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The flaps of the tent threaten to rip from the force with which Jude pushes them aside to enter. If the Queen of Elfhame is totally honest with herself she has wanted to delay the moment of stepping back inside the royal tent as long as she could. The storm is still raging on, and the words of the Storm Hag echoes in her mind. Jude shakes her head, nothing will happen to Cardan, not if she has a say in it. She will help him, he will survive even if right now they can’t reach Insmoor, even if she’ll have to drag him from the land of the dead herself. This leads her to the next of her concerns: can she really trust Oak, at this point? Her brother, the little boy she had seen growing up, whom she had made sure he would grow with a normal childhood, is forever gone. Transformed by her father and his twisted games, and she has let him go, go find his Little Queen. Jude is fuming, thoughts of murder swirling in her head at the image of that wretched pointy toothed creature. She restrains herself from turning around and going to find Wren herself to cut her throat from ear to ear. The fact that she cannot control the situation is sending her spiraling, but there’s nothing she can do now. It’s killing her. At the present, though, Jude cannot really dwell on his brother, she can only trust the part of Oak she knew and loved, and hope he picked up just on Madoc’s tendencies for killing and not his tendencies for betrayal. Jude strides further inside and it is there where she finds him. The Roach is beside him, arms crossed. The Folk may express feelings differently from mortals, but the look of almost sorrow on the goblin’s face is unmistakable. The fact that the Court of Shadows is going to be missing one of its members hits Jude like a sack of bricks to the chest. Taryn’s scream still echoes in her mind, too loud and painful to ever forget. “How is he?” Jude forces herself to croak. The usual masquerade of superiority she wears nowhere to be found. Her voice sounds exhausted. Cardan is lying down supine, one hand clasped tightly around the blood moss covering his chest, a slow red rivulet slides down from under the plant. His skin is ashen and droplets of sweat bead the dark curls on his forehead. Although he’s supposedly resting, the High King’s eyes are shut in pain, crinkles appearing around them. Jude’s heart gives out a painful toll, but she swallows her fear and walks the rest of the distance separating them. She’s terrified for Cardan’s safety. But Jude is not going to lose him. Not now, not like this.“He is resting, but he has lost a significant amount of blood, and the moss can help only so much,” The Roach replies. Jude nods, and kneels beside Cardan’s cushioned cot, her hand goes to gently push aside the one on his chest. She inspects the damage underneath the blood- moss. The wound is not too deep, otherwise Cardan would not be here, still breathing, but it keeps on oozing, and exsanguination is just as deadly as a knife to the heart, it needs to be stitched. “Can you go to Taryn’s tent and fetch me her first aid kit?” Jude’s question rather sounds like a request, a harsh one at that, but The Roach simply nods and quickly leaves to take care of the errand. The twins have always excelled at being at the ready in different fields: where Jude’s skills are more oriented towards maiming creatures as easily as breathing, her sister could always be found carrying around a pack containing all the elements for a rapid first-aid; especially now with Leander. And god only knows how that kid can always be found around immediate harm. It runs in the family. Too bad Taryn’s kit could not have hoped to save Garret. Jude shakes her head, and turns to reach for the pitcher of water and the clean cloth beside it. She pours some on hands rubbing them together and then some more on the rag and gently starts cleaning Cardan’s wound. She barely notices the Roach re-entering the tent and depositing beside her the Barnes and Nobles tote bag containing what she has asked for. Jude nods in her friend’s general direction, as a sign of gratitude, and as fast as he has come, the goblin is gone again. “This is all my fault,” she whispers.And it is all her fault, really. Every bad decision that has led to a drastically worse outcome can be reconnected to her, and her mortal pretentiousness. Jude has been comfortable far too long in her role as a Royal, she has made the mistake of letting her guard down, and this is what has cost her. She should have known that the Folk would never accept her, a mortal, as their Queen. The last nine years have been quite uneventful, and she should have realized sooner that a plot against the Crown was being elaborated, right under her nose. Jude swears she won’t make the same mistake twice. If that entails being more ruthless and paranoid than she already is, so be it. “Self-pity is not a look that suits you, my darling god.” Cardan’s voice is thin as he speaks. His black eyes are sparkling not from their usual mirth, but they shine with a feverish quality that must be due to the pain. He must have heard her mental ramblings even in his hazy state. She can feel her cheeks turning pink at being caught wallowing in her misery. She quickly recovers, ignores his comment, and with no small amount of pettiness she presses down harder on her beloved husband’s wound. Cardan hisses in pain and moves to bring his hand to where Jude is cleaning it, but he doesn’t go very far as she slaps it away. “Don’t touch it with those filthy hands,” she says frowning. The last thing she needs is for the cut to get infected. “But you so adore these filthy hands of mine,” Cardan quips, throwing her one of his suggestive glances. “Why do you have to be more delirious and ridiculous than usual when your life is in danger?” Jude shakes her head exasperatedly, flashes of him sprawled on her bed asking her to kiss him briefly come and go. As an answer, Cardan gives into laughter. “You’re the one talking?” He manages to say between fits of hysterics. Was the dagger with which he was struck poisoned? Jude feels the corners of her mouth slightly lift up at the sight. But the momentary happiness is short lived when Cardan lets out a sharp breath and brings his hand towards the wound in an afterthought, keeping himself from touching at the last instant. Jude doesn’t think twice and goes fishing for the needle and thread in the tote bag beside her. “What are you doing?” “Your wound needs to be stitched, it will staunch the blood flow. It’s not very becoming for the High King to bleed out all over his bedding.” Her tone is practical, but inside she is freaking out. Luckily she has had her fair share of experiences taking care of her own wounds. The expression on his face changes, and a divot of worry etches between his brows. “You’ve just been shot arrows at and just been stabbed,” she starts. