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Cardan Greenbriar usually thought himself to be handsome, wealthy and incredibly clever. He was the perceptive sort of faerie, wise enough to use these traits to his advantage, ambitious enough to maintain his spot as High King of Elfhame. His subjects threw revels in his honour, grand and obnoxious and beautiful. In return, he hosted banquets for them, balls and parties in which everyone and anyone was invited. All around him, people smiled, they laughed, a constant cycle of never ending merry. It was an objectively wondrous scene, one that evoked emotions of joy and happiness to all but Cardan himself. His heart was coated with dread, with worry and concern and some other feeling he could not quite name.
There were possibilities as to why, countless reasons that could potentially point towards its source. His ministers would point out his unstable throne, the multiple enemies on each front. Cardan knew of this, of course he did, he simply doesn’t care about it. Not enough to warrant the way his heart seemed to throb painfully. Something was wrong, some faraway problem that he was attuned to. Only one thing came to mind, a person far away in a land that was not her own.
He tried not to think of it, avoided all thoughts of her but it was useless. Once it began, Cardan could not be rid of her. Jude plagued his mind, clinging to the recesses of his brain, clawing up to the forefront until all he could ever see was her face, glaring up at him with sharp brown eyes. He tried focusing on something, anything. A distant faerie with daffodils clustered in her hair, throwing her hair back in laughter. Or the sharp gleam of a sword someone had drawn for a duel. Thoughts of Jude immediately returned. Suddenly it was Jude who he saw laughing, her hair bright in the sunlight as she chuckled at something Taryn had said. Or Jude’s knife as she held it to his throat, her tongue he tasted as their lips met in an everlasting kiss.
“Your Majesty?” someone asked.
Cardan had not realised it but he was standing now, his golden throne a couple paces behind him. He was on the dance floor now, the dancing faeries all halting their movements to catch a glimpse at their insane king. He did not know what he was doing, staring blankly at his empty palms, at his booted feet. There was a deep yearning settled in his heart, the sort of ache that could only be relieved through a visit to a place he should not go. Any rational person would wave the feelings away, ignore the nagging need to see if Jude Duarte was okay. Cardan was not rational, nor was he really a person.
“Excuse me,” he said to no one in particular. No one stopped him, Cardan wondered if anyone cared. The music had resumed, the gazes had lifted from his shoulders, something more interesting catching their fleeting attention. Cardan did not mind it, would not argue against the independence he’d been granted. He was thankful for it, glad that he would not need to invent half-truths to explain his disappearance. Surely he could not explain this visit to his ministers, could not tell them the sad truth that he was missing his wife. The same wife who’d neglected her husband in Elfhame, the same wife who’d gone on with the rest of her life as if she did not mean the world to Cardan. Sometimes, he could not help the wave of anger that washed through him, a fury that engulfed him once he truly realised Jude had abandoned him.
Then the fire would burn out, leaving behind a heart of cinder and ashes. Beneath the rubble, the damning truth shone with irrefutable clarity: Cardan Greenbriar was an easy soul to abandon. Jude had been willing to uproot the life she made here, the reputation she’d built, the prestige she’d garnered, all to avoid seeing Cardan at all.
Shaking his head, he mounted the ragwort pony, steering towards Vivi’s house. The one place he was sure Jude would be. “Just glance through the window and leave,” he told himself.
Catch a glimpse of Jude, then leave.
Ensure she’s fine, then leave.
Leave.
Careful to avoid notice, Cardan landed behind a pile of shrubbery. Twigs and branches poked at his side, getting stuck in the fine threads of his clothes. It was an unsubtle reminder, just as the pounding of his heart was, that this was a grand mistake to make. They hadn’t left on the best terms, Jude’s scathing stare still etched so clearly in his mind. Perhaps the choice to remain here was one done in anger, rather than indifference. That was preferable though, Cardan wanted to linger in her mind, haunt her thoughts just as she did his. At least then he would not be turned away with a smile, would not be stabbed in the heart with words like, “Cardan I no longer care.”
With the stealth of a man on a mission, Cardan climbed up Vivi’s fence, silently apologising when he squashed a budding bloom. The lights had been turned on, illuminating the room inside, revealing a singular figure who Cardan very much recognised.
“Jude,” the whispered words left his lips unbidden. The voice of his aching heart calling out to its love as he watched her cross legged on the floor and… vomit.
