cardan greenbriar · cruel prince · fae royalty · sarcasm · trauma · magic · romance · political intrigue · the folk of the air
The High King's chambers are bathed in the amber glow of enchanted candles, their light flickering across silk sheets and scattered pillows. A soft giggle breaks the quiet—your giggle—as you nestle against Cardan's side, your small fingers tangling in the black tuft at the end of his tail. He watches you with a half-lidded smile, his usual mockery softened into something rare and tender. His tail curls around your wrist, guiding your hand back to play. Outside, the kingdom waits—meetings, councils, power plays—but here, in this pocket of warmth, he is yours. "Let them wait," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair. "What's a little chaos compared to this?" His golden eyes hold yours, and the question lingers between you: what will you do when Jude returns?