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little needle.” “I’m afraid of said needle if you’re the hand that is behind it. You’re a menace.” Possibly, his face goes even paler as she rips out the sterile needle from its packet preparing the thread. When it is ready she looks down at the wound, where a gentle stream of blood is coming out again. Jude swears under her breath, mentally kicking herself for not checking it before preparing her sterile utensils. With one hand she takes extra care to not let the needle touch anything, with the other she searches in the first aid bag for Peroxide. When she finds it, she realizes the impracticality of opening the bottle with just one free limb. But Jude Duarte has always been nothing but ingenious; she brings the bottle to her lips and twists it open. It is in that right precise moment in which she feels Cardan’s heavy stare on her, more precisely her mouth, she immediately blushes. Damn him and his lewd mind. She spits the cap. “Cardan stop looking at me like that. Stop…stop thinking what you’re thinking, you’re making this whole process more difficult than it ought to be.” Jude admonishes him. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, my lovely wife. It appears that the one picturing inappropriate scenarios at the very moment is you.” He says, and has the audacity to flick her nose with one of his long fingers. She can’t stand his confidence and mustering all the pettiness she has, Jude doesn’t bother to put some of the Peroxide on the rag she was using before, but she pours it straight on his open wound. The slight sizzle the liquid emits upon contact gives her the right amount of satisfaction of making her smile. “So ruthless,” Cardan muses, but instead of seeming fazed by it, he sports a giddy expression, bordering on bliss. What can she expect from the creature that begged her to repeat how much she hated him.What an insane jerk he is. “Cut off the absurdities and stay still,” Jude orders, and without much preambles she stands on her knees and puts the needle in through her husband’s chest. Cardan jerks uncontrollably, and thankfully Jude has already applied the first stitch without straying her course at this sudden movement. “Stop fussing,” she huffs. “It is not the most pleasant sensation to suddenly become the pin cushion of your zealous needle work,” he counters through a grimace. Why does he have to be such a baby? “Hold onto something and don’t move, I don’t want to stitch your otherwise perfectly smooth chest,” she says, taking a recentering breath, before preparing to continue with her stitching.“Tell me what other features of mine you deem perfect,” he says. She ignores him, again. As she is about to continue her work, Jude feels Cardan’s hands grip her hips. The cot is low enough and Jude herself is just close to him that he’s not even angled to an awkward position. “I meant grab onto something like the legs of the cot, Cardan.” Her tone is icy, but she does not make a move to remove his offending limbs from off of her. “But it was more convenient for me. And like this I’m not going to fuss anymore.” He counters, and Jude really does contemplate harming him then. She immediately changes idea as she pulls the needle inside for another stitch in and his fingers dig a bit more forcefully on the bones of her pelvis, the sensation starting a ricochet of shivers down her spine, her legs.Jude gulps, deciding to focus her attention on the task at hand instead of giving her beloved husband the satisfaction of seeing how much his touch affects her still. For a while they work in silence, only broken by the occasional grunts coming from the High King when she mistakenly pulls the thread too harshly, until the Queen starts speaking again. “Why did you do it?” Jude asks. Her question spoken in a moderately hushed tone seems to echo around the tent. “Do what?” Cardan asks dumbfounded. She scoffs, putting the needle back in, and as she is perhaps too concentrated when she says: “Why did you put yourself in between?” Jude does not need to elaborate further now. She is asking him why he would take a knife to the heart in her stead. “Are you seriously asking why I wanted to save your life? I reckon the answer is pretty clear.” Cardan brings one of his hands to her shoulder, ringed fingers gently caressing her clavicle, exposed from her dress. The spot is just above his own wound, close to her heart, which is frantically beating. “You could have died,” She continues stubbornly as if to prove a point. Another couple of stitches and the wound would be patched up. “And you would have been dead if I had not stopped the arrows, and got myself in between.” He rebuts, his tone matter of factly, as if he had not even thought twice before acting and putting himself in harm’s way. Jude momentarily lifts her head from her work and looks at Cardan. His ethereal beauty is what has always struck everyone, for a time she included, even when she hated him, but now she is way past that, it is all the expressions she knows he reserves only for her that make her love him every day more, that give her purpose