✨Arabelle✨

He sucks in a breath and gets down so we're both on the floor and he's on his hands and knees, making a cage of his body. He presses his mouth to the pulse point of my wrist, racing in time with my heart. "Mock me all you like. Whatever I imagined then, now it is I who would beg and grovel for a kind word from your lips." His eyes are black with desire. "By you, I am forever undone."

He hates you, I remind myself.

"Kiss me again," he says, drunk and foolish. "Kiss me until I am sick of it."

I feel those words, feel them like a kick to the stomach. He sees my expression and laughs, a sound full of mockery. I can't tell which of us he's laughing at.

He hates you. Even if he wants you, he hates you

Maybe he hates you the more for it.

After a moment, his eyes flutter closed. His voice falls to a whisper, as though he's talking to himself. "If you're the sickness, I suppose you can't also be the cure."

He drifts off to sleep, but I am wide awake.

Above me is the same silvery moon that shines down on you. Looking at it makes me recall the glint of your blade pressed against my throat and other romantic moments.

I do not know what keeps you from returning to the High Court--whether it is vexation with me, or whether, having spent time in the mortal world, you have come to believe that a life free of the Folk is better than one ruling over them.

In my most wretched hours, I believe you will never come back.

Why would you, save for your ambition? You have always known exactly what I am and seen all my failings, all my weaknesses and scars. I flattered myself that at moments you had feelings for me other than contempt, but even were that true, they would be but watered wine beside the feast of your other greater desires.

And yet my heart is buried with you in the strange soil of the mortal world, as it was drowned with you in the cold waters of the Undersea.

It was yours before I could admit it, and yours it shall ever remain.

Since I cannot imagine there is much in the human lands to interest you, I can only suppose your continued absence in Elfhame is due to me.

I urge you: Come be angry at a nearer distance.

You are in no mood for games. Very well. I am in no mood for them, either

Let me write it outright: You are pardoned. I revoke your banishment. I rescind my words. Come home.

Come home and shout at me. Come home and fight with me. Come home and break my heart, if you must.

Just come home.

"You don't know how long I've waited to hear those words," he says. "You don't want me dead."

"If you joke about this, I am going to--"

"Kill me?" he asks, raising both black brows.

I think I might hate him after all.

A terrible silence follows. I wait for him to pronounce judgement on me. Whatever he commands will be done. His power is absolute. I don't even have the strength to fight back.

"Whatever can you mean?" Randalin says. "She's--"

"She is my wife," Cardan says, his voice carrying over the crowd. "The rightful High Queen of Elfhame. And most definitely not in exile."

“you should be afraid of me >:(“