Work Text:
Cardan sits on his throne, his hand holding his chin delicately in his palm. It’s nighttime and the chatter of the people around him would normally make him want to close his eyes and nod off, but tonight is one he’s been dreading. He must be awake for it. He must endure it, tuck his emotions away, and move on.
His eyes, however, are half lidded as he stares absentmindedly at the entrance of the throne room. There are guards perched everywhere and no matter how much Cardan tries to avoid their gaze, he realizes with an unsettling feeling that they’re all staring at him. He understands that they’re only increasing their vigilance due to the recent murder of Locke, but a part of him wants to snort and scold them about how intensifying security after a murder does not make his friend return, nor make the castle any more secure.
Although, he wouldn’t use the term friend in front of anybody. Not to describe Locke at least. And he takes special care not to say it in front of Nicasia who is currently right beside him, staring at the entrance of the throne room with a different look in her eye.
Cardan admits, it’s a little amusing to see that light return to her eyes at the cruelty of the circumstances around them. Ever since the scene unfolded four months ago, Nicasia has enjoyed entering and leaving his hall. It seems, to her, that the nuisance that is the Queen of Elfhame, has been eradicated from the equation. Cardan thinks about it briefly. Has she been fully eradicated? A flicker of unease builds in his chest at the thought of, the memory of looking down his nose at Jude as the people around them laughed. He recalls how he burned his eyes into hers, quirking a brow when she immediately didn’t pardon herself from exile. Cardan had been partially impressed by her acting skills, but now, four months later, he wishes he’d been a little more clear about his riddle.
And he wishes she’d answer his letters.
Returning his attention to the woman besides him temporarily distracts him from the flame in his chest, shifting with discomfort in his seat. Nicasia, who has seemingly been completely over Locke for over a year, has been paying extra attention to his death. If another woman hadn’t stolen his heart (and stepped on it and spat on it), he might have felt pricks of jealousy, but he thinks it’s amusing now.
Once more, very very briefly, his imagination wanders. If he were the one found dead in the ocean, would he be mourned like Locke is? Despite Locke’s lack of relations in Faerie, he’s gathered quite a following and his friends stand in the throne room right now.
What the hell, Cardan thinks to himself. Perhaps I’ll call myself his friend too.
The truth is, despite Cardan’s cool exterior, something swirls in his stomach like wine the morning after a dangerous, sleepless night. To most people’s surprise, Cardan hasn’t been eager to ask for wine these days, mostly due to a few instances of hallucination where he’d seen Jude in their bedroom. What followed after that was incredibly embarrassing and not what Cardan would like to recall at a time like this.
Cardan is nervous. That’s the truth of the situation and he despises this emotion. He’d endure the other ones, excluding heartbreak, just to avoid nervousness. His tail has been tucked, as it would be at his lessons, and though it’s hidden, there are other signs of his restlessness if one looks closely. He can’t seem to stop the tremors of his fingers or relax the tightness of his jaw.
He’s glad that he hasn’t had to see Taryn in weeks. There is a clear distinction between Taryn and her sister, but it’s still unnerving to look the twin right in the eyes and not be fooled for a minuscule of a second, seeing Jude instead. He hates it, both how he feels and how he wants to react.
Cardan has thought of how he’d react if Jude suddenly walked through the threshold of their bedroom. Perhaps with a smirk or a stunned gasp. Perhaps he wouldn’t have time to react because she'd have plunged a dagger straight into his neck. Regardless, it’s all fantasy. He doesn't have to worry too much about his reaction because she’s not coming back. The sooner he swallows that, the better.
He blinks back to reality when the guard closest to the door announces Taryn’s arrival.
Cardan sits up and tries his hardest to appear as the King of Elfhame. He crosses his arms and takes a deep breath, unclenching his jaw. Time to get this over with.
