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It's just a sundress.
Yeah, a sundress that feels hot to the touch (..no pun intended) whenever she takes it out of the shopping bag and eyes it; a sundress that is green with little daisies riddling the fine material, a sundress that Jude is terrified of wearing.
Vivi had practically begged her to try it on (even though she didn't have to beg, since Jude would've wanted to make her happy by wearing it anyway) when she'd come across it in Goodwill. Even she had to grudgingly admit to herself that it looked cute whilst Vivi oohed and aahed at it. But it wasn't just cute. It was.. feminine. She looked in the mirror and saw her twin in the ruffle of the skirt, the lightness as she twirled in it for Vivi’s amusement, the off the shoulder puffs for sleeves that hugged her biceps.
Then she'd taken it off, told Vivi against the pleading in her heart, “It doesn't suit me. You can put it back.”
Vivi, being the older sister, did not fall for Jude’s faux nonchalance and immediately purchased it with Madoc’s credit card. “Trust me, Jude, you look like a goddess in it.”
What she'd meant to say, most likely, was that Jude looked like one of the fae. Instead, the thought of being considered a goddess consumed her, the compliment too bountiful for Jude’s starving body, making her fall to its whim and allow Vivi to thrust the shopping bag into her hand, nodding when Vivi told her to wear it or else.
She would, she’d told herself with a newfound confidence blooming in her chest. She'd wear it and twirl in it for Cardan, who'd surely like it.
“Sweetheart?”
Jude chokes, not having heard the footsteps behind her until the hand was resting on her shoulder, a familiar voice purring in her ear. She glances down at what she is clutching in her hands, realizing her hands are shaking. Shaking!
She lets the dress fall into the depths of the bag once her hands loosen their grip, telling her chest to deny her heart the privilege of ripping out of her ribcage. The garment makes a soft hmph as it falls, and she watches it settle before turning her eyes to the raven ones.
“Yes?” She asks softly, acting as though she wasn't just on the verge of bursting out into tears over one stupid sundress that Vivi had no business buy–
Cardan purses his lips, eyes gleaming as his hand extends to pluck the dress out of the bag, eyes scanning it rapidly. She watches with a bit of apprehension when the silence starts to stretch uncomfortably, her chest failing its mission as her heart begins to pound against her, making her breaths stutter.
“It's pretty,” he murmurs, looking from the dress to her, a curious quirk to his eyebrow. “I didn't know you bought this.”
“I didn't. Vivi.. got it for me.” She's coming to her own defense when there's nothing to defend herself from. Cardan, around her, is like a cat who enjoys stretching out in the sun. He has no claws to scratch her with, no fangs to prod into her neck or eyes that could cut glass. He's soft fur and purring rumbles, only for his High Queen.
He seems to notice her defense too, and laughs quietly. “You don't have to be embarrassed. Try it on for me.” His tone doesn't broker any potential argument, his black curls molding around his face, forcing the ivory of his skin to pop out under the candlelight. Those golden irises sparkle, and when he leans down to kiss with soft lips at her neck, he whispers, “Please.”
She can't begin to explain the knots that tighten in her stomach every time she thinks of putting it on again, the thought of allowing herself to enjoy nice things and be feminine enough to make her feel nauseous. She's a warrior. She's a fighter. She sticks blades through people's chests and kills them– She doesn't go around frolicking in cute sundresses.
But despite all her hesitance and worrying, she wants to feel feminine. She wants it more than anything. She wants to feel like a person who genuinely belongs in her body and not the outsider pounding on her heart, begging for entrance while her heart shuts her away. And, okay, maybe it's not really just the desire to be feminine for the first time again that's making her take the dress from his hands and nod. Maybe, it's the tender look in Cardan’s eyes as he allows her to take it, the way his eyes track every curve and bump of her body with something like love and appreciation in them.
She swallows, ignoring how she wants to kiss him senseless as she stands up and goes to the bathroom. Just as she nears the threshold, she glances back over her shoulder, surprised Cardan isn't telling her to change in front of him (after all, they’d done so many times as they prepared for the day in the mornings and for boisterous revels). Instead, what she sees is him waiting patiently on the bed, or at least as patiently as a High King of Elfhame could, tail languidly moving behind him, eyes already on her. He gives her a crooked smile as their eyes meet, and she ignores the blush building on her cheeks.
The question burning in her mind as she shuts the door is: How did he know I was scared to change in front of him?
She shakes it away, sliding her tank top and sweatpants off, leaving her undergarments on. They had no royal duties today, so she'd allowed herself the ability to wear breathable clothing that no one besides Cardan would see her in. She wouldn't be caught dead wearing this in front of any of the courtiers.
