Cardan & Jude oneshots

My bed

Hello people! 

After more than a month, here I am, ehehehe. I know it's pretty annoying not having regular updates, but I swear that if I could post more, I would. 

I LOVE writing for you, you're all so patient and caring with me! I haven't forgotten about you.

 This chapter is a request, with Cardan being more submissive, but I've combined it with chapter 6 of The Wicked King. 

I hope you like it!

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Jude's POV

All through the morning I sit on a chair tipped back against the wall of my own bedroom. My father's sword is across my lap.

My mind keeps going over her words. "You don't understand. She wants us to be married. She wants me to be queen."

Though I am across the floor from him, my gaze strays often to the bed and to the boy sleeping there.

His black eyes closed, his dark hair spilling over my pillow. At first, he could not seem to get comfortable, tangling his feet in the sheets, but eventually his breathing smoothed out and so did his movements.

He is as ridiculously beautiful as ever, mouth soft, lips slightly parted, lashes so long that when his eyes are closed they rest against his cheek.

I am used to Cardan's beauty, but not to any vulnerability. It feels uncomfortable to see him without his fanciful clothes, without his acid tongue, and malicious gaze for armor.

Over the five months of our arrangement, I have tried to anticipate the worst. I have issued commands to prevent him from avoiding, ignoring, or getting rid of me. I've figured out rules to prevent mortals from being tricked into years-long servitude and gotten him to proclaim them.

But it never seems like enough.

I recall walking with him in the gardens of the palace at dusk. Cardan's hands were clasped behind his back, and he stopped to sniff the enormous globe of a white rose tipped with scarlet, just before it snapped at the air.

He grinned and lifted an eyebrow at me, but I was too nervous to smile back. Behind him, at the edge of the garden, were a half dozen knights, his personal guard, to which the Ghost was already assigned.

Although I went over and over what I was about to tell him, I still felt like the fool who believes she can trick a dozen wishes from a single one if she just gets the phrasing right. "I am going to give you orders."

"Oh, indeed," he said. On his brow, the crown of Elfhame's gold caught the light of the sunset.

I took a breath and began. "You're never to deny me an audience or give an order to keep me from your side."

"Why so ever would I want you to leave my side?" he asked, voice dry.

"And you may never order me arrested or imprisoned or killed," I said, ignoring him. "Nor hurt. Nor even detained."

"What about asking a servant to put a very sharp pebble in your boot?" he asked, expression annoyingly serious. I gave him what I hoped was a scathing look in return.

"Nor may you raise a hand against me yourself." He made a gesture in the air, as though all of this was ridiculously obvious, as though somehow giving him the commands out loud was an act of bad faith. I went doggedly on. "Each evening, you will meet me in your rooms before dinner, and we will discuss policy. And if you know of harm to be done to me, you must warn me. You must try to prevent anyone from guessing how I control you. And no matter how much you hate being High King, you must pretend otherwise."