And then, something odd passes over him. He hears heavy footsteps that silently tell him to sit a bit straighter and eagerly wait for the woman to enter the room. He doesn’t know what it is, or why Taryn has made him feel restless as she’s entered the brugh.
And then it hits him. Violently. It nearly makes him hurl.
Jude walks in, her eyes taking in every inch of the throne room, her mouth settled in a hard line as it always is. The guards release her arms and take a step back. Her mouth suddenly relaxes, her eyelids drooping submissively, and she keeps her gaze on the floor.
Cardan’s tail unfurls out of his shirt and quivers. He swallows, pressing his fingers into his lap, willing them to stop their motions. She’s here. She’s here!
Jude…looks like Jude. Despite her hair being styled differently and her face a picture of innocence, red highlighting her cheeks the way Taryn likes, it’s clear from…from something that it’s her. It’s not the firmness of her shoulders. No, her shoulders are slightly bent inwards like Taryn’s insecurely are. It’s not the way she plays with the edge of her dress. No, that’s Taryn’s nervous tick. A tell tale sign of her anxiety.
So what is it about her that makes him realize immediately?
The inquest will begin when the first set of stars are visible. There is quite a crowd gathered. There will be some formalities and then Taryn’s trial.
Jude has to make her way through the crowd, standing off to the side when she has the ability to. A part of Cardan is glad that she isn’t looking at him, or his traitorous tail for that matter, because he doesn’t know how he’ll react at the sight of her dark, angered eyes on him. Her hair is styled in a low bun, and though she looks elegant, he prefers her daunting, clear face and her usual hairstyle.
Cardan’s chest suddenly aches. He watches her take a deep breath and he forces himself to do the same.
When the time comes, a knight calls, “Taryn Duarte. Wife of Locke. You must stand in the place of petitioners.”
Cardan is disoriented, wondering why Jude, so clearly Jude, is being called Taryn. And when he sweeps his eyes across the room, it dawns on him that she has fooled everyone except him. It almost makes him smirk.
Jude moves gracefully as if she’s practiced it.
At last, Cardan speaks. “Taryn?”
Jude raises her eyes and finally glances at him. He tries to read all the emotions on her face, but she's perfected the innocent look, from her parted lips to her wide, doe-like eyes. She does look like Taryn, but something frustratingly tells him that it’s not her.
Slowly, Jude sinks into a slow curtsy. “Your Majesty.”
Her voice. Her fucking voice. So tame and sweet compared to how he remembers it in his head. How much has she recited those words in the mirror to get Taryn’s voice instead of her own? She’s never spoken to him in such a soft voice, calling him with formalities.
What is she doing here? Is she finally about to pardon herself? Tell me role to play, he tries to tell her through his mind.
Cardan blinks when he realizes it’s his turn to speak. “We recognize your grief,” he says, forcing his lips to move. What else should he say to keep up the act? “We would not disturb your mourning were it not for questions over the cause of your husband’s death.” Now maybe Jude knows that even if Taryn were here, he would be sympathetic.
“Do you really think she’s sad?” Nicasia is the one to speak. Without Cardan’s instruction, Nicasia steps down the dais, just one step, and glares at Jude. Jude is struggling not to stare back. Cardan’s tail is more frantic now. “Did you kill Locke yourself? Or did you get your sister to do it for you?”
Before he can open his mouth to step in, Jude speaks in a hissed tone, causing him to freeze. Any doubts of her not being Jude fly out the window because her eyes darken and her lips curl with the cold tone. He almost speaks up to tell her to keep the act up just a little longer. A little longer and he’ll be able to get her out of here.
But against his wishes, she continues, “Jude is in exile. And I’ve never hurt Locke.”
Exile. He’s never heard such a word come from her mouth. “No?” he says.
Jude returns her gaze to him and he demands his tail to stop twitching, but it currently has a mind of its own.
“I love…” Jude tries, her jaw tight. Her breathing accelerates and he’s instantly impressed by the show. “I loved him.”
