Chapter Text
Cardan
The night arrives like so many others. An imp prepares me for a gathering in the palace – not a party in truth, no one will be having fun. The imp bows too low before leaving. I practice my facial expressions in front of the mirror. The golden of my doublet over the white silk shirt and pants matched the circle around my black eyes. From the cradle, I’ve been instructed and embraced being a powerful, cruel and yet feckless Crown Prince. Dangerous enough no one will contest my right to rule – because an oracle said so – and foolish enough those who would contest it anyway chose to try to control me instead. I put on my warmest fake smile before I leave.
Father is not joining tonight, which will add to the rumours he’s abdicating soon. I enter the throne room where courtiers try to drape themselves over me. The words all blend amid opulence and false adoration. And if I notice the roots around the throne decaying, I push the thought away.
I’m going to need wine, but I always do.
The gathering is small enough that we end up outside, enjoying the warm breeze. I pick one of the courtiers to have the pleasure of my company later – why not? It will give me an excuse not even to acknowledge my brothers. “What’s that?” she gasps looking at the sky.
I frown when I see a ragwort horse plummeting down from the sky. I detangle myself from the courtier and swat at her like a fly for her to leave. Everyone’s attention is now on the pony and whoever is riding it.
I was wrong, this night might prove entertaining after all.
The pony lands poorly and their rider flies mid-air, tumbling their way on the grass towards me, a mess of brown shaggy hair hiding their identity. Although I’m pretty certain they are female and emaciated.
She finally sits up to have one of my more enthusiastic royal knights pointing a sword at her. The girl moves the hair away from her face, exposing the roundness of her mortal ears, taking in the scene.
I expect her to be concerned with the sword pointed at her, but she looks at me instead. She looks almost defiant, but I must be imagining it. “Are you Prince Cardan?”
My eyes widen at the question. “I am. And you are?”
She looks finally at the knight holding the sword in her direction and then back at me. “I am looking to bargain with someone who can remove a curse put on me,” she says wheezing. She’s pale, her skin clammy and I can hear her irregular heartbeat. She’s dying – a mortal affliction, yet that bothers me more than it ought to. “However, if you require a knight to protect you from a dying girl perhaps I came to the wrong place.”
The courtiers gasp and laugh at the well-landed blow. I smile wickedly but gesture at the knight to stand back. The dying mortal manages to stand up, whatever for, I don’t know. Certainly on her knees would be a more suitable stance to beg for her life, and standing seems taxing in her condition. “I don’t believe even the lowliest of my subjects would need protection from one so close to death,” I sneer at her and notice her iron-drenched clothes, “Now, do tell, who are you and who sent you?”
She looks confused for a moment. “You may call me Jude. No one sent me. I thought falling from the sky made it clear that this was all my doing.”
Is the dying girl mocking me?
I glance at my subjects. I can tell they are amused and I join the laughter. “And am I to believe a dying mortal found her way to Elfhame, to the Palace nonetheless, all by herself?” A mortal in full health would struggle to get here without one of us. A mortal in her condition shouldn’t even make it out of the fog that separates the islands from her world.
The dying girl shrugs. “It is what happened. Whether you believe it is up to you,” she pauses, reminding herself, “Your Highness.”
I circle her like she’s prey, yet she does not move. I tune in to the curse. A very nasty one, taking a slither of her life force on every breath. It’s so ingrained in her that I suspect she grew up with it. Maybe over a decade, maybe more. I whistle. “The Curse is practically a work of art. What did you do to be rewarded with it, mortal?”
“A hag, one of your subjects, cursed me as a child. I was too young to recall if I did anything, perhaps I insulted the hag, or threw my mash at her,” her words are so neutral she could be talking about the weather, but I can see the blooming anger in her eyes. “But I’m not here to reminisce,” she closes her eyes after a light tremble she tries to hide.
“What are you here for, mortal?” I speak louder, to make this a more entertaining show. Not many are here, but this will be the talk for the next few days.
“To bargain, Your Highness,” she says resolutely, even as she struggles to breathe in and out. “I want the curse removed and you can do it. Name your price.”
Despite my training, my mouth still falls open ungracefully. That sounded a lot like a demand when I expected begging and grovelling, at the bare minimum some crying. I can feel all eyes on me as I think over my options.
If I send her to die part of the court will think it’s funny and the other cruel, both favourable outcomes. But some will spread rumours about how I wasn’t powerful enough to undo the curse of a hag. More importantly, something sits wrong with me about letting her die from an act of such cruelty against a child, even a mortal one.
If I save her or try at least the court might think me weak. Giving in to the demands of a mortal who can barely stand. Perhaps I can make them believe I’m being spiteful. Offer her a chance to live, but keep the reigns of that life away from her. Once the novelty of the cursed mortal who plummeted at my feet dissipates I can send her back to the mortal world. And if she refuses my offer, well, the problem solves itself.
