something extremely foolish now, even in the most gentle way, the mortal would roll her eyes and announce that she is busy with learning how to be a good Seneschal rather than a prefect spy.

Oddly enough Liliver and Van have accepted this state of affairs - turns out they truly admire the mortal for her cleverness and speed of decision making. After all she managed to trick Prince Cardan into some ambiguous bargain the details of which they do not even know. All right, the young monarch is in her power, but you don't even have to be a particularly good observer to spot His Majesty is constantly making eyes to Baby Duarte. Well, some find striking ugliness fascinating, so who can possibly forbid the High King of fairies to pine for a plump, scruffy mortal?

And now... Garret has to pitch a woo to this moose, whose tousled hair and bitten fingernails disgust him beyond measure. He cannot bear a thought of touching Jude, who reeks of poison and sweat. Not that the girl is totally deprived of any allure - in the times of his youth such subtle, angelic faces, as well as eyes like hers, thick-lashed and gentle like eyes of a young doe were highly appreciated. Baby Duarte's determination and wit surely add to her charm. Fortunately she is not coquettish at all, what makes Jude pretty amiable, but unfortunately she is sloppy, moody and searches praise in everything she does. With the eyes of his imagination Garrett almost see how the mortal, sprawled on her back opens her short chubby legs up just like a huge frog and asks whether she is good enough to please him. Not a very pretty sight, really.

Some of her ideas, however, are quite reasonable yet it is just the execution that's lacking. For instance yesterday she decided to turn the deserted Hollow Hall over.

Yes, the imprisoned Prince Balekin surely has not only his henchmen, but also secrets aplenty hidden in his grandiose manor, so Garrett suggested he would head to this very mansion and tear it apart. For some reason Jude insisted on going there herself, but she agreed he accompanied her. "After all two heads are better than one," -the girl said with a smile. Yes, indeed. I's just a pity her own is so empty. Of course their pathetic foray has turned out to be the next opportunity for Jude to show how 'smart' she is. Garrett glances doubtfully at the mortal, lumpishly stepping on the wooden beams under the ceiling of the ball room. Of course she slips down, not focused enough on her task. Baby Duarte sucks her breath, but she does not give up - the girl just bits her lower lip and starts to crawl clumsily, sticking up her big, fat ass. So horrid. So grotesque. And now the Ghost has to walk beneath her way, his gaze fixed on Jude, in order to insure her. Not that he particularly enjoys staring at Baby Duarte's ass, does he?

"No secret corridors and stuff like that!" - she announces, loudly enough to awaken the dead.

"Well, get down here" - he answers quickly. The girl moves faster. "Hey, mind how you go!" - Garrett warns her, but Jude of course does not listen. After all he is just a century older than her. If the Seneschal falls, she will definitely break her bones. Well, maybe that's a lesson Baby Duarte will never forget? The mortal tries to leap down, as you might guess with the grace of an elk-cow. She is going to break her legs, sure as there's carts to horses. The Ghost sighs and extends his arms, trying to protect her fall. Quite successfully, as it turns out. To his surprise Baby Duarte hasn't rattled his bones with the weight of her fat ass. The girl, clinging to him is soft, soft on a high note, although her fingers are digging into his shoulder blades hard enough to cause pain. Jude's big breasts, pressed against his chest render to be very pert and mellow. Her eyes, seen at close quarters, have a deep color of honeydew honey. There is something disturbingly innocent in the girl's gaze, although she has at least one murder on her hands.

"Having a little scare will be really good for you, but watch out, or at least try to!" -the Ghost says, tightening his grip.

"I am not scared at all!" - Jude protests, although her accelerated heartbeat proves something completely different.

"Liar!" -he teases the girl, not letting her go, and oddly enough she even does not try to pull away. Garrett slides his hands down her back, more and more astonished. The thickness mortal's body is bewildering him more and more. It cannot be denied her hips are wider than the female faeries', not to mention this soft, agreeable weight of her full well-knit bosom. Turns out he was wrong thinking Jude is stout and heavy. If his hands were just slightly bigger, he would be able to close them around the small of her waist. Jude's wavy, unruly hair has a shine of polished bronze. Well, maybe today he would finally manage to carry out Locke's order.

Ballads and poems claim children are pure, innocent, defenseless and incapable of anything wrong. Admittedly no one but Grand General Madoc genuinely believes in such nonsense. Garrett neither had much to do with young ones, nor cared about them. He knows, however, that life of an orphan is particularly difficult, especially in Elfhame. After his father's death Garrett's mother had returned to the Seelie Court, where she used to be a lady-in-waiting, leaving her boy alone. Many years later the Ghost, absorbed with his spy work, never had time to think twice about this youthful, cold-blooded fairy woman, who couldn't stand looking at her son because merely the sigh of Garrett's face had made her heart twitch, reminding the lady of her deceased lover. There again, back in his childhood, the half fairy was in for either danger or pain.

He was neither proud nor woeful about poisoning Liriope, considering this murder as job like any other. The Ghost already had blood on his hands and killing one more debauched courtier should not have affected him... And yet he was wrong. Twelve-years-old Locke was concededly in far better situation than Garrett had been when his mother had left him – as Liriope's only child inherited his parents' estate and fortune, but taking the courtier's life, as well as killing her unborn baby, still bothered Garrett. Driven by remorse, the spy headed to Liriope's manor, where he found the boy playing in the maze and gave Locke his true name and offered protection.

Since then, Liriope's son has used the Ghost's true name just for his tricks, more or less cruel. It seemed almost useless so far - after all it was quite easy to make Nicasia cry even without using any kind of magic. Well, Garrett couldn't know that in his thoughts Madoc always calls Locke 'this little mischief-maker' or even ‘this little motherfucker’, hence the redcap truly hates the boy for taking his precious daughter’s virginity.

The Ghost didn't mind the boy's whims. All the petty dramas came out of spying on the noble fairy children, ridiculously long-tongued and imprudent, actually brought no real harm. Garrett guessed that Locke might want to play a trick on the High King, but he was pretty sure it would mean finding out and revealing some of Cardan's embarrassing secrets rather than stealing the girl he desires. After all Jude is so desperate to impress anyone that he wouldn't be surprised if a good half of the High Court has already tasted her. But now, looking down into those pure, nutbrown eyes Garrett starts to doubt his judgement about the Grand General's ward. Concededly her sweet, girlish face could be as mendacious as her human tongue. Garrett sighs and gingerly brushes the soft crook of Jude’s neck, peeking through her ridiculously shaped collar adorned with not much less ridiculous, greenish trim. Surprisingly the mortal’s skin is more delicate than any woman’s he know. The girl, visibly pleased with an unexpected caress, utters a satisfied moan and tilts her head back, baring her throat. Garrett’s fingers meet rough thread with dried rowan berries beaded on it. Without much thought the half-faerie pulls on it, tearing the necklace off.

“Jude Duarte, you are an idiot,” – he hisses, tightening his grip on her. “What have I always told you? Keep your eyes peeled, never let yourself be off your guard and don’t trust anyone. Mark my words, baby, unless you want to get into hot water,” – Garrett breathes, vainly seeking fear in dark eyes, staring back at him. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for a little human who lives among the faeries to wear no charms? I bet you simply forgot to put on any more but this pathetic rowan berry necklace, didn’t you?” Jude just purses her plump lips and says nothing. “Well, your silence is a confirmation enough. Do you realize that with a single command I can force you to commit truly heinous acts or even take your own life?” – he purrs, pulling the girl tighter to him. Baby Duarte gnashes her teeth and tries to stand back – to no avail, as it turns out. “You see? I don’t even need magic to make you do weird things against your will. And trust me, it may be much, much worse. Do you even guess how it feels to be a mere toy in the hands of a callous and unprincipled puppet master? Of course you don’t, Jude,” – he snarls. “After all you are almost a child, incapable of recognizing the real evil, even if it came straight to you,” – Garrett whispers. Baby Duarte tilts her head up and looks into his eyes.

“Yes, I actually felt relieved and honored to have a questionable distinction of serving Prince Dain. In my eyes he used to be an incarnation of chivalric virtues as well as political sagacity. Yes, I used to cherish illusion his accession would be the beginning of a golden era of the Isles of Elysium. Yes, I was - and still am – young, inexperienced and kind of naïve. But then, how would you call the ones who remained by Dain’s side even though they knew his true colors, his wicked artifice and countless crimes? The ones who had so great hopes for him that and tight their future to him so tightly that after his death they did not really know what to do with themselves? Call me gullible and inexperienced, but with all certainty, you won’t accuse me of fatuousness and insaneness. The night he was murdered I managed to keep my cool and came across with a better plan than giving up my hopes for a better future. Confused as I was, I had the gall to steal Balekin’s crown and thwart my father’s plot,” – the girl exclaims ardently. Garrett bits his lower lip, hardly keeping himself from laughing. It flashes his mind that Jude’s vivid reactions and hot temper are truly disarming… Just like her sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks.

“You are a very cunning little seneschal indeed,” -he admits reluctantly, loosening his grip enough to let Baby Duarte make a step back, then draws near. The girl moves backward – just like he has expected. “And yet, you ignore the most sensible pieces of advice so stubbornly, as if you were but a bratty child, who always knows better just because they are already seventeen. You and I both know things can't go on like this, Jude. Today I am going to teach you a lesson you will never forget,” – Garrett rasps, as the girl’s back hits the marble wall.