The words, though uttered softly once more, crack through Cardan hard enough to cause him to go reeling. He’s the one who breaks eye contact, looking at her hair instead. The taste in his mouth is suddenly bitter, recalling how she’d spent time with Locke all those months ago, how she chose his company, how she had been blindsided. At the same time, he feels disgust at himself at how he behaved at that time, knowing fully how she was being used. He recalls the look in her eyes when he told her she deserved him, the softness of her irises, the pink of her cheeks.
But then Cardan remembers the night following their official marriage. How he’d kissed her feverishly in the dark, held her curves in his hand, and finally pressed his body against hers. He’d tasted her, kissed her to sleep, and then woke with his tail wrapped around her thigh, desperately holding her to his side to ensure she didn’t run away too early. For the first time in years, he did not need wine to put him to sleep. He needed Jude and she’d agreed to lay with him. She allowed his hands to roam her body, to kiss her tenderly, to bite her lip. She’s allowed it and answered with her own captivating touches.
That is the Jude standing in front of him.
That is the Jude, his wife, who he hasn’t seen in four months.
Cardan looks back at Jude after a moment of silence. She’s wiping her face. “Sometimes I believed that you did, yes,” he says softly, thinking about Locke once more before pushing the thought away. Then he straightens his back. This isn’t over yet. “But.” His voice rings out once more. “You would well be lying. I am going to put a glamour on you. All it will do is force you to tell us the truth.”
He’s struck when he sees a glimmer of hesitance in Jude’s eyes. His glamour won’t really work, will it?
He curves his hand and sends the magic her way anyways. “Now, tell me only the truth. What is your name?”
He’s relieved to see her face slightly relax. And then she sinks into another curtsy. “Taryn Duarte. Daughter of Madoc, wife of Locke, subject of the high King of Elfhame.”
And immediately after she speaks, Cardan relaxes too. Good, he thinks to himself. Keep this up a little longer and then we’ll have some real fun. He can’t help the small curve of his mouth. “What fine courtly manners.”
Her eyes narrow the slightest. “I was well instructed.”
Cardan’s nearly done with this game. He moves onto more serious questions and then imagines himself dismissing the court. “Did you murder Locke?”
“No,” Jude says, eyeing Nicasia. “Nor did I orchestrate his death. Perhaps we ought to look to the sea, where he was found.”
Delighted at her mortal slang, he says the word “ought” in his head, mulling over the meaning. He doesn’t have much time to ponder over it because Nicasia is now staring at Cardan.
“We know Jude murdered Balekin. She confessed as much. And I have long suspected her of killing Valerian.” Jude’s jaw tightens and then immediately relaxes, but Cardan catches it.
Nicasia continues, “If Taryn isn’t the culprit, then Jude must be.” Cardan doesn’t consider this theory for a moment, though it's an amusing thought. He’d know if she’d visited Faerie. “Queen Orlagh, my mother, swore a truce with you. What possible gain could she have from the murder of your Master of Revels? She knew he was your friend – and mine.” He hears her voice break, but can’t bring himself to look at her.
Jude’s eyelashes flutter, her round eyes suddenly sad. Her cupid bow quivers and his brows pull together. Let’s have the scene, he demands in his head. Give me a few tears and end this, Jude.
She can’t. She can't manage to cry. Give them to me Jude, he insists. Let this be over with!
His jaw twitches. “Well, what do you think? Did your sister do it? And don’t tell me what I already know. Yes, I sent Jude into exile. That may or may not have deterred her.”
The way she looks at him makes the ache in his chest return, now blazing with heat and hurt. Her eyes have darkened once more, her mouth struggling not to make its usual hard line.
“She had no reason to hate Locke.” Cardan’s eyebrows strain. “I don’t think she wished him ill.”
“Is that so?” he asks. A little bit more, Jude. Just a little bit more.