Slowly, she parts the folds of the dress so she can slip it over her head, pulling it down to loosen the wrinkles building in it. She secures the sleeves, testing the skirt by yanking on it to make sure it's fully extended, before finally turning to the grand mirror in the bathroom. Her breath catches when she sees it again, the way it hugs her and yet smoothes out the anguished brown of her eyes and the softness of her hips, making her look malleable and.. kind.
Disgust and excitement rush through her. She looks pretty. Beautiful, even, if Cardan’s words are to be trusted– But it's not like the fae can lie anyway.
She does a quick twirl for herself, a smile she should've never allowed appearing on her face and making the kindness of her figure get brighter, almost enveloping her in this warm glow that she's only seen in the abandoned home of her childhood. She's seen this glow only in the gentle hand carding through her hair belonging to her mother, the kiss to her temple from her father. Maybe, even, in Cardan’s hands as he pressed his forehead to hers in the moonlight, his soft breaths landing against her lips.
The sight of it makes her chest tighten, and she lets out a tortured exhale to release the tension there. She takes a few more breaths before opening the door and stepping out, not expecting the way Cardan’s eyes dilate and his lips part, absolute awe burning in his eyes.
“Why, Jude, you look..” he licks his bottom lip, and her attempts at breathing deeply to soothe herself escape her, faltering. He stands up, but slowly, as if he doesn't want to scare her off. She stands as steadily as she can manage, beckoning him forward with her concerned gaze.
He is mere steps away when she asks, “Does it look okay?” Her tone is a bit breathy with insecurity undercutting it bitterly, eyes searching his for an answer before his lips can tell her for himself. The need to know what he thinks of her is suffocating and instant, delivering a killing blow to her pride.
Cardan’s eyebrows furrow at her question, scoffing disbelievingly, “O– Okay? No, not okay. You look..”
There's a pit in her stomach. Jude is gonna be sick.
“Radiant,” he finishes, a reverent tone in his voice that really will make her sick for alternate reasons, her stomach filling with butterflies instantaneously. She lets the smile that'd fallen off her face reappear in a quieter candor now, eyes shining as his hands come to her hips, squeezing lightly.
“My girl,” he whispers fondly, one hand moving up from her hip to where her hair has fallen in front of one of her eyes, pushing the lock behind her ear until her vision is fully unobstructed, the full sight of Cardan coming through as if she was seeing him through the lens of a microscope.
His hair is black as night, eyes like the stars she'd had on her shoes as a little girl, lips curving into a brilliant smile that makes warmth flood through her without warning. She feels the heat of his eyes scanning her body, the burn of his palms scorching her dress and her face with the utter adoration pouring through them. Every line of his face, every crinkle– It all comes together in this masterpiece that she can only title love, because there is no other feeling to describe what Cardan does best.
Once upon a time, she'd thought he was cruel. Now, she can only laugh at her previous foolishness. Cardan is not cruel, not even for a second around her, specifically. While he is one of the fae, who on average struggle to express love outwardly (note: Madoc), he's so much more than that.
He is Cardan Greenbriar, who was beaten and shaped into jagged edges by the hands of a punishing brother. He is the High King of Elfhame, who was first betrayed by my hand and then undone by my lips. He is my husband, who caresses my insecurities and whispers sweet nothings into my ear, who holds me through nightmares of the Undersea and tells me that I am more than enough for him.
He is the only man I've ever wanted to keep for myself, to cherish and to protect for the rest of my life. He has the only lips I'll ever want, the only personality and only beauty that I’d ever ask for. It isn't that I am enough for Cardan, but that he is more than enough for me.
The realization makes her tears burn as they cascade down her cheeks, and he lets out a small sound, palms moving to allow his thumbs to brush them away, letting the salty tears that bring back terrifying memories of being trapped in a cage flee. She sinks into his coming embrace, his arms resembling an open cage around her, allowing her to break free and pin a knife to his neck if she really wanted to.
But in that moment, there is only Jude Duarte in her sundress, loved by a faerie who should've never given her the permission to touch his skin or love him, much less be loved by him in return.
And so she takes it with greedy hands because she is mortal and she is built on that philosophy (when you lose so much so young, you realize you must cling to whatever is left), letting his soft murmurs soothe her aching heart that slows to match his heartbeat. She presses her face into the crook of his neck, their heights perfect so she can sink in right there, hands coming to wrap around his back, trust lining her every breath.
He lets out an approving hum, kissing the top of her head. “You're perfect,” is the last thing he says before Jude is pushing him onto the bed and kissing him senseless, no longer ignoring the urge.
His resounding, amused laugh against her lips is enough to help her remember why love can be a physical feeling, too.