“Oh baby, what did I say about keeping your eyes peeled?” – he croons, and slightly pulls away, giving the mortal a chance to push him away… But Baby Duarte just clicks her tongue and audaciously tilts her head up.

“Yes, yes, you are right, you couldn’t be more right,” – she admits, reaching up on her tippy-toes. “It is known that I am a notoriously bad student and deserve the most severe of punishments.”

Garrett glances at Baby Duarte’s little heart-shaped face with mixed amusement and interest. No, he has never seen her like that – playful, good-humored and … visibly at ease. Such an agreeable change, really.

“It is the only hope to teach me anything, isn’t it?” – she teases. “Fess up, you want to do it for quite a while, don’t you?” Garrett looks down into Jude’s laughing eyes.

“You must be very brave or very stupid,” – he snorts, pushing the girl harder against the wall.

“Well, maybe I am both,” – Baby Duarte sighs, looking at him as if he was a particularly dumb child. It’s been all a bit much for him.

“But most of all, you are walking on a very thin ice,” – he hisses, peremptorily cupping Jude’s face. The girl gives him a quizzical glance. “Tell it to the hand, I’ve heard this like for a hundred times,” – she giggles. “I thought you'd be more creative than this, really. In spite of your youthful looks you are no longer…” – she does not finish the sentence, as Garrett presses his mouth against hers.

The mortal blinks her eyes in sheer astonishment. No one before has ever kissed her that hard. The half-faerie’s beautifully shaped lips turn out to be unapologetic, decidedly cruel, as if willing to subdue her. Jude gets a white-knuckle grip on his shoulders, she clings to the Ghost, as if he was the one steady thing in this insane, spinning world. She wants to give in to his rough caress, lose herself in the bruising kiss, and at the same time she does not. Their tongues fight, their teeth clash as they are trading vehement, frantic, frenzied kisses. Jude’s breasts, painfully taut are swell like a raging sea, as though the girl was struggling for a breath. The ghost’s lissome fingers tangle in her unruly locks, pulling on them hard enough to make her utter a muffled moan of mixed pain and pleasure. Thin fabric of her silk shirt – Oriana’s last gift to her - seems too rough, to coarse… The half-faerie holds her in a firm grip, kissing her fiercely, thoroughly, like there was no tomorrow. Jude blinks her eyes and snuggles up in his arms, her thigh brushes against his length... At this exact moment Jude Duarte, brave Lady the Seneschal, the Kingmaker and a brilliant strategist blushes then slightly pulls away, embarrassed to feel her lover’s arousal. Her back hits the cold wall again. The Ghost glances at her flushes face, pure mischief in his eyes, and yet his fingers gingerly trace her cheeks, wander down her neck now, they skim along her shoulders. Garrett's kisses become softer, more deliberate, more thoughtful, vaguely soothing. How could it be that a ruthless assassin, Dain’s right-hand man as well as her little brothers would-be murderer has such gentle, warm-colored eyes? Kiss me until I’m sick of it… Has she just found a cure for Cardan?

Garrett is truly surprised when Baby Duarte’s courage comes back to her. Jude shakes off her jacket and draws closer again, her little hands grab his hair, her mouth latch his lower lip, the girl begins gingerly sucking on it. It strikes him how innocent her kisses really are. Funnily enough Jude appears so endearingly oblivious to the fact that her touch can easily drive a man to despair. The half-faerie closes his eyes then grips her pert ass, completely taken aback with a jolt of pain when Baby Duarte’s sharp teeth sink into his lip. The girl breaks their kiss, chuckles and gives him a triumphant glance.

“Haven’t I told you I am a notoriously bad student?” – Jude purrs, playfully tugging on his collar.

“Well, well what else’s new?” – Garrett exclaims theatrically, keeping his eyes fixed on her sinfully innocent, soft lips, swollen with kisses and reddened with blood. “I haven’t given your silly words a second thought to be frank… Especially when I am dying to know what else your witty little mouth can do,” -he smirks, expecting Baby Duarte to blush and demurely lower her gaze, as befits a chaste little daughter of the noble Grand General. Nothing further from the truth! Jude just licks her lower lip, and gives him an impish smile.

“Pretty funny coincidence, don't you think?” – she asks, peering at him from under her thick eyelashes. “It just so happens I was wondering what else that wicked tongue of yours is capable of.”

#crack fic #jude duarte x the ghost #teacher/student relationship #fota #tfota #twk #fanfic

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anonniemousefics · 4 years

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The Nine Terrifying Moons | Chapter Three

Fandom: The Folk of the Air | Jude + Cardan

Synopsis: Based on the response to this post. :) Jude’s not sure what she expected motherhood to be like, but it isn’t this.

(SO MUCH FLUFF HERE. Really. Just. The fluffiest. I can’t help myself.)

Chapter Three: The Third

I think maybe I am meant to be a cautionary tale, not a happy ending.

I think that someone who has manipulated and lied and schemed as much as I have is destined only for tragedy.

And now it’s finally come for me.

I think this over and over again, like a spell I’m chanting to grant myself some measure of grim acceptance, while Cardan and I ride a ragwort horse all the way to the mortal realm. It’s the best course of action we can come up with in the moment of panic.

The moment I knew we were facing a potentially devastating complication, I wanted – no, needed – a human doctor.

Pregnancy is rare among the Folk, and I now find I’m not interested in trusting faerie midwives with a decidedly human condition. If there is something wrong with me, or with our baby, I want to know what it is, everything about it. I don’t trust anyone who might want to strike a deal for my child’s wellbeing or concoct some potion that, while saving the pregnancy, also gives our baby a third eye or snaggle-teeth or an appetite for blood. I’m also having flashbacks of a conversation long ago with Oriana, when she divulged details of Oak’s horrific birth. How there’d been complications that had cost Liriope her life. How Oriana herself had carved the baby out of her friend’s stomach.

I shudder hard at the recollection and press my cheek hard against Cardan’s back as we ride, my face between his shoulder blades. Hard pass. On every bit of that. Just – one massive hard pass. We are finding a real doctor.

Cardan didn’t even argue. Though he insisted it was time to tell The Court of Shadows, if only for safety reasons while we made an unannounced, unplanned emergency run to the mortal realm.

Nothing goes like either of us had hoped. There are no tears of joy. There are only tight, grim expressions and tense words while plans are made. How we will prevent our enemies from learning of the child and our absence. How we will remain protected while among mortals.

I have hardly a word of help to offer, and that alone is horrifying. I have always schemed and survived – it’s what I am. But there, instead, I can only sit with a hand at my flat stomach, my sole focus on willing this little rebel in me to hear her mother’s first command.

Don’t go. Please. I love you.

Please stay.

Please.

I’ve resented this for weeks, and now I’m begging for the nausea, the aches, the exhaustion to stay – all of it. Any reassurance that I’m not losing this newfound love before I’ve even really gotten to know it.

But I also wonder if I should just accept fate. I have always felt from the beginning that I did not deserve this. That I am stealing a happiness that I have not earned.

“How are you faring?” Cardan asks me over his shoulder, the whine of the wind in my ears. We’re somewhere over the sea, jostled by the roll of the ragwort horse’s gallop beneath us.

“The same,” I answer. Sick. Dizzy. Terrified of what comes next. Unconsciously, I grip his body to mine harder. He’s tense, every muscle on edge. This is unlike any journey we’ve made yet. There’s nothing to fight, and still everything to lose.

“Nearly there,” says Cardan, but it sounds like he’s saying it more for his own benefit. He hates the journey over the sea, the precariousness of ragwort horse travel. I’m not in any state to offer reassurances, or even tease him to lighten the mood.

Sure enough, the clouds part, and the city lights along the coast of Maine wink up at us. It’s evening, and dark beneath a heavy rain cloud, and as soon as we’re low enough, we’re being pelted with sheets of rain. By the time the ragwort horse alights its oaken-hooves on the pavement, Cardan and I are both soaked to the skin.

We dismount, invisible beneath a glamour, at the far end of a hospital parking lot. The sign at the entrance glows with a red cross and the name, Down East Community Hospital. It was the best I could think of to do at a moment’s notice: instruct the ragwort horse to find us an emergency room.

I wrap my arms around myself as Cardan holds out a hand to gather up the horse. The leaves of its mane and the bark-like coat of its body begin to curl in on itself, like a plant rolling in on itself for the night. A moment later, it’s only a few leafy twigs that Cardan can hide in his pocket.

We both look absurd, and I’m just now realizing it. We look like we’ve just run out of a community theatre dress rehearsal for a low-budget melodrama. Cardan’s tried to dress down, but he’s still Cardan, and he’s wearing tight black trousers and tall boots over his calves. He’s thrown one of the zip-up hoodies I keep in my wardrobe for trips to the mortal realm over a loose white shirt. He also must have been feeling particularly festive this morning after last night’s romp, and he’d gone and added a bit of kohl to his eyes before I’d woken up and shit hit the fan. And he’s still wearing gold rings all over his fingers and in his pointed ears. Combined with his soaked, inky hair, he looks a bit like a member of an 80’s rock cover band who’s recovering from being pushed into a pool.