The next person who speaks is his mother and he nearly startles at her voice. Jude eyes drag over to hers. Lady Asha is saying, “Perhaps it is only Court gossip, but there is a popular tale about you, your sister, and Locke. She loved him, but he chose you. Some sisters cannot bear to see the other happy.”
Cardan commands his tail to stop twitching. Between Jude and Cardan, they both acknowledge the lie that has been spoken from his mother. Jude has never been one to plan Taryn’s fall, but quite the opposite. He recalls the time when Jude had told Taryn to leave her behind in the lake with the nixies to save herself, and Taryn had without a fight. Anger pulses through him, not only at Taryn, but at whoever started that rumor.
Jude visibly swallows. “Jude never loved Locke.” Her eyes are back on Cardan and he’s immediately filled with a different type of discomfort. Dread. What she’s about to say next… it can’t be…
“She loved someone else.” She says it sincerely, without blinking. Without stuttering or putting up a front. This is Jude speaking. Her lips curl over each word, striking him with each syllable purposefully. “He’s the one she’d want dead.”
And for a moment, he can’t breathe. What did she just say? What the hell is she fucking playing at? Why is she making this worse on herself? She can’t possibly… Cardan’s blink is quick, his body moving back an inch as if she’s struck him with her mind.
She opens her mouth to continue, but Cardan remembers how to speak, not wanting to be maimed with her scathing words again. “Enough,” he growls, heart thundering in his chest. “I’ve heard all I care to on this subject–” He sees a familiar wicked smile on Jude’s face before it’s gone in a blink of an eye.
Nicasia gasps. “No!” She swallows roughly and shoots Lady Asha and Cardan both an apologetic look for her disruption. “Taryn…Taryn could have a charm on her! Something that makes her resistant to glamours!”
Anger pricks through him once more, both at Jude and Nicasia, the latter for interrupting the High King. He narrows his eyes at her, pinning her down with a gaze that makes everyone else in the court suddenly find their shoes quite interesting.
He feels an unnatural feeling when he looks at Nicasia, but it’s more so directed at Jude. She’d been playing along so well, why did she feel the need to insert that last bit? She’s thrown her dagger at him, striking him neat in the heart, and she has no hint of an idea of the agony rushing through his body.
The usual feeling returns in his stomach. When he’s punished, he punishes back. Be the worst. It’s a horrible feeling, but if Jude plays along correctly, this won’t have to go too far.
The anger dissipates slowly, though the distaste remains. His eyebrows raise, turning his gaze back to Jude. Do you want to play this game?
Jude’s eyes harden. Let’s have it.
Cardan makes a noise in the back of his throat. “I suppose,” he murmurs, shoulders dropping, “she’ll have to be searched.”
It’s evidently not what Jude is expecting to hear. Her face falls, eyes widening. The silence in the room is deafening as all eyes return to the scene in front of them.
He waits impatiently for her reply, imploring her in his mind for it to be something he can work with.
“My husband,” she finally manages to come up with, her voice trembling. Cardan isn’t sure if she’s impersonating or she’s genuinely concerned about being stripped in front of the court. “He was murdered. And whether or not you believe me, I do mourn him. I will not make a spectacle of myself for the Court’s amusement when his body is barely cold.”
Cardan’s smile grows. There we go, Jude. That wasn’t so hard. Now he can sweep her away, locking the doors behind them. He’ll have answers. He’ll give her answers. They’ll reconcile and he’ll take anything she throws his way, daggers and fists alike.
He stands from his throne, his tail now twitching with a different emotion, and he steps down the dais. All eyes are on him, but he’s only concerned with one pair of eyes who regard him carefully.
He gives a careless shrug. “As you wish.” I’m playing your game, Jude. Isn’t this what you’d like? Doesn’t this remind you of all our other games? “Then I suppose I will have to examine you alone in my chambers.”
He steps off the dais completely and walks past Jude, aware of her wide eyes. Guards begin to escort her behind him. He can’t help the smile on his face.
Finally.