He called it my 'furry little problem' in company.

I sigh, knowing all too well what he wants from me: nothing less than an immediate cure for the High Queen, who fell from the sky yesterday after I shot her in a deadly fight that had left her gravely wounded. Yes, he expects me to work a miracle.

“Where is he?” I ask, irritation creeping into my voice, which narrows the knight's gaze in accusation of my discourtesy. I care not.

“The High King of Elfhame is in the throne room with the Living Council.” I nod, having nothing more to say, and begin to walk away.

As I make my way there, my thoughts drift to Cardan and his recent behavior. I know he’s worried, stressed, and sad, but he must understand that even with his royal authority, there’s no amount of power that can make Jude wake up any sooner or healthier. Yet every time I try to explain this, he denies it.

I really miss when the Queen was in charge.

Finally, I reach my destination. I push open the doors, and among the Council members, I spot Cardan deep in conversation with someone I believe is Randalin.

I’m close enough that the King notices me and waves Randalin away in a way that makes me smirk. Randalin huffs in offense but parts anyway.

“Liliver.” His tone suggests a question, so I reply, “You called for me?”

I can’t help but linger my eyes on his face, not for any reason other than to note his disheveled state. Beautiful or not, everyone can see how tired he looks—almost sickly.

His hesitant voice pulls me from my thoughts. “I did. I wanted to discuss something.”

He takes a few steps closer, glancing briefly behind me, likely checking the Council members who are too busy to notice our exchange.

“I wanted to talk about something that could help my wife.” His wife. As if I didn’t know Jude myself. “Vivienne, her sister, mentioned human healers.” I didn’t think he’d fall into delusions so quickly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, trying to muster a royal tone that doesn’t match the desperation in his eyes.

I remain silent for a moment, hesitant to shatter his fragile hope, but I believe it’s better he confronts reality sooner rather than later. “Cardan, you have to stop this. It’s not good for you. You have to believe she’ll be fine, not force it.”

I expect him to be angry, but instead, his face turns sorrowful, and I worry that the sight of the King crying before his Council would only shatter the strength they look to him for in this time of war.

“But will she?” he asks. As I consider my response, I take his arm and lead him to a private room behind the dais, seeking some solitude. He smiles sadly as we enter, and I’m confused enough to ask, “Why are you smiling?”

“It’s not the best choice of room to soothe me,” he replies, leaving me perplexed. Yet his gaze shifts, silently asking for a change of subject, so I oblige.

“Cardan, you clearly have a lot going on. We all do. So do yourself a favor and talk to me. I can help you, you know? I could give you advice, put you in your place, even kill who you ask me to. But you need to talk to someone, and I’m a good option,” I say quickly, almost in one breath.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, and he shuts it again.

Silent seconds pass before he speaks very softly. “It could work. They are more familiar with human sickness.”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s referring to the human healers he mentioned, completely ignoring my earlier suggestion.

I sigh and move to the couch to sit, gesturing for him to join me. “Oh no. I can’t. Not on that couch.”

I frown, confused. “What do you mean, you can’t?” Suddenly, the High King of Elfhame blushes in front of me. I’m taken aback, about to ask why, but he shakes his head, signaling the end of the subject.

After a few seconds, he steps closer and says, “Yes. I do need someone to talk to.” I smile amicably, feeling a sense of triumph that I might have convinced him.

“So, you’re finally willing to tell me what’s going on with Jude?” His eyebrows rise, as if shocked. I’d think him dim-witted if he truly believed I didn’t see the connection between them.

“You mean, what’s going on with Jude being severely injured? The High Queen of Elfhame being severely injured?” He replies flatly, as if explaining it to a child.

“No, I mean, what’s going on with you being so sorrowful because of Jude being injured, as if she hadn’t been hurt every hour of every day since we’ve known her.”

He looks taken aback, as if he hadn’t considered that. “I don't think you understand. The Queen, a great model for Elfhame, is severely injured, especially now that we are at war, which makes our land vulnerable. That is what’s going on.”