It’s kind of nice. He rarely looks a mess. It makes me feel like we’re in this together, at least.

For my part, I didn’t let Tatterfell braid my auburn hair today, and now it’s just long and windblown, so I’ve tried to pull it all to one side to keep it managed. I’m wearing a simple pair of brown trousers with little silken flats that were my least flashy pair of shoes. I’ve got a shirt and olive-colored vest on beneath a hoodie similar to Cardan’s that was supposed to keep me warm, but now it’s sopping wet.

We both pulls the hoods on our sweatshirts up over our heads as we make a mad dash for the automatic sliding doors of the ER, racing against the onslaught of rain. Once we’re inside the vestibule between sliding doors, I stop a moment to grab Cardan’s arm and gather myself. He puts a bejeweled hand over mine, his expression tightened in concern.

“I’ve never done this before,” I confess, breathless. Hospitals, emergency rooms, doctors. It’s all foreign to me.

“I’ve done it even less.” Cardan’s looking more pale by the minute. The rising terror in both of us is palpable.

“I should call Vivi,” I spout, and Cardan’s nodding furiously in agreement, for once graciously not pointing out how he’s been saying this very thing for weeks.

But when I look around, there’s not a phone in sight. There’s only a poorly lit waiting room on the other side of the glass vestibule, and bored-looking nurses waiting at intake windows. Shit. Shit. How do mortals do this? How to they get treatments for mortal ailments and weaknesses and not fall to pieces fretting over their inherent, inevitable vulnerability in the process?

Suddenly, the surety of immortality is looking rather cowardly by comparison.

“Maybe one of the nurses will let me commandeer a phone,” I mutter, and I let my fingers slide from Cardan’s arm to his hand. My palm is starting to sweat when he laces our fingers together, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

The glass door to the waiting room slides with a hissing whisper, and inside there are people crowded in the cheap chairs lining the walls. Somewhere, a toddler is wailing out of sheer boredom while the evening news anchors jabber on a TV mounted in the far corner above a potted plant. Cardan’s already drawing stares with his ominous, messy appearance. He found a beanie in the pocket of the sweatshirt to cover the pointed tips of his ears, but there’s still kohl streaking his prominent cheekbones. I’m gonna need to clean him up at some point.

Right now, all I’m focused on is slipping into the first open intake seat and figuring out how in the hell I’m going to see a doctor for the first time in my mortal life. I am going to be brave. I have trained for nothing less.

“Hi, how can we help you today?” says a warm-looking middle-aged nurse behind the desk. She has short grey hair and floral scrubs, and a pair of readers perched on the bridge of her nose. Her badge says her name is Josie.

“Um.” My mouth feels dry, but I push on anyway. “I am—I am pregnant, and, um, I’m having some…” I draw in a shaking breath. Why is this so hard? “Some bleeding. I think I need to see a doctor right away.”

“Of course, honey,” Josie says, and peers over her readers. “Have you spoken with your OB?”

“I don’t have one,” I shake my head, my face starting to flush as Josie’s concern increases. I’ve never felt like I belonged in the mortal realm, and it’s never felt more apparent that I’m an outsider.

“Okaaay,” Josie says, slowly, adjusting her readers as she turns to her computer. “Let’s get you registered. Name?”

I hesitate again. I’ve never given my name in any sort of official capacity here among mortals. Especially not since I’d gotten married. What do I want to be called?

“Jude Duarte-Greenbriar,” I hear myself answer. From the chair beside me, Cardan titters a little amused laugh to himself and then bites it back when I shoot him a look. He likes the sound of it, too.

“Okaaay,” Josie says again, pecking at her keyboard. “I’m gonna need you to spell that for me, honey.”

I appall Josie further as the registration process yields the fact that I have neither a driver’s license nor an insurance card. With each of Josie’s judgmental sighs, I can sense Cardan stiffening with repressed irritation next to me, and it’s only stressing me out more. I should have had a talk with him first about promising not to curse anyone. I’m half-expecting Josie to sprout cat ears at any minute.

“While we can’t legally decline services based on insurance,” Josie says, doing little to suppress her concern, “I will need you to sign this agreement that says you understand that, since you are not presenting insurance today, you will be personally responsible for the entire cost of today’s visit.” And she shifts a clipboard toward me.

“Oh, look, love,” Cardan suddenly chimes in. He slides a wet leaf from his pocket across the registration desk as his voice takes on the heady, dangerous quality of magic. He’s conjuring a glamour. “I think you can see all of the insurance information you require here.”

“Oh, good, you found your card!” Josie exclaims, delighted, as she takes the leaf and begins happily clacking away at her keyboard.

“Do not get carried away,” I hiss at Cardan while Josie’s distracted. “That should be a one time thing.”

But Cardan just slits his kohl-lined eyes at me, looking like the smug bastard he’s always been, and leans an elbow on the registration desk, throwing Josie a coy smile. The glamour in his voice when he speaks again is just as sinfully seductive.

“And Josie, my sweet,” he says, “you’ll let my wife borrow your phone to speak with her sister, won’t you, dearest?”

“Of course, Mr. Greenbriar,” Josie replies, with the charmed-sweet smile of the glamoured. She shifts her desk phone to me, handing me the handset. “Just press nine for outgoing calls, honey,” she tells me.

I’m frowning at Cardan’s wicked smirk as I accept the phone.

“I don’t think that was entirely necessary,” I whisper to him while Josie types away. He grins at me. I don’t really want to admit that he’s just been pretty useful, and he knows it.

Regardless of how ill-gotten this privilege is, I do need Vivi. I dial her cell phone, one of two numbers I know, and wait while it rings.

And rings.

“She might be screening her calls,” I say to Josie, sheepishly. “Her father is…” Oh, how to describe what Madoc is like these days. “…over-bearing and tricky.” And I hang up and try again. Josie gives a tight, uncomfortable smile, peering over her readers.

“You are not concerned about how unusual this is,” Cardan tells her, the glamour dripping off his voice, and I smack his arm to get him to stop. Josie settles again as the phone keeps ringing.

I have to hang up and dial two more times before Vivi finally picks up. She sounds irritated when she answers.

“Vivi, this is Jude,” I say, slumping in relief that she’s finally answered.

“Jude? Seriously? What?” The annoyance in her voice vanishes as she’s scrambling to understand. “You’re calling me? Where are you? Are you ok?”

“I’m at the Down East Community Hospital emergency room,” I say. “Can you come?”

“Oh, my God.” It sounds like Vivi’s suddenly frantically looking for her keys. “Yes, I’m coming. I’ll be there. Why are you there? What’s going on?”

“It’s a lot to explain over the phone,” I say, slowly, white-knuckling the handset. “I’m ok, and Cardan’s here, but I just really need you.” I hate it more than anything, but I can’t keep the frightened younger sister out of my voice now that I’m actually talking to Vivi about this. The first rush of relief hits me when Vivi replies without hesitation:

“Ok. It’s gonna be ok. I’m on my way.”

I let out a long breath as I hand the phone back to Josie.

“The nurse will call you back when they’re ready for you,” says Josie, and gestures to the crowded waiting room. “Have a seat.”

“Or--” Cardan starts, leaning forward, and I know he’s about to throw out another glamour to speed things along. In the blink of an eye, I clap a hand over his mouth before he can say another word.

“Thank you,” I tell Josie, through a gritted smile, and urge Cardan to move along.

“Your moral stance on glamours ought to have a loophole where our child is concerned,” Cardan gripes as we shuffle to the nearest available two chairs.

“You Folk are like addicts with glamours,” I snap back as we take a seat. “You don’t know when to stop.”

“I believe I’ve proven myself capable of great restraint,” Cardan says, looking miffed for a moment until a People magazine on a nearby table catches his eye and his curiosity of mortals gets the better of him.

He has the right idea, I think. Distraction would be the key to getting my mind off the blood and not falling apart right now. I’ve done everything I can at this point, and now we must wait.

I busy myself for a moment by wrapping the cuff of my sleeve over my fingers and wiping off the rain-splattered streaks of kohl off Cardan’s face, so that the father of my child looks less like the troubled D-list celebrities his People magazine is trashing. He’s not drawing any less attention, but there’s not much either of us can do about that. If you’re not accustomed to the allure of the Folk, it’s nigh impossible to not stare and stare and try to decipher what it is about them that’s so otherworldly. But at least now they’re staring for the right reasons and not at his ruined eyeliner.

With nothing more at arm’s length to distract me, I rest my head against the wallpaper behind me and let my vision go unfocused in the general direction of the TV in the corner. I don’t want to think about the whining toddler in the room, who’s mad at his mother for not bringing the right stuffed animal with them to the hospital. What would I do with a half-human child in Faerie who fell ill or wounded? What would we do? Would the land let Cardan heal him? Would we have to make this journey again? What if I forgot the right stuffed animal, too??

Amazing that I’m suddenly assuming this child is going to survive whatever’s happening now, I realize, and this worry spiral is helping no one.

Once upon a time, I’d been the girl determined to become a thing feared. What has happened inside me, that I’m now this terrified woman? I hate it. I hate it, and I don’t know how to stop it.

“You’re not afraid of that everything will change?” I remember asking Cardan, three moons ago. I had thrown out the last of my birth control that day. We’d snuck away from a revel to lie beneath the massive tree that grew out of the top of the palace of Elfhame, staring at the stars above and dreaming of what they could hold.

