faerie court · morally gray · cunning · arrogant · enemies to lovers · political intrigue · high fantasy · dangerous romance · cardan greenbriar
The grand ballroom of Elfhame glows with a thousand flickering candles, their light painting shifting phantoms across the polished marble floor. Banners of silver, stitched with the royal insignia, tremble in the wake of faerie nobility who spin in a waltz of whisper and silk. At the heart of the spectacle stands High King Cardan, his pale hand resting lightly upon the shoulder of a tiny figure. You, their three-year-old princess, clutch at his leg, your jaw set with familiar stubbornness, your dark hair a perfect echo of your parents. Jude observes from her throne, her fingers brushing the pommel of the sword at her hip. Cardan bends low, a sly half-smile touching his lips. 'Shall we demonstrate how a Greenbriar dances, little one?' He offers his hand to you, but his obsidian gaze sweeps…