Chat, I am super duper delulu and wrote this instead of doing hw @cjj_edvts is the only person on here whom I know reads the folk of the air.
The Crown and the Mortal
The moonlight spilled silver across the floor of the High King’s private chambers, catching in the gold of Cardan’s crown where it lay discarded beside a half-drunk goblet of faerie wine. Jude Duarte stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp. She didn’t knock. She never had to anymore.
Cardan looked up from his desk, his ink-stained fingers paused over parchment. “Jude,” he said with that familiar smile — half mischief, half challenge. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Come to threaten me into better politics again?”
“I’d rather stab you into better politics,” she replied, walking in with that predator’s grace he adored. Her leathers whispered as she moved. Her sword was at her hip, though they both knew she wouldn’t need it tonight. Not for threats. Not for protection.
He leaned back in his chair, the collar of his nightshirt half-undone, exposing a collarbone Jude knew far too well for someone who’d once plotted his downfall. “You wound me.”
“You wound me all the time,” she said dryly, but her voice lacked venom. “Not everyone’s idea of romance is betrayal and political schemes.”
“No?” Cardan tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Then why are you still here?”
Jude’s breath caught, because it was a fair question. She, who once longed for power enough to deceive and manipulate, was now bound to the throne not just by her ambition but by her heart. Cardan had become something more than the boy who once mocked her at court. He was hers now — dangerous, beautiful, and maddeningly real.
And she was his.
“Because I love you,” she said simply.
Cardan blinked.
Jude Duarte did not say those words often. Not even now, after everything.
“I know,” he said softly. “I just like hearing it.”
He stood and came toward her, his steps slow, deliberate, like a fox closing in on a curious human who’d wandered too close to the forest edge. His hand reached for hers, tentative but sure, and when their fingers touched, it felt like a promise renewed.
“I thought I’d ruined everything the day I exiled you,” he murmured.
“You did,” Jude replied, arching an eyebrow.
Cardan’s lips curved. “And yet here you are.”
“You kissed me in the throne room,” she reminded him, voice quieter now. “In front of everyone.”
“I rather thought you liked dramatic gestures,” he said.
“I like it better when it’s just us.” Her hand slid to his cheek, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “When you’re not performing.”
Cardan closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “And what am I doing now?”
“Being honest,” Jude whispered. “And I think I’m falling in love with that part of you, too.”
The silence that followed was not awkward. It was full — heavy with emotion neither of them had ever been trained to handle. Raised in war and courtly cruelty, neither Cardan nor Jude knew how to be soft. But they were learning, together, how to be something gentler in the quiet moments between battles and bargains.
He kissed her then — not with the wild urgency of their first real kiss, but with reverence. His hands cradled her face, his lips lingering on hers like he was memorizing her taste. When they broke apart, his forehead rested against hers.
“I hate that I need you,” Jude said, her voice thick. “I hate that you make me feel like this.”
“I know,” he said with a small, amused sigh. “You’re terrible at needing people. But I don’t mind. I rather like being the exception.”
She shoved him playfully, and he caught her by the wrist, spinning her into him with effortless grace. They were dancing now, with no music but the rhythm of their breaths and the beat of their hearts. Jude laughed — a sound she rarely let herself give.
“Admit it,” Cardan said as they swayed. “You enjoy being Queen of Elfhame.”
“I enjoy not having to kill my husband to rule it,” she shot back.
He grinned, sharp and dangerous. “Wouldn’t you miss me?”
“Desperately,” she said, and this time, there was no sarcasm.
Their lips met again, and the kiss deepened, drawing out all the words they never quite managed to say aloud. Passion and power, vulnerability and vicious love — it was all there, in the way their hands roamed, in the way Cardan whispered her name like a spell.
When they parted, breathless, Cardan stared at her as if she were something sacred.
“You should sleep,” Jude said, glancing toward the moonlit bed. “You’ve got a council meeting in the morning.”
“Stay,” he said. “Sleep beside me.”
She hesitated. She always did. Love was a battlefield more treacherous than any mortal sword fight. But then she nodded, loosening the straps on her leather armor, letting it fall piece by piece until she stood in her tunic, barefoot, mortal in a faerie king’s arms.
They curled beneath the silken sheets, her head resting on his chest, his hand drawing idle patterns on her back.
“I don’t know how to be normal,” she murmured into the hush.
“Good,” he replied. “Normal is overrated.”
They fell asleep like that — the mortal and the High King, tangled together in a mess of scars and secrets, thorns and devotion. Tomorrow, they would be ruthless again. They would rule, scheme, and protect their crown.