What?
The sound of retching filled the quiet night, the scent of bile overwhelming the pleasant smell of flowers around them. Through the window, he caught a glimpse of her too-pale face, almost ashen from the sickness that had affected her. From afar, he waited, his concern begging him to barge through the door, to ensure he was alright but sense kept him rooted there. Soon, Vivi would come to tend to her younger sister, or maybe Oak would find her there on the ground, in a puddle of her stomach’s contents. Minutes passed and still no one showed, leaving Jude alone, staring up ahead blankly.
He shouldn’t do it, he knew he shouldn’t
But he did.
Opening the window wider, Cardan climbed in. Finally utilising the techniques the Roach had taught him. Jude did not raise her head when his feet hit the hardwood floor, her eyes still focused on the ground when she said, “Cardan.”
The first words she’d spoken to him since the exile, since they’d parted ways. Cardan unclasped his lips, a thousand words reeling through his mind. Grand promises he would fulfil, finery and jewels and anything else her heart could covet. A hundred apologies for crimes he had committed against her, for the ones he would surely commit in the future. “I’m here,” was all he managed to say. Cardan did not await her reply, did not entertain her protests, only scooped her up in his arms and carried her through the house, in search of the bathroom. “I’m here,” he said again as he slowly lowered her into the tub, turning on the tap so warm water would slowly fill it.
“I don’t need your help,” Jude muttered. But she allowed him to pull the vomit-stained off her shaking body. “What are you even doing here?”
Cardan shrugged his shoulders, quickly leaving Jude and the conversation at hand to find her new garments. Vivi’s house was completely ordinary, as large as Cardan’s royal chambers but he did not say so to Jude once he returned. A shirt in hand, some sweatpants in the other.
“What’s going on?” he asked, breaking the sudden silence that had fallen between them. He did not think he’d ever seen Jude sick before. Despite being mortal, she was seemingly immune to sickness, immune to any sort of weakness at all. “Jude, tell me, what’s going on.”
She ignored his questions, repeating hers, “Why are you here?”
He laughed. A nervous habit he could not ever shake. “Is it so hard to believe that I missed you?” Cardan cringed at his own words, finding too much vulnerability in the very structure of his sentence. “Is it so hard to accept that I yearned to see your face?”
All Jude did in return was stare, wiping at her mouth as she fixed her gaze on her toes. “Don’t do that Cardan. This is merely the consequence of your own actions. You put me in exile, you paid the price to be free of me. Now, go ahead and reap your benefits.” The water rippled as Jude turned off the pipe, small droplets disturbing the water’s surface. “I will tend to my sickness, you may return to your revels and parties and merriment. Go ahead and drink goblets of wine, dance with thousands of girls and bring a hundred to your bed. I’ve ceased caring. If you’d come here, seeking closure, asking for forgiveness or permission, you have it.”
“That’s not it,” he protested. “Maybe I didn’t say it in the best way.” He sighed, a deep breath. “Jude Duarte, my wife, High Queen of Elfhame, I release you from your exile. You may return to Elfhame unharmed, your security promised and your safety forever treasured. Come home, Jude. Come how and shout at me there. Let me hold you for a night and I will not complain when you still insist you go.”
His fingers gripped the point of Jude’s chin, dragging her face so those beautiful brown eyes met his. Their corners had begun filling with tears, evidence of the sadness and hurt Cardan had caused. “What is going on? Tell me, Jude. Tell me so I can fix this mess. Tell me so we can return home and you’d never need to experience illness or pain ever again.”
“I’m tired, Cardan. Tired of you, of Elfhame, of this sickness that plagues my bones. I feel it in the crooks of my muscles, in the dredges of my soul. I’ve met with human doctors and they’ve failed to name it, failed to identify any sort of cure. You fell for a mortal, now you must endure the extent of my sad mortality.” He tried arguing against her words, tried finding a reason to believe that she was using her human tongue to lie. Just as she always did, just as she always had. “Go home, Cardan. I am in mine.”
“Oh.” He did not know what to say to that, unsure if he Jude would cave to his wishes. “Goodbye, my sweet nemesis.” He placed a careful kiss on her forehead, soaking in the moment.
Unbeknownst to Jude, this would not be the end. He would figure out a way to cheat death on her behalf, even if he had to fight tooth and nail for it.
“Goodbye, Cardan.”