Cardan looked to me, his hands behind his head in the loam, his crown slightly askew. He smiled, and the moonlight made him almost too beautiful to bear.

“I cherish every change you’ve ever brought me, Jude,” he said, and he stretched out a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers softly lingering at its rounded edges. “I don’t see why this should be any different.”

“You’ve not always felt so gracious about the changes I’ve foisted upon you,” I pointed out. “And you don’t get to exile me now if my parenting pisses you off.”

I’m not sure what I thought he’d think of such a statement, but it was out in the night air anyway. His gold-rimmed eyes darkened as he pulled his hand back, folding it over his chest. I watched him as he stared up at the stars again, waiting for his response, and with each second, regret began to sink in.

“I consider myself fairly thick-skinned,” he said at last, “but that was uncalled for.”

“I was teasing--” I started, but he shot me a dark look.

“There was a measure of truth in your voice,” he countered. “You don’t lie as well as you think you do.”

“I don’t see what you’re so put out about,” I huffed, pulling back to glare at the night sky. “You weren’t the one living in exile.”

“Not this again,” Cardan groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Five years, Jude. It’s been five years,” he sighed into his palms.

“And now we’re discussing children, and it’s a very large and potentially aggravating change,” I said. “Maybe I am a little wary.”

“Of me?” The moment I saw the unguarded devastation on Cardan’s face, it was like I’d slapped him, and not in the fun way. I wanted to be swallowed down by the loam, covered in a grassy grave. Everything about this was awful. I wanted children with this man. Why was I dredging up ancient history?

But Cardan had been right. There’d been a measure of truth to it. It’s been a deliriously wonderful five years, but we are not entirely new people. We have a terrible past. And I feared what demons a significant change like this could summon.

When I didn’t answer right away, Cardan sat up so his back was to me, burying his head in his hands.

“Cardan…” I shifted so that I was propped up on my hands.

“What else can I give you to make this right?” he fretted to the ground in front of him. “I have given you everything. Every part of me, everything you see before you. It was wrong for both of us to take our games as far as we did, but I would have thought by now--”

“It was an off-handed comment made in poor taste.” I wanted to put a stop to everything that was happening. Rewind the whole evening.

Instead, he looked over his shoulder at me, visibly aching.

“I will not be like my father. I refuse it,” he retorted, and when I cocked my head to the side, not understanding, he went on. “Eldred collected consorts and sired children the way some people curate shoes: to suit his vanity. And I have that in spades already; there’s no need to spawn more. What I would want for a child, more than anything, is to not know what it is to grow up as an accessory. To not fear that his mother will be discarded. Jude, if you cannot trust so little of me, then this is poorly timed. Perhaps we need another five years. Or ten. Or however long you require.”

I sat up and scooted next to him, tucking my chin against his shoulder.

“I trust you,” I assured him in a whisper, and, as if he couldn’t help it, his eyes closed as he leaned his head towards mine. He smelled like oakwood and leather, like everything I’ve ever wanted. “I would not still be with you if I did not trust you.”

I wanted to push back the thick curls from his forehead, and so I did. And held my palm against his jaw as I leaned my forehead to his while the stars twinkled overhead.

Five years later, and sometimes we’re still finding little bits of armor that need to come off. For me, becoming a fearsome thing is not an option for handling motherhood, just as Cardan refuses to mirror his father’s vanity. But when I take off this bit of armor, this need to be feared and respected, it feels as if there is nothing underneath yet. Only vulnerability. Only terror.

I think of it now, in the ER waiting room of the Down East Community Hospital, while I snake my arm through his, looking at him while he’s ogling People magazine. He looks a mess, and there is no one I trust more. I’m still not convinced we’re shining examples of excellent would-be parents. But I’m afraid and vulnerable in the worst ways, and there’s no one I’d rather see me through it.

“Eldred would never have done something like this for any of his consorts,” I point out to him in a whisper, and he looks back at me with a pleased smirk.

“You are my wife,” he indicates, and gives my cold knuckles a swift kiss before turning back to whatever filth is engrossing him in People.

“Jude Duarte-Greenbriar?” There’s a nurse at the emergency room door calling my name. I draw in a breath. Here we go.

The nurse in blue scrubs takes my vitals and makes us somewhat comfortable in a makeshift space where we’re surrounded by taupe-colored curtains on three sides while I wait on a hospital bed. There’s a squeaky grey plastic chair for Cardan to sit on, and no more TV or People magazine – just the assurance that a doctor will see me soon. And then we’re left with our dread to stare at the taupe curtains around us, listening to the squeak of hurried shoe soles against linoleum and the occasional beeping of hospital pagers. The air is acrid, like someone’s tried to scrub it clean, and it’s making my stomach lurch. It must show on my face as I swallow hard against the rising bile, because Cardan swiftly hands me a blue plastic barf bag that the nurse has left him in charge of. He’s wary of my empty threats to aim for his shoes.

“Jude, are you decent?” calls a voice from the other side of the curtain. “You have visitors.”

The curtains scrape against their tracks on the ceiling, and I can’t hold back a relief grin at the sight of Vivi and Heather.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” It’s all Vivi can say as she sweeps in to wrap me in a hug.

“Hey,” Heather graciously greets Cardan while the two are awkward to the side. She’s looking effortlessly cool, with her shoulder-length pink hair in soft waves. She has holes in her jeans in all the right places, and she’s wearing a breezy, colorful boho top that shows off her brown shoulders. I try to give her a wave while Vivi is squeezing the life out of me.

“What are you doing here?” Vivi demands when she pulls away, holding me by the shoulders. She’s given her golden hair a short, edgey chop that almost hides the pointed tips of her half-fae ears when it falls the right way. She tends to favor t-shirts and jeans, but today she’s in tight black pants and a grey v-neck under a jacket, and I’m hoping I haven’t interrupted a date.

“Well.” I shift a glance between the two of them, simultaneously gladdened that they’re here and nervous with how I now I have break the news. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out…” And then Vivi gasps.

“Are you pregnant?!” she squeaks.

“Oh, my God, V,” Heather rolls her eyes. “You can’t ask people if they’re pregnant.”

“She’s right, though,” I interject. “I am.”

“Jude!” Vivi exclaims, fondly, and takes my face in her hands, and, for a brief moment, I realize this is all I’ve been wanting for weeks. I grin, sheepishly. Then Vivi narrows her cat-like eyes at Cardan.

“You knocked up my sister?” she jabs.

“Bold of you to assume it’s mine,” he quips back, and Vivi feigns a disgusted gasp as throw the empty barf bag at him.

“Force of habit,” Cardan tells Heather with a shrug.

“Congratulations, Cardan,” Heather replies, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“But why are you here?” Vivi turns to me again. “Does Taryn know? Does Madoc?”

“No on both counts,” I shake my head. “It’s early. And we’re here because--” Ugh, I hate this. I hate this. “I started bleeding.”

“Oh, no.” Heather’s face is etched with genuine concern. It’s been a roller coaster of a few minutes.

“But why are you here?” Vivi tries again, and I see what she’s getting at. Why not be seen to by the royal midwives?

“I’m mortal,” I say, quietly. “This is a mortal thing. I felt like I needed a mortal doctor.”

And Vivi takes my face in her hands.

“I completely, one-hundred-percent agree,” she says, whole-heartedly, and there’s relief there, too. She’s always wanted me to spend more time in the mortal realm.

We crowd around the hospital bed for a while to catch up. Heather makes a run to the vending machine to bring back some snacks, and soon the tightness in my chest is releasing and unwinding. This was the distraction I needed. For a few minutes there, I could almost forget what had brought us to this weird, curtained-off corner to begin with.

But then the curtain scrape on the track again. There’s an orderly waiting there in blue scrubs, pushing a wheelchair.

“They’re ready for you in ultrasound now, Jude,” he tells me, and indicates that I’m supposed to ride in the chair. I bristle at the gesture. I’m not sure of the last time I’ve been asked to do something so vulnerable and humiliating. I am not ill. I don’t need this.

Vivi notices and puts a hand at my arm.

“It’s just standard hospital procedure, Jude,” she says, in her tone of voice she uses to convince Oak to eat vegetables.

So I comply. Heather and Vivi tell us they’ll wait for us to get back, and then we’re off. Cardan follows the orderly, and every once and awhile, I hear him having to jog to catch up – he’s easily distracted by what all the mortals are up to in this place.

I’m wheeled into a dark room with an exam table. Next to it is a bunch of strange equipment I’ve never seen before – screens and wands and all sort of buttons. A technician waits for us there, a woman in pink scrubs with a badge that says her name is Brenna. Her dark, curly hair is pulled back tight against her scalp, and she has kind brown eyes that smile when she tells me to make myself comfortable on the exam table.

“And is this Dad?” Brenna wants to know, cheerfully waving Cardan in to have a seat on a grey plastic chair next to me.

“Not my dad,” I say, not understanding the question at first. Then it dawns on me. “I mean, he’s the father, yes. Of the baby.” Oh, my God. This is off to a great start. Cardan’s trying very hard to not laugh outright at me and failing miserably. His laugh comes out like one long snort.

