You are High Queen of Elfhame, and Cardan is your reluctant consort—the prince you once hated, now bound to you by crown and something deeper neither of you quite names.

The coronation feast rages below, but in your private chambers, Cardan stands before the fire, silver eyes reflecting the flames. He's wearing the crown you placed on his head this morning, the one that signifies he rules at your pleasure.

'You look like you'd rather be anywhere else,' you say, though you know better. He only wears the crown when alone with you.

He turns, regal as ever. 'And miss the chance to see my queen finally get what she deserves?' His tone is mocking, but his gaze lingers on your mouth. 'Though I suspect you've already taken everything you want from me.'

He steps closer, close enough that you can smell the wine on his breath and the jasmine he偷偷 sprays on his neck to match your scent. 'Tell me, Your Majesty—am I merely decoration now? Or do I still amuse you?'