I cross my arms. “Unusual bartering technique for a mortal,” I smile viciously, making sure to look around. “Here is my offer: I will lift your curse. But in return, you will be bound to my service,” I won’t bother hiding this is not a fair bargain. Actually, I think I’ll rub it in how one-sided it will be. “You will be mine in all the ways I see fit, for as long as I see fit.” The mortal continues staring at me as if looking at an odd bug. I’m not going to offer anything better, but I’m curious to see how she’ll try to convince me to change the terms. Will she cry? Try to reason with me? Perhaps insult me, looking at her demeanour. “Do we have a deal?”
Her staring doesn’t falter. “Fine.”
The surprise shows in my face before I can tame it. “Fine?”
“We have a deal,” she says calmly, almost relieved. Did she not understand what I was demanding or who she was bargaining with? Perhaps being so close to one's demise is maddening.
“Very well,” I say annoyed as the magic of the bargain settles. I move closer and she tenses before she hides it. She’s well-practised in hiding her emotions it seems. It bothers me the pervasive thought that we have that in common. As if I would have anything in common with this creature. “Now to the tedious drudgery of uncursing,” I soften my smile instinctively as I put one hand on her shoulder and the other I keep up in the air, lined up with her heart. The mortal seems unmoored already, having her relax might improve her chances of surviving when I remove the threads around the curse.
I wish I didn’t have to do this with so many eyes on me. If she dies when my magic eats away at the curse, will the Court whisper how I murdered her? Will I have to laugh to save face? Will her gaunt face haunt me in nightmares?
I exhale slowly as the curse crumbles and the threads become visible to me, moving out of her and back into the elements. Jude’s eyes shut and her body threatens to collapse. I move the hand not on her to her other shoulder to keep her in place and whisper just for her to hear. “I won’t have you embarrassing me by dying now, Jude.” Opening her eyes, she presses a small smile.
It occurs to me she only bargained for the curse to be removed. And now I have to justify nursing her back to health. I call an attendant, “Fetch a healer and take Jude to one of the guest rooms. Wouldn’t want to have her die before fulfilling her part of the bargain.”
Jude stumbles along the servant, alive, but just about. The courtiers carry on retelling what just happened. It doesn’t take long until a new song emerges:
His mercy’s a chain, it binds and it holds,
His kindness’s a knife, so sharp and so cold.
You won’t die in vain, but the cost will be high,
He’ll steal your life without a tear in his eye.
Dain, my annoying brother, and Locke, his annoying stepson who insists we are family, approach. I sigh mentally.
“That was unusually cruel even for you, brother,” Dain says smirking, “Whatever for would you need an extra servant?”
“Mortals can be entertaining, “ Locke adds with a dramatic pause, “for a while.”
I shrug nonchalantly, “How is it cruel to save a life?” I grab a full goblet and return to the fawning courtiers without waiting for a response.
Mortals are inferior beings who can be useful, and entertaining but utterly discardable – One of the many lessons Father bestowed upon me. If I find myself walking towards the guest rooms where the girl was taken hours later, surely it is because I want to follow up on a deal. And if I put her in a guest room instead of one of the servants’ cots… why did I put her in a guest room?
She’s nothing, barely alive and if she pulls through she’ll die after a short life in her mortal lands. There’s no reason for me to be here. None whatsoever.
There’s no reason for me to be here now looking at a door, three days after the bargain. I’m told Jude developed a fever and has been delirious for the most part, unable to keep food down.
A healer leaves the rooms, Helen, a faerie raised in the mortal world. I smile gently at her when she bows. “How’s my new asset?” A flash of something passes her eyes. Perhaps being raised with mortals gave her some undue sympathy.
“The curse is lifted,” I raise an eye at the implication I failed my word, “but her body will have to recover from the illness the curse festered.”
I cross my arms and my expression is grimmer than I wish, “Will the mortal live?”
“She might,” not a good start, ”The girl is stronger than most would be in her situation. But I cannot say for sure.”
With a nod I enter the rooms, not bothering with knocking. Jude is restlessly sleeping. I put my hand on her scolding forehead. She stirs and starts saying gibberish during her sleep. I sit down next to her to hear what she’s saying: “Don’t leave me. I’ll be good, please.”
It turns out she can beg, she just needs to be delirious first. The smile on my lips is replaced by something uncomfortable in my corrupted heart at the heaviness of her pleas. I push away the thoughts of why I want to comfort her. It’s already ridiculous enough that I’m here, wondering if I could do more to ease her pain or if I could fix that murmur I hear in her heart between irregular and skipped beats.
Before I can think my hand is back on her forehead and I summon the Land’s magic, willing it to heal the girl. I’ve been told I should be able to do it after being crowned, but maybe the Land will listen to me all the same. The magic starts trickling. It’s not much but it’s enough to lower her burning fever and for her breathing to sound less concerning.
Jude’s eyes flickered open briefly, glassy with fever, and she looked at me as if she wasn’t sure if I was real. “Prince?” she whispers, her voice barely audible.
“You’re delirious,” I say coolly, though something twisted in my chest. It’s unbecoming I’m doing so much for a mortal. Yet, for some fault in me, I cannot stop. “You don’t belong here, mortal,” the words come out easily as I stand to leave the room, “I should remediate that situation anon.”
Her eyes flutter shut, and she drowns into unconsciousness once more.
With a final glance at the girl in the bed, I wondered what was the truth behind my words and what was there to remedy.