One shots

The Cruel Prince - Poison and Promises

The night was quiet, too quiet for Faerie. The usual hum of whispered magic, the soft rustle of the wind through the enchanted trees, and the faint murmur of distant revelries were conspicuously absent. It felt like the land itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to break the tension.

I stood on the edge of the palace garden, my hand clenched around the hilt of a dagger hidden beneath my cloak. My heart pounded in my chest, a rhythm I couldn't control. This was dangerous. Being alone with him like this, especially after everything we had done to each other. Especially now that he was the High King.

Cardan.

He stood a few feet away, his back turned to me, silhouetted against the moonlit sky. His raven-black hair gleamed under the stars, falling in lazy waves that barely concealed his sharp, delicate features. He wore his crown as if it were nothing, a casual afterthought, but his posture betrayed none of the usual arrogance I was used to.

Instead, he looked... vulnerable.

I hated how seeing him like that made my chest tighten, how the sight of him—of all people—could stir something in me. We were enemies. We had always been enemies. Even when we were pretending not to be.

But tonight, we weren't pretending.

"What do you want, Jude?" His voice broke the silence, soft but laced with its usual venom. He didn't turn to face me, but I could feel the weight of his words, the way they coiled around my heart, squeezing.

"What I want?" I scoffed, forcing steel into my voice. "I want you to stop playing games, Cardan."

At that, he turned. His golden eyes caught mine, sharp and dangerous, as if they could see right through me. "Games, you say? That's rich coming from you."

I took a step closer, refusing to back down. "You're the one with all the power now. You're the High King. You don't need to keep toying with me."

He arched an eyebrow, a small, wicked smile playing at his lips. "Toying with you? Oh, Jude. You think this is a game?"

I clenched my jaw, anger boiling beneath the surface. "Isn't it? You've been doing nothing but manipulating me since the day we met. So tell me—what's your endgame now? What do you want?"

Cardan's smile faltered, and for a brief moment, I saw something else in his eyes—something raw, something real. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the cold mask he always wore.

"I should be asking you that," he said quietly, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. "After all, you were the one who made me king. And I don't believe for a second that you did it without an agenda."

I swallowed hard, my grip tightening on the dagger at my side. He wasn't wrong. I had made him king for my own reasons—reasons I didn't care to admit, even to myself. But I wasn't going to let him have the satisfaction of knowing that.

"I did what I had to," I replied, my voice hard as stone. "For power. For survival."

Cardan stepped closer, his gaze never leaving mine. "Is that all it was? Power? Survival?"

The distance between us shrank, and suddenly, it was harder to breathe. The scent of him—dark, intoxicating—wrapped around me like a spell, and I hated how much it affected me. I hated how much he affected me.

"You tell me," I shot back, my voice sharp, though it trembled slightly at the edges. "You're the one who kissed me. You're the one who made promises with poison on your lips. What was that, Cardan? Just another one of your games?"

He was inches from me now, his breath warm against my skin, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, I thought he might laugh, that cruel, mocking laugh that always made me feel like a fool.

But he didn't.

Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek in the softest of touches. My heart stuttered in my chest, a betrayal of everything I had tried to build inside myself—walls, fortresses, all meant to keep him out.

"You think I don't feel it too?" he whispered, his voice low, raw. "You think this is easy for me?"

I froze, every nerve in my body on edge, my breath catching in my throat. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. Cardan wasn't supposed to say things like this, wasn't supposed to make me question everything I thought I knew about him, about us.

"What do you feel?" I asked, my voice barely more than a breath.

Cardan's hand slipped to the back of my neck, pulling me closer until our foreheads touched. His touch was both gentle and possessive, like he was holding on to something he couldn't quite keep.

"Everything," he whispered, and for the first time, I heard the vulnerability in his voice. "I feel everything when I'm with you, Jude. And I hate it."

My breath hitched. "Then why..."

"Because you're poison," he said, his voice rough, almost broken. "And I can't stop drinking you in."

Before I could say anything, before I could stop him—or stop myself—his lips were on mine. The kiss was fierce, desperate, as if we were both trying to devour the anger, the pain, the feelings we had kept buried for so long. His hand tightened in my hair, pulling me closer, and I felt my defenses crumbling, melting under the heat of him.

I hated him. I hated how much I wanted him.

But in that moment, all I could do was kiss him back, all the rage and passion pouring into that single point of contact, as if we could burn each other alive and still crave more.

When we finally broke apart, both of us breathless, Cardan rested his forehead against mine again, his hand still gripping the back of my neck.

"This doesn't change anything," I whispered, my voice shaking.

"I know," he replied, his voice equally unsteady. "But that doesn't mean I can stop."