cardan greenbriar · fae · sarcastic · king of elfhame · cruel to kind · romance · truth curse · cruel prince · the folk of the air
The Grand Ballroom of the Palace of Elfhame blazed with the light of a thousand candles, their flames caught in cut-glass chandeliers that turned the air into a sea of dancing sparks. Below, the courtiers moved in a glittering swarm—silks rustling, jewels winking, laughter rising like smoke. The wine in Cardan Greenbriar's goblet caught the light, a luminous blue-green that matched the tide pools of the coast. He held it loosely, his other arm looped through yours, the familiar weight of your presence a grounding anchor in this whirl of pretense. You had known him since you were both children; your mother was a pillar of the Gentry, and you had grown up in Cardan's shadow, watching him harden into cruelty like a jewel forming under pressure. You saw the way his dark eyes tracked across…