“Happens all the time,” Brenna says, with another cheerful wave, which makes me wonder why she’s still asking it, then.

“First baby?” Brenna now wants to know, making small talk while she’s queuing up her equipment.

“First everything,” I reply, hoping that will explain my nerves. “First baby, first ultrasound, first try.”

“Oh.” Brenna sounds impressed and looks to Cardan as she wheels around in her swivel chair. “Nice shootin’, Tex,” she tells him, with a wink.

“Thank you, Brenna,” Cardan accepts graciously, puffing out his chest a little. I roll my eyes.

“This may be the only time I’m ever complimented on my marksmanship,” he tells me. “Let me have this moment.”

“All right!” Brenna interrupts. “Let’s see what you’re cookin’ in there, mama.”

She rolls up my shirt and tucks in some scratchy paper into my leggings. Then squirts some cold gel across my abdomen. I watch in fascination while she rolls her device over my stomach, and then she turns her screen to us.

“And here’s your little guy,” she says. “Or gal. Can’t tell yet, obviously.”

For a moment, time stops.

Next to me, Cardan draws in a breath.

Something squirmy and alive curls and stretches in the grainy black and white pixels of Brenna’s screen. It doesn’t look quite human. Or fae. It looks kind of alien, if I’m being honest. But I can see its tiny limbs and the outline of its perfectly round head, and it’s moving. Like a manic little seahorse, our little shrimp is bobbing all over the place, alive and well.

“Looking good,” Brenna says, and Cardan barks out a surprised laugh. I’m smiling so hard my face might break.

“Oh, I was sure I’d stabbed it,” Cardan sighs in relief, slumping in his seat, and it’s my turn to laugh.

“That’s not actually possible,” Brenna tells him, and maybe now he’ll believe it. “Let’s see if we can hear the heartbeat.”

She clicks and clacks at some buttons, then turns a knob. Pushes a little harder on my abdomen.

A fluttering, steady whooshing sound fills the speakers in the room. I don’t know when I grabbed Cardan’s hand, but I’m squeezing it hard now. I glance at him. He’s utterly transfixed on the screen, his dark eyes wide, his lips parted. He looks like how I feel when I’m in bearing witness to great and ancient magic.

This isn’t all vomit and exhaustion. This is happening. This is real.

We are making something new. Something entirely unique. Like magic.

“Ok, this might be your issue.” Brenna breaks the enchantment, zooming in on something dark on her screen. My heart, which moments before felt like it might burst, squeezes and contracts in panic now.

“This is a sub-chorionic hematoma,” she says, pointing to the screen and making some notes. “The doctor will explain all this to you.”

“What is it?” Cardan’s voice is tight, panic thinly-veiled. “Is it dangerous?”

“They’re pretty common,” says Brenna, not looking at us while she takes measurements and notes. Like she drops these kinds of bombs regularly. “It’s basically an accumulation of blood between the uterine wall and the fetal membrane. It can cause bleeding, especially as the baby gets bigger and jostles it around. They usually resolve without much issue.”

“Usually?” Cardan’s not assuaged.

“Well, again,” Brenna says, looking at him sidelong, “the doctor will read this and give his advice. But it can increase the risk of miscarriage in some cases. Not always, though. The doctor will tell you how he wants you to treat it, but it usually involves some bed rest or limited activity, nothing too strenuous or crazy. Don’t go horse-back riding!” And she laughs as if only a crazy person would get on a horse while pregnant.

I look to Cardan. He looks to me. It’s hit us at the same time.

The ragwort horse.

How the hell are we getting home?

“Huh.” I barely had time to digest my realization about the ragwort horse before Brenna was back with more. She swivels the device on my stomach around some more. Cocks her head to the side.

“Are either of you a twin?” she asks.

Cardan points at me like I’ve done something wrong he doesn’t want to be blamed for.

“Why?” I ask, slowly, cautiously.

“It does run in families,” Brenna says, and turns the screen to us again. “And I’m seeing two babies here.” She looks back at Cardan. “And on the first try, Tex,” she says, looking impressed again.

Now, nothing feels real. I think I might leave my body. There are two squirmy aliens in the black and white screen, the lazier of the two now floating into view. Brenna adjusts the knobs some more to bring the new heartbeat into focus, just as strong as the first.

“Jude.” I can’t decipher what Cardan’s feeling now. He looks unlike I’ve ever seen him before. Something between elation and sheer dread is warring between his wide eyes and furrowed brow. He grips at the beanie over his hair like he’s trying to keep his own head from flying off.

“Are you and your twin identical?” Brenna asks. I nod, stupidly.

“These, too,” she nods, and points at the screen. “See: they’re sharing a sac.” She draws in a deep breath. “This does elevate the risk more, with the hematoma. The doctor will go over all of this with you. But I’ll bet he’ll want you on some kind of bed rest. Weekly check-ups. That sort of thing.” And then she squints hard at the screen. “What is that?” she wonders aloud. “Is that a tail?”

“You don’t see a tail,” Cardan says, but he’s so flustered and shell-shocked, he’s forgotten to use the glamour.

“I think I might, though.” Brenna squints harder.

“You don’t see a tail,” Cardan says, louder and hurried, this time with the weight of magic heavy in his tone. “Everything you see looks normal to you.”

A glamoured smile flutters over Brenna’s pleasant features as she lifts the device from my belly and clicks off her equipment.

“Everything looks normal,” she hums, happily. “Congratulations, you two.”

“Everything but the hematoma, right?” I cock my head to the side as she rolls away her swivel chair. “The doctor will speak to us about that.”

“What hematoma?” Brenna’s still smiling as she stands with her clipboard. “Everything looks normal. I’m going to call an orderly, but pretty much you’re free to go. Congratulations!”

“Cardan,” I accuse under my breath as she leaves, leveling a glare at him.

“You are carrying twins.” He’s just agape at me, either unaware or unrattled by how the poor wording in his glamour just muddled everything.

“The doctor won’t know about the hematoma now!” I exclaim.

“We’ll scrounge up another one somewhere,” Cardan waves me off. “Jude. Twins.”

It’s not helping me feel any better, him saying it over and over again. I slump into my hands, weighted by disbelief and frustration. What am I going to do? This can’t possibly be real, can it?

“I am going to get so huge,” I moan into my palms in self-pity. I know it’s vain, but at the moment, it’s all I can think. In the land of willowy Folk, I already stick out like a sore thumb. Now I’m going to be a sore and massively swollen thumb.

Cardan’s shifted to stand in front of me on the exam table. And he runs his hands up and down my arms, almost reverent.

“You are magnificent,” he reassures me, softly, and presses a kiss against my head.

“Why are you not freaking out?” I ask, and pull him by the hoodie pockets so I can hug him again if I need it. I think I may need it. “This is two babies. We don’t even know Thing One about taking care of one baby, and now there will be two.”

“We may require a few more house cats,” Cardan jokes, and when I scowl, he asks, “That’s still not amusing? I shall persist. One of these days.”

“You know, I hear that’s a mortal fatherhood trait,” I point out. “Persisting over and over with the same unamusing joke to the embarrassment of everyone around you.” And I wrap my arms around his waist as I look up at him. He’s warm, and everything is a little more bearable when he’s close and smiling.

“I think you are implying that I’m excelling at fatherhood so far,” Cardan grins down at me, and I’m surprised to see it looks as if his gold-rimmed eyes are glistening.

“Are you all right?” I ask, softening at the sight. He blinks, furiously, as he buries his long fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck, holding me close as he looks over my face.

“I just--” His voice is hoarse when he starts, so he clears it and tries again. “This is more than I ever dared to consider,” he says. “I did not dream that this kind of life would ever be an option for me. Family that looked after each other, that loved each other – that always seemed to me to be a strictly mortal gift. As if the Folk had bargained for everlasting life long ago and forsook all hope of familial love in the process. I had accepted that it wasn’t mine to have. But you.”

He shifts his hands so that he holds my face, and I feel swallowed by the adoration in his admission. All I can do is close my eyes as he holds me. I can think of nothing else when his nose brushes my forehead.

“I am overcome by all you have given me,” he whispers, and I think I might cry. My hands twist in the fabric of the sweatshirt he wears.

“I love your words,” I whisper back, “but you give me too much credit.” I pull back to look at his mirthful, glistening eyes and say: “If it were left up to me, I would never have given you twins.”

He laughs outright, unguarded and thrilled.

“Lucky for me, then,” he says, and kisses me.

I have kissed him hundreds, maybe thousands of times. We have shared passionate, unbridled kisses and desperate, devouring kisses. We’ve kissed at quick partings, and we’ve kissed with soft, gentle comfort. I like everything about them all. But this is something entirely new, something that surprises me still. It’s filled with gratitude and promises and dreams of the future, and though it is intimate, I would not have felt ashamed if someone had walked in.

It’s the kiss of complete trust, and in that moment, I feel assured that, in Cardan, I have not made a mistake. There is much to figure out still. But this is right.

So, we will have twins. I will meet this challenge with resolve. For right now, anyway, the quantity of babies is the least of our concerns.