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Chat, I am super duper delulu and wrote this instead of doing hw @cjj_edvts is the only person on here whom I know reads the folk of the air.
The Crown and the Mortal
The moonlight spilled silver across the floor of the High King’s private chambers, catching in the gold of Cardan’s crown where it lay discarded beside a half-drunk goblet of faerie wine. Jude Duarte stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp. She didn’t knock. She never had to anymore.
Cardan looked up from his desk, his ink-stained fingers paused over parchment. “Jude,” he said with that familiar smile — half mischief, half challenge. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Come to threaten me into better politics again?”
“I’d rather stab you into better politics,” she replied, walking in with that predator’s grace he adored. Her leathers whispered as she moved. Her sword was at her hip, though they both knew she wouldn’t need it tonight. Not for threats. Not for protection.
He leaned back in his chair, the collar of his nightshirt half-undone, exposing a collarbone Jude knew far too well for someone who’d once plotted his downfall. “You wound me.”
“You wound me all the time,” she said dryly, but her voice lacked venom. “Not everyone’s idea of romance is betrayal and political schemes.”
“No?” Cardan tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Then why are you still here?”
Jude’s breath caught, because it was a fair question. She, who once longed for power enough to deceive and manipulate, was now bound to the throne not just by her ambition but by her heart. Cardan had become something more than the boy who once mocked her at court. He was hers now — dangerous, beautiful, and maddeningly real.
And she was his.
“Because I love you,” she said simply.
Cardan blinked.
Jude Duarte did not say those words often. Not even now, after everything.
“I know,” he said softly. “I just like hearing it.”
He stood and came toward her, his steps slow, deliberate, like a fox closing in on a curious human who’d wandered too close to the forest edge. His hand reached for hers, tentative but sure, and when their fingers touched, it felt like a promise renewed.
“I thought I’d ruined everything the day I exiled you,” he murmured.
“You did,” Jude replied, arching an eyebrow.
Cardan’s lips curved. “And yet here you are.”
“You kissed me in the throne room,” she reminded him, voice quieter now. “In front of everyone.”
“I rather thought you liked dramatic gestures,” he said.
“I like it better when it’s just us.” Her hand slid to his cheek, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “When you’re not performing.”
Cardan closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “And what am I doing now?”
“Being honest,” Jude whispered. “And I think I’m falling in love with that part of you, too.”
The silence that followed was not awkward. It was full — heavy with emotion neither of them had ever been trained to handle. Raised in war and courtly cruelty, neither Cardan nor Jude knew how to be soft. But they were learning, together, how to be something gentler in the quiet moments between battles and bargains.
He kissed her then — not with the wild urgency of their first real kiss, but with reverence. His hands cradled her face, his lips lingering on hers like he was memorizing her taste. When they broke apart, his forehead rested against hers.
“I hate that I need you,” Jude said, her voice thick. “I hate that you make me feel like this.”
“I know,” he said with a small, amused sigh. “You’re terrible at needing people. But I don’t mind. I rather like being the exception.”
She shoved him playfully, and he caught her by the wrist, spinning her into him with effortless grace. They were dancing now, with no music but the rhythm of their breaths and the beat of their hearts. Jude laughed — a sound she rarely let herself give.
“Admit it,” Cardan said as they swayed. “You enjoy being Queen of Elfhame.”
“I enjoy not having to kill my husband to rule it,” she shot back.
He grinned, sharp and dangerous. “Wouldn’t you miss me?”
“Desperately,” she said, and this time, there was no sarcasm.
Their lips met again, and the kiss deepened, drawing out all the words they never quite managed to say aloud. Passion and power, vulnerability and vicious love — it was all there, in the way their hands roamed, in the way Cardan whispered her name like a spell.
When they parted, breathless, Cardan stared at her as if she were something sacred.
“You should sleep,” Jude said, glancing toward the moonlit bed. “You’ve got a council meeting in the morning.”
“Stay,” he said. “Sleep beside me.”
She hesitated. She always did. Love was a battlefield more treacherous than any mortal sword fight. But then she nodded, loosening the straps on her leather armor, letting it fall piece by piece until she stood in her tunic, barefoot, mortal in a faerie king’s arms.
They curled beneath the silken sheets, her head resting on his chest, his hand drawing idle patterns on her back.
“I don’t know how to be normal,” she murmured into the hush.
“Good,” he replied. “Normal is overrated.”
They fell asleep like that — the mortal and the High King, tangled together in a mess of scars and secrets, thorns and devotion. Tomorrow, they would be ruthless again. They would rule, scheme, and protect their crown.
But tonight, they were just Cardan and Jude.
And that was enough.
3 days ago | [YT] | 3