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Summary
I should have known better than to believe in calm nights in Elfhame. The crown doesn’t shield me from its cruelty — it sharpens it, carving every moment of ease into something fragile, fleeting. Here, love is a weapon, wielded with intent, and mercy a weakness that invites ruin. I mistook the fever in the air for warmth, the brush of her hand for comfort, her fleeting smile for safety. I mistook the world for something I could hold steady. And in that breath of foolishness, I almost lost the only thing worth ruling for — her, and the fragile, burning tether that binds my life to hers.
OR
Jude is fading, and Cardan nearly missed the signs.
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