“How in the hell am I supposed to get home?” I ask, the moment we pull apart. Cardan rests his hands on my shoulders, screwing up his beautiful mouth in thought. The ragwort horse. The bed rest. The doctor we must scrounge up somewhere. There are a dozen new bullets swirling on a to-do list, and none of them lead us back to Faerie any time soon.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” he confesses. “Which further complicates matters, because there is absolutely no chance that I am leaving you here.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” I say, and press back a smile. “And also glad,” I add.

Cardan meets my smile with a little wicked smirk of his own.

“Is it time we scheme together once again?” he asks.

We cannot get home until this is resolved, and we cannot leave Faerie ungoverned. I have no idea where to even start on this problem.

But that’s certainly never stopped us before.

There’s a knock at the door. The orderly has arrived with the wheelchair to take us back to Vivi and Heather. I give Cardan a secret, knowing smile.

“I suppose it is,” I agree.

-----------------------------

Tag list! Let me know if you’d like to be added: @yellowavocadopit, @dagypsygirl, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @booklover-sleeplover, @mwejh, @courtofjurdan, @faeriequeenofwest, @sugawsites, @loveyourselfsolid, @owl0y0s, @feelinglikecleopatra, @akaloto, @charrise, @persephxnecoven, @raging-bisexual-alert, @rteme, @nahthanks, @emmabookworm08, @elorcanislife, @snusbandxknifewife, @poeticbrownmermaid,

#the folk of the air #tfota #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jurdan #jurdan fanfic #vivienne duarte #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #post-qon #babies!#baby fic #pregnancy fic #fluff #jurdan fluff

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divinerivals · 4 years

Text

Fire Like Sin

Written for @fateandluminary

Prompt Request: Jurdan- “Horns”- Bryce Fox

I basically listened to this song on repeat until I stopped typing.

WARNING NSFW CONTENT BELOW

******************************************************

Cardan strode into the heady club, smoke swirling around him as he moved passed the hoard of desire-driven patrons. This was madness, utter madness. If they were going to make a break for it, it was the only way.

The first time he watched her wrapped that damned silken leg around the silvered pole as she spun round and round. Her hair cascading down to the stage and two makeshift horns styled atop her head, he had become entranced. Then her bronzed eyes locked on to his. From the moment they made contact on that fateful evening she had damned the very air he breathed. It was like the black mark on his soul had a match with the then stranger. The first month of her dancing he watched her in an obsessive annoyance as she had called it. He recognized the anger and fury roiling in her. The cold as ice blood and stone heart too. Cardan knew it so well because he was the same on the inside. Just a pit of blackness using his tongue, liquor, and sex to get through his fucked up life. Until her.

Several months ago, Jude Duarte cornered him in a private room saved for the higher paying customers. They argued, voices hoarse as screaming at each other. Over a patron who touched her in a way that made Cardan’s blood boil. He had no grounds to step in. He should have let her make the mistake, yet he couldn’t help it. The youngest Greenbriar chose to express it as Jude being property to not be touched. That she belonged to the Hollow, to his brother Balekin. Until she paid off her debt. And no one was to touch her less they pay for it. Locke was a dirty patron Cardan knew didn’t pay it. Jude raised her hand, striking him across the cheek. Every fiber of being filled with heat and lust. It was then Cardan realized he was insane. The smart thing would’ve been to get Balekin. He did no such thing. She was his tinder, and he, her flint.

Cardan gripped her arm, then the flint struck against tinder, igniting the sparks that led to burning flames. Crushing his mouth onto hers, bruising those lips he’s dreamed of since he first saw them. those smooth lush lips and the teeth behind them that grazed and pulled on his own. She never backed away. Only pushing into him further and further. He could taste the want and desperation on her as her tongue rolled around his. The need to feel alive. They were alone and he opened the way for Jude to get everything she needed. At that time it meant nothing. He meant nothing. Cardan didn’t care how or when she wanted him. All he knew was she was a tempting sin that he couldn’t resist. Horns like a devil, mouth as wicked as one too. He would sell his darkened soul to this she-devil if only to experience this high again and again.

He was undone. Forever.

Now he sits in the same leather seat that started this all. The very same that begun his fascination with her. When all he did was pleasure himself to wicked thoughts of her body and his. To bringing those dreams to life where they both used each other's bodies purely for distraction. The feelings, the deep-seated affection, and love came after. Until Balekin found out and Cardan was attacked brutally by him. Struck repeatedly till his bones screamed in agony for sleeping with his brother’s prized dancer. Balekin tripled her debt to a price even Cardan couldn’t pay off. Cardan was stuck in the hospital for a week as he and Jude discussed plans to leave Insmire behind and for good. Jude wanted to kill the bastard for what he did to Cardan. His face swollen and bloodied so badly she hardly recognized the devastatingly handsome features underneath. Cardan said no. He didn’t want his brother’s death on her hands nor did he want them to be running all their lives. Cardan had enough money for them to leave Elfhame and the city of Insmoor behind. To live on a new continent where the name Greenbriar was just another name.

On the outside, he looked calm and ready for this. To bolt like hell when her dance was done. On the inside he felt the burning rise of bile, his stomach churning and anxiousness rippling through his veins. After this, they would be freed from a hellish paradise to a heavenly one. Cardan was sure after the grueling and horrid things he and Jude have done in their lives that neither deserves such a thing. They didn’t care, They were sneaking their way out to freedom. Lights turned low as the deep red lights shined on the black curtain before him. The bass began to fill the room vibrating within his chest. Cardan had to stifle the grin when he heard the song play. Horns, the one he played for her in his apartment claiming it reminded him of her. Of how it described the way she burst into miserable life, She laughed crawling on top over his lap, taking him to the hilt.

Cardan shook away from the pleasurable memory. This wasn’t the time to reminisce he needed to keep alert and focused. Hell, he hadn’t even touched his wine, only ordering for show. The curtains pulled apart and there his wonderfully wicked lady stood. Her last and final dance, she was to make a show of it. As the bass thundered around them, Cardan only saw her, as he knew she did the same. Mother above the costume choice, Jude truly took the song and magnified it. Hair darkened by the light fell in long waves, except for those horns of hers styled upward with a slight edge. Desperately he longed to grip her hair of horns and fuck her ruthlessly. That would come later when they were safely away.

She sauntered down the shimmering black catwalk in eight-inch heels that melded from red to black and red again. His darkened gaze followed up from her accentuated legs to barely-there garment hugging on her hips, showing off the curves of her ass and hips for all the world to see. Her breasts generously spilling over from the center of the bra, if one could call it that. Both pieces black with a glittering crimson throughout. Good. She kept it as practical as she could without raising too much attention. Jude’s lips were of the deepest scarlet, and eyelids covered in the darkest of blacks. Her gaze met Cardan’s as is if to speak one single word.

Soon.

Yes, soon they would be away from abusive family and men who leered at Jude while she moved her body in tantalizing ways. Wishing to eat her alive. What these men didn’t know, was Jude would do the same and leave their corpses in her wake. In minutes they would be away from here and the grimy streets of Insmoor City. Jude reached up to the top of her pole and begun her dance.

Her legs spread wide, for her audience. The whistles came and so did the money being thrown to the stage as he wrapped her legs around the pole, arching her back upward. Her palms trailing up the expanse of her body grasping her breasts in the movement. Winking and blowing kisses at no one in particular. She was making it difficult for him to focus. With the way, she grasped at her soft mounds. The same way Cardan did when he plowed into her and Jude’s leg wrapped around him. His mouth hot on her neck. He shook his head once more watching with wanton intensity. Listening to people around him shouting at her to remove more. He fought the envy roiling inside him at the demanding, pleading requests. Cardan watched her glide round and round on the pole like it was a slide. She gripped the metal once more flinging her body around and curling herself inward before slipping to the stage. On all fours she crawled towards him, eyes sharp and glowing like a predator hunting her prey.

Cardan leaned back in the cushioned, worn leather as Jude climbed on to him in a sensual fluid motion. Her hands sliding up his thighs, reaching in between palming at his half-hard cock. His hands steadied on her hips, the tips of his fingers pressing into her ass, Jude rolled her hips tipping her head back simultaneously against him. Winding her fingers through his thick onyx locks angling his head where she could run her hot mouth and fire breaths over his neck and to his lobe.

“Do me and my two horns give you a little bit?” that lustful wickedness pouring out of her, her fingers dropped back down stroking his length over his slacks, “I guess so.”

“Fuck Jude,” he growled.

She kept grinding her hips over his, As she pl toyed with his hair. Nails raking along his hairline as if he was another customer, "Did you do it?”

He resisted every urge in his body screaming at him to claim her mouth, bury himself in her witnessing Jude turn into a mess of keen moans and panting breaths. Give these people a real show. It wasn't beneath him to do so. His brother's cronies were in the shadows and leaving held priority.

"Out like a light," the scorching touch of his palms splayed on her bareback, sliding to the nape of her neck. Jude lifted a leg in front of him, twisting around her back against his solid frame. Cardan pulled Jude flush to him. Nose brushing along her shoulder replacing the path with his mouth then his teeth, nipping at her exposed his flesh, "The ghost said he gave enough for him to be out cold for 8-10 hours, " he murmured into her ear, "By then we will be gone."

Jude turned to face him. A smirk on her rouge colored lips resolve and excitement dancing in her eyes at the unknowing future, gone the face of a broken exotic dancer who lost everything and everyone. Cardan pretended to whisper sultry nothings in her ear. She giggled perfectly playing the part of a flirty dancer.

