Chapter Text
Jude stands frozen as the hall erupts in chaos in the wake of Balekin’s coup. The majority of the Greenbriar line lies dead on the dais. Some of their blood has splattered onto her dress. A cacophony of noise fills her ears: dishes shattering, Faeries shrieking, Balekin’s supporters searching for Cardan.
The crowd pushes and pulls her this way and that, spurring her to motion. She fights to remain on her feet as the gathering quickly descends into a mob. Her mind is fuzzy, full of images of the massacre. The only thing she can think is that she has to get out. If she cannot find an exit, she dies.
Jude twists and turns, searching for an escape. Drawing her sword now would only increase the likelihood of injury for everyone involved, including herself, so she makes liberal use of her elbows instead. Her attempts are brought to an abrupt halt when someone grabs her upper arms from behind, lifting her off the ground. If nothing else, it clears the fog from her mind. She struggles to break free, shoving her heels into her attacker.
She’s tilting forward in preparation to headbutt him when his hands tighten and he says, “Stop squirming, child. I was sent to bring you to the General.”
Jude stills and twists around to get a glimpse of him. She does recognize him as one of Madoc’s spies, however after the events of the night, she’s not sure who she can trust. Even if she could trust him, she’s not sure she wants to see Madoc right now.
“Who are you loyal to?” She demands with as much authority as she can muster while dangling in the air like a rag doll.
“Madoc,” the spy grumbles, “Now come with me.”
She doesn’t get much choice in the matter as he begins dragging her through the crowd, shoving down anyone in his path. He half-carries her all the way to a carriage waiting a few miles from the palace. He shoves her in and lumbers in next to her before knocking twice on the side, starting the carriage rolling. They sit in silence all the way back to Madoc’s estate.
When they reach the house, the spy tries to grab her again.
Jude brings her fist down on his wrist. He recoils, clearly surprised by the use of force,“I can walk just fine on my own.”
The spy only grunts in response, holding the door open for her. She approaches the estate, unsure what will greet her. Was the rest of her family ushered here? Will Madoc be angry? Certainly this was not his plan, at least not in its entirety.
She gathers her composure as she enters, however nothing could have properly prepared her for the sight before her.
“Cardan?”
At the sound of her voice, he raises his head from where he was slumped over. His eyes are cloudy with drink and his hands are bound behind his back. Despite his situation, he looks perfectly at ease, as though he’s sitting on a throne rather than tied to her kitchen chair.
“Jude?” His stupid spike-tipped shoes tap rhythmically on the floor, grating on her nerves. His gaze catches on her dress, “Were you injured?”
She wants to smack that stupid expression off his face, “No,” his posture relaxes, probably disappointed she wasn’t at least a little bloodied up in the chaos, “What are you doing here?”
“I have apparently become incredibly important in the past hour,” his head tips in the direction of a door she knows leads to Madoc’s study, a loose strand of hair falling over his face.
“That’s one way to put it,” she mutters to herself, “Is Madoc in there?” She starts toward the door.
“Yes. And my brother,” that stops her in her tracks, “Negotiating the finer details of his coronation I’d assume.”
She glances at his wrists, “Shouldn’t you be part of that conversation as an integral piece of the whole event?”
He follows her gaze, flexing his hands, “I suppose I am more Madoc’s bargaining chip rather than a willing participant. I believe that excludes me from such… delicate conversations.”
She recognizes the bitterness in his tone, the anger at being used as someone else’s pawn. It’s something she never imagined he would experience.
“That must be a shame,” despite her empathy for his situation, her voice holds no pity.
Jude stares at the door, weighing her options. She could just open the door and demand to speak to Madoc. It might work, he may even tell her his plan. In doing so, she would run the risk of being turned away if she has overestimated Madoc’s regard for her. Alternatively, she could forsake her dignity and press her ear to the door like a nosy child.
Before she can make a decision, Cardan’s voice pulls her attention back to him, “You could cut me free.”