to live and lead Elfhame everyday.For a split moment, when he had fallen to his knees, knife protruding from his chest she had thought she was going to lose him, his love, his tenderness snuffed out in a second. Of course Jude does not say all of this. No matter their nine years together, she cannot bring herself to speak her feelings as freely as she would like. “You are the High King,” she simply says instead, going to the practical heart of the matter. You’re more important. It is what is left unsaid. Cardan, whom everyone always underestimates as a silly buffoon, but is actually an exceptional people reader, catches on what she has not spoken. “And You’re the High Queen, my High Queen.” he says, his tone final. “Don’t tell me you’re about to go sentimental on me, my sweet villain, now.” He then jokes, passing his fingers on her skin again. “No.” She finishes her stitching, carefully tying the thread, once, twice, three times. “I was going to tell you that if you die, I’m going to bring you back and kill you myself.”“So ruthless,” he repeats. Which leads her to cheekily lean down and snip the thread with her teeth. Jude sees a flash of want coloring Cardan’s irises as he watches her. “Don’t come up with strange ideas, you need to rest.” She passes the clean rag from before, now imbibed with Peroxide on the stitched up wound one more time. It is not a neat work, but he’s not going to bleed out at least. “Again, I don’t seem to be the one bringing up these strange ideas you’re talking about.” She chuckles lightly, letting her now free fingers brush the matted curls on his head to the side. “Jude,” Cardan says, and it is astonishing how her name coming from his lips still provokes in her the same effect of when they were just kids. Sometimes she looks back and cannot fathom how far they have come together, how much she has grown in accepting her love for the impossible creature in front of her. “Jude,” he repeats. “It was never your fault, you’re the reason we’re even alive, in the first place. You saved me that night at the coronation, and kept on saving me ever since, it was only fair I was going to repay that debt.” Cardan cups her face tenderly, his thumb gently brushing against her lower lip. “It won’t happen again,” she swears, kissing his finger in promise. “I won’t allow it.” “I normally would advise you against making such vows, but the look in your eyes is the exact kind of terrifying I’m obsessed with.” With a sudden spree of strength Cardan levers himself up on his uninjured part and deftly steals a kiss on Jude’s lips. It is only a brush, but behind it, she can feel the gratitude he has for her being there. In response, Jude pushes him down on the cot, faintly annoyed not by his action, but by his stubbornness. Admittedly, he is looking slightly better than before, but she can tell that he is tired, eyelids starting to grow heavy from all the blood he has lost.“Enough with your antics, you need to rest.” The tone she uses it is of the imperious Queen she shows the Folk each day. “Can you tell me one of your mortal fantasy stories?” He asks, gaze going to the Barnes and Nobles bag turned First Aid Kit. Cardan knows that it is a book store; she had brought him there during their short visit to the mortal world after their wedding, where she had stocked up on books. Every once in a while, when Vivi comes visiting them, she brings her sisters the newest fantasy releases. It is a thing the three of them have always shared: their love for stories narrated by mortal authors. Usually, once she is finished with a new book Cardan, too reads it. Jude has lost count on how many arguments they had stemming from their diverging opinions on plots and characters. “Which one?” “What were you last reading?” “Believe it or not, I have the book here.” Jude has brought it for later, thinking that it was going to be a peaceful and rather uneventful day. “I was halfway through, but I can restart, if you swear to try to rest. Blood loss is no joke.” She admonishes him. “Cross my heart and hope to die,” is his sarcastic response. He thinks he’s hilarious like that.“AH-AH, very funny Greenbriar,” she feigns amusement as she goes to pick up the book from one of her bags of clothes. Jude scoots even closer to Cardan’s head than before, the book clenched tightly in one hand.“Don’t interrupt me, as you usually do. Keep your comments for later,” she says, although she suspects that he won’t be commenting much tonight, his lids are already half shut from exhaustion.Cardan simply nods and Jude starts reading. “ Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason. Those were the words whispered on the streets of Ketterdam… ” ***Jude rises from her position, closes the book and deposits it on the cot beside Cardan’s hand, when she hears a noise outside, followed by a cold sensation. The Little Queen is here. She throws one last glance at Cardan: his breath is a bit shallow, and he can see a thin coat of sweat covering his pale skin, but otherwise he appears to be resting fine. Jude bends down kissing her husband’s brow one last time. “I’ll be back soon,” she whispers. She forces herself to turn her back on him and grab her sword, with which, with a quick move she rips the bottom half of her dress. If it comes down to a fight, she’ll be ready. When Jude steps outside, she immediately spots Wren, her blue skin unmistakable even amongst the thick fog. There are at least a dozen of her soldiers behind her. On her side of the campament The Roach and a couple of armed folks with bows are already there. The Roach sports a new wound on his brow. There must have already been a collutation. The rage she feels a sudden surge of and the cold wind color her cheeks pink. This nonsense won’t last long.“Fancy seeing you here,” Jude snides, in the Little Queen’s direction, sword at the ready. Wren does not have time to reply because from the shore comes a shriek.“JUDE!” It is Oak. He is back, and he won’t like what Jude has in mind to get them out of this situation.