"Good. I'm done dancing," Jude slipped her hand in his, tugging up him from his seat, "Ready?"

"My dearest Jude, lead the way."

He followed her like he was another drunk patron, paying for extra services. They maneuvered through the crowd and no one paid the pair no mind. Slipping past a waitress with a tray of drinks in her hand, Jude pulled Cardan onto her in a small alcove. Her eyes searched his. A moment of sincerity crossed onto her features.

"Card, if he finds us. I won't hesitate to kill him," it wasn't a threat, but a promise.

"I know. Let's hope he doesn't," he knew she would. If not for the determination in her tone, but the fact she swore it daily, "Shall we?"

Bracing an arm on the door, the other curling around her waist. His mouth meeting hers in a hungry kiss, teeth, and tongues clashing, acting the way a drunk patron would if she was going to take him. Jude reached for the knob, twisting it, while Cardan kept her close, and together they slipped through the doorway into the cool night air.

******************************************************

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destiniesfic · 4 years

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132 Hours, Chapter 6:

“So what does it say that they have no fear of extorting one of your brothers, but they’re reconsidering everything now that they know who my dad is?” I ask.

“I’d rather fistfight Dain than your dad,” Cardan says, with a snort.

Note: There is a content warning this chapter for discussion of past attempted sexual assault. The incident in question is not depicted.

Read chapter 6 on AO3, or read below:

The thing about the Valerian incident is that it was supposed to be the third-worst thing that had ever happened to me.

The first worst thing is, obviously, my parents dying, because that is always the first thing. It would have been bad enough if I wasn’t there for it but I was—buckled in the backseat with my sisters, walking away with only scratches, all of my broken parts invisible.

The second worst thing is finding out that Locke was playing Taryn and me off each other. You might think, well, that’s not as bad as the Valerian incident, except that Taryn knew what he was doing the whole time and continued to date him after. Suffice it to say, that sucked, and it continues to suck every day to look at my sister and remember she chose a boy over me. And I kissed Locke, too. He isn’t worth it.

Against those two things, Valerian seems like an obvious third-worst, which I’m sure would piss him off to no end if he knew. Except he haunted me in a way that the Locke thing didn’t, and in a way the accident that had killed my parents had stopped doing years ago. When we were still young, Taryn and I would clutch each other’s hands, white-knuckled, whenever we went driving in the rain, which thankfully wasn’t often. We would flinch at police sirens, watch ambulances drive by with dread. At least that faded when our other scars did not.

It doesn’t seem right that, even after Valerian was expelled, he lingered. But so what? So what if I grew clammy when I had to press through a clot of bodies in the middle of a crowded hallway? So what if I found myself looking out for a flash of blond hair disappearing around corners ahead of me? So what if I checked classrooms to make sure he wasn’t there, although of course he wasn’t, because that’s what being expelled means? That’s nobody’s business but mine. I was already vigilant all of the time, and even though extra vigilance just made for an exhausting final semester, I was fine. I was used to it.

It was so stupid. Because something had happened, but nothing had really happened. Valerian had gone and I was here. I won.

Didn’t I?

“Jude,” Cardan says from somewhere very far away, whispering for some reason. Then a little louder, “Jude.” And then, finally, “Duarte?”

I pick my head up. “What?” I snap.

Cardan jerks his head at the door, but doesn’t say anything. I sit forward. There are raised voices coming through from the other side, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. My own thoughts were loud enough that I had missed them.

So stupid.

“What are they talking about?” I ask Cardan, who has at least been listening longer.

He shakes his head. “Dunno. My best guess is your dad has them scared shitless.”

That’s my best guess, too. I look down and realize that my hands have been curled into fists this whole time. I force them open, looking at the little red crescents my nails imprinted on the meat of my palms. So Cardan doesn’t see them, I lean over my crossed legs, resting my elbows on my knees and my chin on my hands.

“So what does it say that they have no fear of extorting one of your brothers, but they’re reconsidering everything now that they know who my dad is?” I ask.

“I’d rather fistfight Dain than your dad,” Cardan says, with a snort.

“Not Balekin?”

Cardan shrugs one shoulder. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure this is Dain’s work now.”

“Why?”

“Because Balekin would have me killed outright.” I am surprised by how matter-of-factly he says it. “No theatrics, either. Probably make it look like an OD or something, then try to assert his claim over my share of the corporation. He was my guardian for years, probably thinks that gives him the right. And Dain would know that.”

I raise my eyebrows. Unlike Dain, I didn’t know that.

Cardan drums his fingers on his knee. “But Balekin doesn’t think he has to kill me, yet. I assume he thinks that because he raised me, when I do have the power to vote on company matters, I’ll do so in his interest. Or maybe he believes I can be persuaded to give my share up for the right price. That’s what happened with Rhyia.”

Rhyia’s the only one of Cardan’s siblings I know well. As Vivi’s best friend, they were always in and out of each other’s houses growing up. She’s laid back, poly, and has always been nice to me. I’ve met Cardan’s brothers a few times, too, since Madoc works with them, but they’re so much older than us that they’re basically in another world. The world of adults, which I will probably not get to join until college. “What did Rhyia do?”

“Rhyia has zero interest in the company. I mean, none. Dain bought her out.”

“And you do have interest in the family business?”

“Not so much.” Cardan gives me a tight smile. “But I would never, ever sell to Dain, and he knows that. My brothers have been vying for control of the company for years. I think this is Dain’s Hail Mary. He gets my share, he’s basically got half the family votes locked in.”

“Well, no wonder negotiations are taking so long. Balekin can’t like that.” I glance uneasily at the door. “Would you? Sell him your stake?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll keep it just to be difficult.”

“Can’t really picture you in a board meeting,” I say, turning back to him. “In a suit and tie. Sitting through PowerPoint presentations on the stock market or… media buys in Australia or whatever.”

Cardan shudders. “No, thanks. I do look very dashing in a suit and tie, but I can leave the rest of it.”

I don’t exactly want to think about Cardan in a suit and tie. I don’t want to think about his brothers squabbling over the family fortune. I don’t want to think about our abductors arguing because of my dad. And the thing I don’t want to think about most keeps winding its way around my insides, curdling my stomach.

My parents. Then, Locke and Taryn. Then, Valerian.

I have to ask, or it’ll eat at me like acid.

“Why did you say that?” I whisper.

Cardan, who had apparently been lost in his own thoughts, looks back at me. “Say what?”

I sit up straight. I don’t want to slouch for this. I don’t want to be without armor. “What you said about me. About what happened with Valerian.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He grimaces. “I just didn’t really think it through.”

Any normal person—or maybe just any non-alpha person—might have apologized at the end of that statement, but because it’s Cardan I’m not holding my breath. Instead I look right at him and ask, “Why would you even bring it up?”

“Because…” Cardan sounds confused. “Because I was listing the things about you that I think are kind of badass and that’s one of them?”

Disbelief strikes me like a lightning bolt. “What?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not like the circumstances were great—”

“I had to physically fight off one of your erstwhile best friends so he wouldn’t rape me,” I say, very slowly, very clearly, “and you brought it up because you thought that was, what, cool? You thought that was cool of me?”

Going by the way the color drains from Cardan’s face, the way he swallows, it seems like he is beginning to realize how monumentally he has fucked up. “Well,” he says, “first of all, erstwhile, great SAT word—”

“Cardan,” I bark.

He shuts up. He did say he tended to joke when he was nervous, but I am not in the mood for jokes. I am struggling to keep control of my breath, my little flame, to keep from breathing fire and burning him to a crisp. Sure, maybe he was trying to make me sound scary so our kidnappers would be impressed, or something. But he could have left that out. Everyone moved past it. I moved past it. I am going to college and I will never have to think of it again, except that now I am, because he brought it up.

But before I can figure out how to chew him out for it, Cardan decides to keep talking again. “Jude, you’re, what, five-four?”

“Five,” I correct, out of habit.

“Okay. Valerian’s six-two. He has to weigh nearly twice what you do and he’s an alpha. That’s a fight you were built to lose and you didn’t.” I open my mouth, but he continues, “Yeah, I was impressed, okay? I would have been impressed with you just for trying in the face of, frankly, fucking terrible odds. And I guess I was also impressed with you for fighting because… I don’t.”

I stare at him. “You fight,” I say. “You fight people all the time. What about the time you punched that sophomore because he looked at you funny? What about when you put Eliza’s little brother in a locker and left him for half a day? We all knew that was you and your friends, even though he wouldn’t tell on you.”

“Okay—”

“What about the time we were on that field trip in eleventh grade and you guys pushed me and Taryn into the fountain in Madison Square Park because you thought I needed to wash off my stench?”

“That was like a year and a half ago,” he says, disdainfully, like I’m the one being gauche by rehashing it.

“It was winter,” I say, crossing my arms. “It was cold.”

Cardan closes his eyes and holds up one hand. “Fine, fine. I have… lashed out. I’m not proud of it. But that’s different from what you did. All those times you mentioned, I knew I would win.”

“It must be nice,” I snap. “Some of us don’t have that luxury. Some of us have our fights picked out for us the day we’re born, and we learn really early that there are no easy victories.”