She wants to scoff at his suggestion. It's preposterous. Although… She reaches to Nightfell’s hilt. She could cut his bonds. Not to free him, of course. A plan begins to take shape in her head. She could smuggle him back to the palace, enter through the servants quarters the same way she did for Dain. She could bring him to the Court of Shadows and then… She’s not sure. It would buy her time at least, to figure out what she’s missing. And power. Right now, whoever has Cardan has the upper hand.
She glances back at the study. Cardan could become her bargaining piece. She feels a rush of euphoria at the mere thought of it, the power she could wield. She could make herself a real piece on the chess board, not simply someone else’s pawn. Maybe it’s time she starts playing her own game.
She steps toward the chair at the same time the door to the study swings open. Her hand drops from her sword, her moment lost.
“Jude. Welcome home,” Madoc says, his tone clipped.
He stands stiffly, every line of his body tense as if ready for a fight. His mouth is pressed into a harsh line. Tonight did not go his way at all. In contrast, Balekin exudes smug accomplishment. He is still coated in the blood of his family. Jude shivers.
“Good. You’re both here. Let’s discuss my coronation.”
Jude glances at Madoc. He simply gestures for her to sit, revealing nothing. Hesitantly, she obeys. She wonders what role they expect her to play in this.
“It will happen within the week—”
“I have conditions,” Cardan cuts in.
“You brat,” Balekin seethes, sending him a withering glare.
Cardan refuses to wilt, “If I am to crown you, I will want something in return.”
“How about your life?” Balekin’s smile is sharp, like a shark, “Is that not incentive enough for you?”
Even under threat, a serious one considering Balekin’s actions that night, Cardan exudes nonchalance, “Should you kill me, how am I meant to place the Crown on your murderous head?”
The click of Balekin’s jaw is audible, “Very well then. Let’s hear these conditions.”
“I want Hollow Hall.”
“Done. I won’t be using it once I’m High King anyway.”
Cardan’s eyebrows twitch. He didn’t expect it to be that easy. But he’s not done, “I want every last bottle in the royal cellars, no matter how old or rare.”
Jude almost rolls her eyes. He could probably get anything from Balekin right now, and he’s thinking about alcohol.
Balekin clenches his fists, “You must be insane if you think—”
“Are those old bottles collecting dust truly worth more than the Crown?” Cardan raises an eyebrow. Jude can tell he enjoys exerting this control over his brother. For what is probably the first time, Cardan holds all the power.
“No,” Balekin mutters through gritted teeth, “I suppose you can have those.”
Cardan fixes him with his arrogant smirk, “Wonderful. Finally, you are done overseeing my training.”
Looking at Balekin, Jude is reminded of the mortal cartoons she used to watch, where smoke would pour out of the characters’ ears, “Fine,'' he manages, “I agree to your terms. After you crown me, you will get Hollow Hall, you will get your wine, and you will be left to your own devices. Now, I believe it is time for my conditions.”
Cardan raises an eyebrow, “You intend to ask for more than a kingdom?”
A shadow falls over Balekin’s face. Jude can tell he’s quickly losing whatever patience he had, “Check your tone, Brother.”
“Consider it checked,” Cardan apparently checked it and decided it was appropriate for the situation as he does not improve his attitude as he says, “Fine. You agreed to my conditions. I suppose I will hear yours.”
“First, after the coronation, you will attend my revels and public events as normal as a public show of support for your new king.”
“At least they will entertain me,” he assents, tipping in his chair. Jude hopes the two remaining legs slip out from under him and land him in a heap on the floor.
“And,” Balekin surprises Jude by turning his attention toward her, offering his arm. Jude’s eyes dart from Madoc to Cardan and back to Balekin. The silence is almost audible as everyone waits for her to move. This can’t be anything good. Unfortunately, she is in too vulnerable a position to deny him. Slowly, she takes his hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. He turns back to his brother, his smirk a wicked curve.
His next words suck all oxygen from the room.
“You will take Jude as your bride.”