I’m beginning to get angry, but I know him well enough to recognize he’s deflecting to avoid a deeper conversation.

I cover my eyes with the heels of my hands, my elbows resting on my knees. I can’t believe that, in the middle of a war, my biggest concern is still the feelings of the High King. “Cardan, you can’t seriously think I don’t know. Just don’t act stupid in front of me, please.”

He stays silent for too long, so I look up at him and continue, “You and Jude! Oh, please. Don’t make that face. There is something between you two.”

I almost shout, and I wonder where the limits of our friendship lie, because, friendly or not, he’s still the King.

I think he finally surrenders when he says faintly, “How can you know?” I laugh.

“How? Cardan, the way you look at her. The way you keep asking for news about her. The way the land turned dull when you exiled her. The way you’re in constant pain because she is in pain. It’s everywhere, and it’s obvious.”

For a moment, I think of Van, wishing I could say all of this to him.

But then I focus on Cardan, unsure of what he truly feels. “Tell me, do you—” I stop abruptly when I see the tears pooling in his eyes.

“I do,” he finishes for me, his tone vulnerable yet serious. “I do love her.”

I’m taken aback, stunned that he’s admitted it aloud, even though I suspected as much.

I stand and approach him, feeling the need to reassure him. I know what he’s going through, and I think I need this connection myself. I place my hand on his wrist, urging him to look down at me.

Before I can speak, he says, “But I can’t tell her that now, and that’s my fault.” I close my eyes at the weight of his guilt.

“Cardan, she’ll wake up when she’s ready. There’s no rushing her body to heal itself faster,” I remind him gently.

He stares at me, expression blank. I expect him to reject my words, end the conversation, or remain silent, but instead, he simply nods. There’s a sadness in the way he does it, a sense of acceptance.

I press on, “But you know she’ll be fine, right? Because she will.” He looks up at me, giving a smile that lacks conviction.

“She better be, because I have to tell her,” he says eventually. “I have to tell her that I love her.”

"I hate this game," I mutter, both in words and with the irritated look on my face.

"Don’t be a sore loser," she teases, and if my queen weren’t wearing that infuriating yet irresistible smile—one I suspect I’ve taught her myself—I’d remind her of the inherent advantage she holds in this so-called "poker, Jude's version," complete with rules she and her sisters invented.

Rules I barely understand, courtesy of a rushed, one-minute explanation before the game began.

"I haven’t lost yet, love," I say, grabbing her wine glass since mine is already empty. I take a sip, one I desperately need.

Naively, I match her raise. Roach, who we’ve roped into dealing, flips the final card.

No king.

Which means: I have nothing. I lose. Jude wins. And mercifully, the game is over.

She sets down her cards with a triumphant flourish, revealing the king that pairs with the queen of hearts already on the table—a pair that, according to Duarte’s rules, is unbeatable.

"Yes! I knew you’d win," Taryn cheers from Jude’s side.

Unlike Jude’s poker partner, my teammate, Vivi, snorts in disapproval. "How are you so bad at this?" she asks, not for the first time.

We were paired together—yet another odd rule—and both Vivi and Taryn had already lost, leaving Jude and me as the last players standing.

"It’s not as if you did any better," I shoot back, watching Roach drag away the pile of our team's money—"The Immortals with a Weakness for Mortals," as Vivi so lovingly named us.

"Don’t be too hard on my king, will you?" Jude says, grinning at me.

The way she says "my king" sends a warm, familiar sensation through me, even if she’s clearly mocking me. "He’s not that bad. I’m just that good," she adds with a chuckle, making me laugh despite myself.

As Taryn collects their winnings, I rise from my seat and walk over to Jude.

Around the table, everyone pauses to watch: Roach, the Bomb, Taryn with the Ghost, Vivi beside Heather, and others who were observing the game. I don’t care.

I stand beside her, looking into her deep, brown eyes, and offer her my hand.