“I do know what it’s like to lose, Duarte,” he insists. “Don’t talk about me like you know me. I know what it’s like to—feel small.”

I really doubt that, but I say, “Sure. Maybe you do. Maybe there’s a bigger, badder alpha somewhere up the food chain angling to turn you into dinner. But you know what? You’re still at the top and I am way the hell down, as far as society’s concerned. So I’m sorry I’m not so impressed with you for admiring me because I stood up for myself. Do you know why I had to do that?”

Cardan is silent for what feels like a full minute, and then says, “Because Valerian—”

“No, not because Valerian.” It feels so freeing to talk to him like this, knowing that he cannot do anything about it. It feels like yelling at him on the beach. I don’t know where I am going or if I will ever stop. “Why do you think he felt like he could do that? Why do you think he felt like he could do it at school—of all places—and get away with it? Because you made it okay to make me a target the day you first pushed me down in gym. Because every time you and your friends and the other shitty alphas sneered at us in the hall or tripped us or did worse, nobody did anything about it. Of course Valerian felt empowered to fuck with me, because I’m not worth anything, and you, personally, have made that exceptionally clear.”

There’s a prolonged stretch of quiet where all I hear is ringing in my ears. When Cardan speaks, his voice is low. “I don’t think you’re being fair.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, life isn’t fair. Obviously. Or did you not listen to any of what I just said? If life was fair, my parents would be alive. If life was fair, we would have never fucking met.”

Silence falls like an anvil pushed over the side of a cliff in an old cartoon, and I’m not sure whether I’m the roadrunner or the coyote. I feel the weight of it crushing my chest. I can’t look at Cardan’s face.

Luckily, we are not left alone long. The door is opened without a knock by the Roach, the Ghost standing close behind him. No guns this time, just the undeniable certainty that I am wounded and we are outnumbered.

“You guys want to wash up?” the Roach asks. “Stretch your legs. We’ve got food out here.”

I look at Cardan without thinking, then quickly look away. “Sure,” I say. “Can I use the shower?”

“If you’re quick about it.”

I nod and ease myself toward the edge of the mattress, bracing myself against the wall to stand. A searing pain shoots through my injured leg, both from the sprain and the now-aching gunshot wound, and I grimace. I see Cardan sit forward as if to help me, but something in my face makes him keep his distance.

“I can help,” the Ghost says softly, moving into the room.

“I don’t think so,” Cardan says. “You shot her.”

“Let him help,” I interject, just to piss Cardan off. “He can make it up to me.”

The Ghost crosses the room and wraps an arm under my shoulders so I can lean on him. I begin to make my way out of the room, favoring my left leg. The Roach looks past me, at Cardan, and says, “Come on, kid.”

“Why am I ‘kid?’” Cardan asks as he stands, clearly irritated. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him jerk his thumb at the Ghost. “How old is this guy?”

“Older than you.”

“Not much,” Cardan snorts.

“I have a young face,” says the Ghost. That may be true. He looks somewhere in his twenties, although where is anyone’s guess. It’s a handsome face, at least. Good bone structure. And I am pretty sure his stick-straight spine marks him as ex-military, even though his sandy hair is long enough to curl a little. I am disturbed that, even up close like this, I can’t scent him at all. Those must be some strong maskers.

Cardan grumbles something under his breath and follows us out of the room, sliding into one of the folding chairs. The Ghost helps me into the bathroom, but closes the door behind me so I can wash off in private. There’s no shampoo, so I reconfigure my abused elastic and make my hair sit in a bun on top of my head while I use the soap to wash off. On the whole I am not much better, but I do feel more grounded, a little less grimy. I towel off, put my two-day-old clothes back on, and wash my mouth out with water before limping out of the bathroom.

The Ghost helps me into another folding chair and props my injured leg up on the empty sliver of Cardan’s chair. Cardan nurses a can of Coke, but as soon as I am settled he sprints to the bathroom to have his turn. The Bomb, seated to my right, wordlessly offers me a choice between a Slim Jim and a protein bar. I pick the protein bar and tear open the wrapper, nibbling at it as the Ghost checks my bandages. I had tried to keep them out of the water, but wasn’t completely successful, and he ends up re-wrapping the one around the graze. I do not look down and try to make myself eat.

It’s one of the good protein bars, at least. Peanut butter-flavored and doesn’t totally taste like chemicals. I make a mental note to check out the brand when I get back home.

If.

Cardan comes out of the bathroom with a hand towel draped around his neck, catching the drips from his wet hair. “Rolling out the red carpet, are we?” he asks. “Snacks, bespoke medical care…”

The Ghost, finishing with my bandages, stands and skulks to the wall. He seems to prefer standing to sitting. The Roach slides into the empty chair across from mine. “Finish your Coke,” he says to Cardan. “We’ll talk.”

Cardan scowls, but he crosses to the chair and sits down. He bumps my foot a little by accident, but doesn’t look at me. “It’s funny how when it was just me you guys were concerned with we were stuck in the room for twenty-three hours with no snacks, that’s all.”

I don’t want to admit it, but he has a point. “It is funny,” I say, looking at the Roach, who I’m gathering is the nominal leader of the group. “What is it about my dad that has you guys so spooked?”

“Do you know what Madoc does?” the Bomb asks. Her voice is curious and holds no malice, no expectation that I should know already. It’s concerning.

“He’s a lawyer. A good one.”

“That’s not the half of it,” the Roach says. “He’s a fixer.”

Cardan snickers. “What, like on Scandal?”

“Oh, kid.” The Roach shakes his head. “You wouldn’t joke if you knew the shit he’s cleaned up for your brothers. Or your father, for that matter.”

“I know a little,” Cardan replies, surprising me. “My dad had a few lawsuits mysteriously go away. ‘Settled.’ And everyone knew what he was.”

“What was he?” I asked, my stomach sinking.

“He was an alpha,” Cardan says, but he talks to the Roach, not to me. “The old school kind. It’s how he ended up with six kids. My mom—my real mom, who was, by the way, an omega, although none of us are supposed to talk about it—sure got a payout in order to go away. I wonder if Madoc had anything to do with that.”

I put my protein bar on the table, feeling ill. “No,” I say. “No, Madoc wouldn’t do that. He lives by a code. I mean, he was married to an omega. One of the partners at his practice—”

“Sure, there are jobs he won’t take,” says the Ghost, from the far wall. His arms are folded across his chest. “I know of at least one. And this sort of thing obviously isn’t his style. But he knows how the world works.”

I shake my head.

“You said you got krav maga training,” he continues, in a striking non-sequitur. “What else?”

“I—there was—” But I falter. Boxing, practicing on the well-used punching bag in our basement. Weekends spent at the shooting range, not just learning how to aim and pull a trigger, but how to clean a gun, how to take it apart and put it back together. The weeks in the summer that would always be reserved for a sort of improvised boot camp upstate. The Swiss army knives, engraved with our names, so we’d never be caught unarmed.

“He knows how the world works,” the Ghost repeats. “Enough to protect you from it.”

“And if it’s any consolation, my mom got a good enough payout to fuck off somewhere warm,” Cardan says, finally looking at me. “If that was Madoc’s work, he did her a favor. It’s not like she wanted to stick around, anyway.”

I don’t know whether I want to tear off the heads of everyone in this room or disappear. I can do neither of those things. I steady my voice and say, “So you guys don’t want to get cleaned up, is that it?”

“I know of your dad. Know some of his associates.” The Roach gives me a tight smile that seems to strain some of his scars. “Personally, I’d rather remain off their radar. Our employer wasn’t forthcoming about who you were, Jude Duarte, even though they knew, and none of us is thrilled about that. The Ghost is sorry for shooting you, by the way.”

The Ghost frowns. “I expected her to stop when she heard the warning shot.”

Unfortunately for him, I kept running. I am always running, and I never know when to stop. But I just shrug.

“We can’t let you go just yet,” says the Bomb. “But we’ll try to keep you more comfortable. Honestly, we thought this would be a twenty-four hour babysitting job, just watching him. It was supposed to be.”

“You could have left me on the beach,” I say angrily.

The Bomb and the Roach look at each other. “We thought you might help ensure Cardan’s good behavior,” the Roach says. “A… miscalculation.”

“One of the more astounding fuck-ups of our career,” the Bomb adds. She grins at me. “Turns out you’re an instigator.”

“Frankly, we now need the money from this job to disappear,” says the Roach. “But again, we’re not going to hurt you unless you misbehave. You have our word on that.”

“For what it’s worth,” Cardan mutters.

“And with that ankle, you’re not going to be mobile for a while anyway.” The Roach nods at my leg. “We’ll keep it wrapped. Make sure you’re both comfortable. The storm should blow over soon and then it’s back to your charmed life. College, yachts, whatever. Sound good?”

Even though I don’t want to, I glance at Cardan. He catches my eye, the corners of his lips turned down. We can’t say what we’re thinking: the storm’s barely begun. Because if I wake up the next morning in that cell with him, we’re going to have bigger problems than a sprained ankle. And we still don’t know which of our captors might also be alphas, so it isn’t safe to tell them a goddamn thing.

“Sounds great,” I lie. Cardan gives a tight nod.

We’re screwed.

#jurdan #judecardan #jude x cardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #the folk of the air #tfota #jurdan fanfic #mine: fic #fic: 132 hours

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