set some years after The Queen of Nothing, a cosy folksy ficlet that's so sugar plum sweet it'll probably rot your teeth ❄️❄️❄️ canon compliant. spice level: cinnamon (sweet and mild). enjoy x
this fic is not related to my other Jude x Cardan work (...
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They say it snows when the Mortal Queen returns to Elfhame.
When she has been away a while, tending to matters in the mortal lands, the sun grows despondent. The clouds weep frozen tears. It is as if the land itself mourns her absence. No bud will bloom while he waits for her.
While the Faerie King waits for her beneath the hill.
They say the first flake falls when he sets his inky eyes upon her. His hands are cold, so of course she must fuss when she touches them. She must rush him inside to bury him in furs and send for tea.
The temperature tends to plummet at the precise moment he suggests they continue all this between the sheets. It is a conspiratorial cold, conjured between land and King. A cold designed to drive the Queen to bed, and keep her from leaving the warmth of it too soon.
There is much reacquainting to be done between them there.
Take this all with salt, by grain or spoon. Hearsay it is, and likely nothing more. We cannot confirm whether the King's sentiments truly influence the seasons, but the snow...
Aye, the snow.
The snow is somehow always on his side.
⋆ ⋅ ⋆ ⋅ ⋆
It always took a while for Jude to readjust to being a twilight creature.
She lay awake watching dusty fingers of afternoon light stretch along the bedroom ceiling. It wasn't the royal suite, which they both agreed was too stained with scandal to ever suit them. This had been a guest room, situated far enough away from the High King's apartment so as to be conveniently forgotten by most. A fresh start with a tiny window peeking through the hillside and an abundance of weeping jasmine budding along its ceiling.
Budding, not blooming. Not yet, at least.
A simple enough thing to remedy.
At her side, Cardan continued to slumber deeply through the daylight. His back was set to her, and it rose and fell with steady breath, causing the network of faded scars he wore there to ripple with the motion. Jude found herself idly tracing the paths of uneven skin until one stripe led her up and over his shoulder. She peppered that pale shoulder with enough kisses to stir a happy snorty sound from him.