To my surprise, she takes it without hesitation, her warm, tanned fingers curling into my cold, pale ones. She rises gracefully from her chair, lips parting in mild surprise. The teasing smile she wore a moment ago is gone, replaced by something softer. Her green silk dress, the one I picked for her—with her permission, of course—flows elegantly as she steps closer to me.

"Where?" she whispers, just for me, her breath sending goosebumps down my neck.

"Wherever."

I suddenly remember the eyes still on us, and so does Jude. She turns to Vivi, who’s now smirking as if she’s discovered our deepest secrets.

I snort, turning Jude’s face back to me with a gentle hand on her chin. I ask her again, this time with my eyes. She nods, her mischievous grin returning as I smile at her.

With her hand still in mine, I take a step back, never breaking eye contact. Everything else fades—except for Taryn’s incredulous, almost disgusted grimace as Vivi whispers something in her ear. Knowing Vivi, I probably don’t want to know what she said.

We leave the room and step into a quieter, more private space. I finally turn around to walk properly when Jude pulls me back, stopping me from crashing into a cabinet. A drink cabinet, to be exact—lucky me.

I kneel, retrieve her favorite bottle, and stash a couple of juice boxes in my pocket for good measure.

"What did you take?" she asks, as I stand and take her hand again. I ignore the question and start heading for the exit, but something stops me at the door.

I can hear the faint sound of the revel’s musicians outside.

"Wife, I have no heart for the party," I confess. I should. I’m the one who arranged it, after all. But ever since I woke from that nightmare earlier, the night has felt off. The party’s in full swing now, and there’s no undoing that, but there is another option—this quiet moment away from it all.

Jude looks at me with those soft, caring eyes—eyes I didn’t even know she had until a few months ago, when we finally dropped our armor around each other.

"Husband," she says, lifting a hand to stroke my cheek. I cherish these rare moments of tenderness from her, treasuring every one. "May I remind you that you’re the High King? If you don’t want to go, then don’t."

I smile, handing her the juice box I’d stashed away. As we both open our drinks, I continue, "And since you’re the queen—"

"The High Queen," she corrects me, smirking over her straw.

I laugh. "Yes, sorry, the High Queen. And since you’re the High Queen, you get to decide what we do instead of going to the party."

She bites her lip, pretending to think about it. "I want..." she says, trailing off as if I should already know.

"Mmm," she grins, and I grin back. I know that look all too well.

"That's what you want?" I ask, watching her expression closely. She nods, and I can’t help but smile wider as I start walking with her again.

"Why are you so happy about it?" she asks, feigning mockery. "I thought you hated Duarte’s poker."

Wait—what?

"Poker?" I repeat, incredulous. "That’s what you want to do? Again?" I sigh, shaking my head. "I thought—never mind."

But she starts laughing—full, unrestrained laughter—and I can’t help but smile too, even though I try not to.

"Okay, love, stop. It’s not that funny," I say, my attempt at a serious face failing miserably.

"You’re funny," she says, though I know she means I’m ridiculous, not amusing. "Sorry," she adds, raising an apologetic hand as her laughter dies down into a smile.

I stare at her with exaggerated judgment, which only makes her chuckle more. "I do hate Duarte’s poker," I confess, though she already knows that. "But I find it funny how terrible you are at cheating when you steal and hide cards."

"Hey! That’s not true." Jude pretends to be offended. "You really think I’m bad at it? No one’s noticed."

I laugh, pulling her closer by the waist. "Well—" I pause, reaching into the secret pocket in her dress and pulling out a hidden card. "I noticed."

She gasps, smirking. "Are you always watching me like a creep?"

"No," I say, caressing her cheek. "Not like a creep."

She grins, pulling out yet another hidden card from a pocket I didn’t even know existed. This one is the king of hearts.

"You," I say, staring down at her in amused disbelief.

"Yes," she admits with a satisfied smirk. "I stole this one too."

Of course she did. And the irony—that she once again holds the king of hearts—makes me smile like an idiot.