The Prisoner’s Throne

Cardan is lying on the bed, bandaged and sulking, in a magnificent dressing gown. “I hate being unwell,” he says. “You’re not sick,” Jude tells him. “You are recovering from being stabbed—or rather, throwing yourself on a knife.” “You would have done the same for me,” he says airily. “I would not,” Jude snaps. “Liar,” Cardan says fondly.

Have I ever told you how much you sound like Madoc when you talk about murder?” Cardan said, opening one eye. “Because you do.” Oak expected his sister to be angry, but she only laughed. “That must be what you like about me.” “That you’re terrifying?” he asked, his drawl becoming exaggeratedly languorous, almost a purr. “I adore it.” She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes. The king’s arms came around her, and she shivered once, as though letting something fall away.

I adore you. I want to play games with you. I want to tell you all the truths I have to give. And if you really think you’re a monster, then let’s be monsters together.

Why does anyone want anyone else? [...] We do not love because people deserve it - nor would I want to be loved because I was the most deserving of some list of candidates. I want to be loved for my worst self as well as my best. I want to be forgiven my flaws.

I would speak with Oak for a moment,” Cardan says. “Alone.” Jude looks surprised but then shrugs. “I’ll be outside, yelling at people.” “Try not to enjoy it too greatly,” says Cardan as she goes out.

I am a chasm that will never be full. I am hunger. I am need. I cannot be sated. If you try, I will swallow you up. I will take all of you and want more. I will use you. I will drain you until you are nothing more than a husk.

I thought love was a fascination, or a desire to be around someone, or wanting to make them happy. I believed it just happened, like a slap to the face, and left the way the sting from such a blow fades. That’s why it was easy for me to believe it could be false or manipulated or influenced by magic. Until I met you, I didn’t understand to feel loved, one has to feel known. And that, outside of my family, I had never really loved because I hadn’t bothered to know the other person. But I know you. And you have to come back to me, Wren, because no one gets us but us. You know why you’re not a monster, but I might be. I know why throwing me in your dungeon meant there was still something between us. We are messes and we are messed up and I don’t want to go through this world without the one person I can’t hide from and who can’t hide from me.

Not everyone needs to love you.

Who can love someone who is empty inside? Someone who steals love instead of earning it?

Love,' Cardan goes on. 'That force that compels us to be sometimes better and often worse. That power by which we can all be bound. That which we ought to fear and yet most desire...

Oak desperately wants to stop Cardan from talking, but short of kicking him or throwing something at his head, he has no idea how.

Would you consider actually marrying me?” She looks up at him, obviously surprised and a little suspicious. “Really?” He presses a kiss to her hair. “If you did, I would be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to prove the sincerity of my feelings.” “What’s that?” she asks, peering up at him. “Become a king of some place instead of running away from all royal responsibility.” She laughs. “You wouldn’t rather sit by my throne on a leash?” “That does seem easier,” he admits. “I would make an excellent consort.” “Then I’ll have to marry you, Prince Oak of the Greenbriar line,” Wren says, with a sharp-toothed smile. “Just to make you suffer.

Inside, the horror he felt when she spoke those words— have you ever wondered if anyone truly loved you— hasn’t faded, but he can hide that. Easily. For the first time, he hates how easily. He hates that he can fold himself up so tightly in his own skin that there’s nothing real about him on the outside.

He loves that she knows he's not peaceful. Loves that she doesn't think him kind. He doesn't know how, but from the first she seemed to recognize something in him that no one else does - that inner kernel of hardness, of coldness.

I didn't enjoy being a snake, and yet I appear to be doomed to be reminded of it for all eternity,' Cardan was saying, black curls falling across his face. He held a three-pronged fork aloft, as though to emphasise his point. 'The excess of songs hasn't helped, nor has their longevity. It's been what? Eight years? Nine? Truly, the celebratory air about the whole business has been excessive. You'd think I never did a more popular thing than sit in the dark on a throne and bite people who annoyed me. I could have always done that. I could do that now.' 'Bite people?' echoed Jude from the other end of the table. Cardan grinned at her. 'Yes, if that's what they like.' He snapped his teeth at the air as though to demonstrate. 'No one is interested in that,' Jude said, shaking her head.

