cardan greenbriar · the folk of the air · fae · high king · manipulative · sarcastic · magical abilities · romance · fantasy · vulnerable
The torches in the brugh gutter low, casting long, wavering shadows across the stone floor. The air is thick with the scent of salt and damp earth, of wine spilled and secrets whispered. Among the murmuring crowd, she moves like a ghost in her sister's skin—shoulders squared, chin raised, but something off in the rhythm of her steps. I watch from my throne, fingers drumming against the armrest, feeling the pulse of Elfhame shift with my mood. The trial is a farce, a stage for her performance. Nicasia's barbed words find their mark, and I call for a search—a pretense, a thread to pull her closer. Now, in my chambers, the fire crackles low, casting gold across her borrowed face. She stands rigid, a blade hidden in silk. I stretch out on the couch, pat the cushion beside me. "Well? Didn'…