You didn’t trust me.” “Having spent a great deal of time playing the fool myself,” Cardan says, “I recognized your game. Not at first, but long before Jude. She didn’t want to believe me, and I am never going to tire of crowing about being right.” “So you didn’t think I was really allied with Randalin?” Cardan smiles. “No,” he says. “But I wasn’t certain which of your allies were actually on your side. And I was rather hoping you’d let us lock you up and protect you.” “You could have given me some sort of hint!” Oak says. Cardan raises a single eyebrow. Oak shakes his head. “Yes, well, fine. I could have done the same. And fine, you were losing blood.” Cardan makes a gesture as though tossing off Oak’s words. “I have little experience of dispensing brotherly wisdom, but I know a great deal about mistakes. And about hiding behind a mask.” He saluted with his wineglass. “Some might say that I still do, but they would be wrong. To those I love, I am myself. Too much myself, sometimes.” Oak laughs. “Jude wouldn’t say that.” Cardan takes a deep swallow of plum-dark wine, looking pleased with himself. “She would but she’d be lying. But, most important”—he raises a single finger— “I knew what you were up to before she did.” The a second. “And if you decide you want to risk your life, perhaps you could also risk a little personal discomfort and let your family in on your plans.” Oak lets out a long sigh. “I will take that under advisement.

You want me to stay the heir while you two go off somewhere? And then I can step down, be de-princed, whatever?” “Exactly that,” says Cardan. “Like on a vacation?” Cardan snorts. “I don’t understand,” Oak says. “Where are you going?” “A diplomatic mission,” says Cardan, leaning back on the cushions. “After that last little rescue, Nicasia has demanded we honor our treaty, meet her suitors, and witness the contest for her hand and crown. And so Jude and I are headed to the Undersea, where we will go to a lot of parties and try very hard not to die.

If anyone wants to torture you, all they need to do is make you talk about your feelings.

What if I am too much? If I need too much?” she asks, her voice very low. He takes a deep breath, his smile gone. “I’m not good. I’m not kind. Maybe I am not even safe. But whatever you want from me, I will give you.

Do you want-?' he starts, but she is already pushing up her dress. 'I want,' she says. 'That's my problem. I want and I want and I want.' 'What do you want?' he asks, voice soft. 'Everything. Charm me. Rip me open. Ruin me. Go too far.' He shudders at her words, shaking his head against them. She goes on, whispering against his skin. 'You cannot understand. I am a chasm that will never be full. I am hunger. I am need. I cannot be sated. IF you try, I will swallow you up. I will take all of you and want more. I will use you. I will drain you until you are nothing more than a husk.' 'Use me, then,' he whispers, mouth on her throat. Then her lips are against his, and there is no more talking for a long time.

So let me get this straight,” Oak says. “You understand the part where I might have had to kill a lot of people, but you think I chose the wrong girl to kiss?

What do you want?” he asks, voice soft. “Everything. Charm me. Rip me open. Ruin me. Go too far.” He shudders at her words, shaking his head against them. She goes on, whispering against his skin. “You cannot understand. I am a chasm that will never be full. I am hunger. I am need. I cannot be sated. If you try, I will swallow you up. I will take all of you and want more. I will use you. I will drain you until you are nothing more than a husk.” “Use me, then,” he whispers, mouth on her throat.

Jude frowned. “If she steps from that Citadel, I will cut her throat from ear to ear.” Cardan drew a dramatic line across his throat and then slumped exaggeratedly over, eyes closed, mouth open. Playing dead. Jude scowled. “You need not make fun.” “Have I ever told you how much you sound like Madoc when you talk about murder?” Cardan said, opening one eye. “Because you do.” Oak expected his sister to be angry, but she only laughed. “That must be what you like about me.” “That you’re terrifying?” he asked, his drawl becoming exaggeratedly languorous, almost a purr. “I adore it.” She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes. The king’s arm came around her, and she shivered once, as though letting something fall away.

...it can be dangerous to become everything a person wants. The embodiment of all their desires. And more dangerous for you to twist yourself into shapes others chose for you.

You can't help what you are. You can't help being charming. But look into too many hearts, and you may lose your way back to your own.

We do not love because people deserve it—nor would I want to be loved because I was the most deserving of some list of candidates. I want to be loved for my worst self as well as my best. I want to be forgiven my flaws.

What if I am too much? If I need too much?' she asks, her voice very low. He takes a deep breath, his smile gone. 'I'm not good. I'm not kind. Maybe I am not even safe. But whatever you want from me, I will give you.

What I feel is not like the ballads.' 'No an affliction, then?' Oak raises an eyebrow. 'No fever?' Tiernan gives him an exasperated look- one with which the prince is very familiar. 'It is more feeling that there is a part of me I have left somewhere and I am always looking for.' 'So he's liking a missing phone?' 'Someone ought to pitch you into the sea,' ...