Glances and Glares ch. 1: Silence
Set after TWK and contains spoilers!
Jude shrugged on her jacket, opened the door, and walked out without sparing a glance back at Cardan, still splayed out on the bed behind her. They’d been doing this since the week after Jude had returned to Faerie, over a month ago. They still hadn’t “gone all the way,” as humans said, but they’d done everything but, over and over. And they didn’t talk before, during, or after — that was Jude’s condition. The most Jude said was “yes,” but Cardan insisted on saying Jude’s name during. She hated it. It reminded her who she was with, what she was doing. She never said his name.
Sometimes he called after her, when she left, begged her to listen to his explanation for what he had done, to just stay for a few minutes. She always slammed the door in his face. Today he stayed silent, said nothing as she walked out. As soon as she left, he felt a familiar emptiness well up inside him as it occurred to him that this might be all he ever got of Jude. Maybe, he reasoned, it was all he deserved, but that didn’t mean he would give up without a fight. Not this time.
—
An hour later, after bathing and dressing in her chambers, Jude sat straight on her throne. She had caught herself starting to recline, to relax into it, but suspected she would resemble Cardan’s careless posture and quickly righted herself. She had come back to find that she had her own throne, one of many apologies Cardan had attempted to offer. Apologies she had ignored, rejected. Now she sat, obsessively dreading his arrival. She was his queen, and the people knew that, but she had refused to pretend solidarity or true companionship with him. Let his subjects — their subjects — think what they would. Sharing his chambers was the last thing she would do.
Cardan arrived, smiling arrogantly, a smile Jude saw right through. Stop, she told herself sharply. Stop knowing him. She knew it was impossible, of course, but she’d be damned if she didn’t try. She hated herself enough for the things they did in bed. She certainly didn’t want to care enough to notice his facial expressions, to analyze his mood.
Cardan inclined his head to her as he sat down. She didn’t return the gesture.
“Having a good evening, Jude, dear?”
This was new. He usually knew to leave her well enough alone, but tonight, something in him was brave. Daring. Stupid.
She shot him a death glare which, from Jude, could really mean death, but she said in a sickly sweet tone, “not particularly. And you, my lord?” She stressed the words, the closest she could come to spitting them in his face without letting their subjects know just how wrong things were between them.
“A beautiful evening,” he said softly, gazing at her. “I spent much of it in good company.” Jude tensed, eyes flashing, daring him to say more. Even as she reacted in revulsion, memories of all they’d done that evening flooded her, and revulsion was truly not what she felt.
“You know, Jude,” Cardan continued, “you don’t need to call me ‘my lord.’ You’re my wife. My queen.” My equal, he tried to convey without saying the words. He wasn’t sure just how far he could push her, how personal he could make the conversation, especially with the tension visibly running through her body. He knew she would prefer not to be having this conversation at all.
Jude laughed, a fake, high pitched sound, and said “I suppose old habits die hard, my lord.” Cardan dropped the subject.
He managed to stay silent for at least an hour after the exchange, for which he was unduly proud of himself. He didn’t know what made tonight different, but the desire to talk to her, to push her until something, anything changed between them was burning, unbearable. After an hour, he finally gave in to the urge.
“You look lovely tonight,” he said, and she did — lovelier than ever, as she did every day.
Jude turned to look at him. “Do you have a death wish tonight, my lord?” she asked, too quietly for anyone but him to hear.
Maybe he did.
“I have other wishes,” he replied, avoiding the question. “I wish we were in my chambers. I wish you were—“
“Enough,” she hissed. Cardan smiled sadly.
“More than anything, I wish you would forgive me.”
Jude was silent for several moments. Then she stood from her throne and walked out of the hall.
—
Cardan followed her to her chambers, beyond caring what she did to him for it. He stopped at the door, waiting for her to slam it in his face, but she left it ajar behind her, an invitation for him to enter.
He stepped over the threshold into her rooms only to have her shove the door closed behind him, bracing a hand beside him as she wrapped the other around his neck. She pushed him back into the door, eyes cold.
“You want me to forgive you, Cardan?” she asked smoothly, hand tightening on his throat. “You want me to tell you it’s okay? That I’m not mad any more, that I understand why you exiled me? That I know you’re sorry? I do know you’re sorry. I know you regret it, that you had your reasons, that you wish there had been another way. I know all of that, and it doesn’t matter. It will never matter. I will never forgive you for the months I spent away from my home, Cardan. Never. I will never forgive you for the clothes I had to wear, the mortal work I had to do, the agony of spending every moment wishing I was here. You wish more than anything for my forgiveness? I wish more than anything that I never had to see your despicable face again. I remember what it is to hate you, Cardan, and I will never forget. Don’t let the fact that I let you touch me make you think otherwise. I’m using you, and you’re letting me, and we are nothing more than that.”
Cardan swallowed hard, with some difficulty, due to the hand around his throat. Without another word, she released him and turned away.
“Get out,” she said softly, the anger, the hatred gone from her voice, replaced with emptiness. “Now.”
He did as she said, slipping out quietly, rubbing his throat. In the hall, he stopped, leaned against the wall, tried to process what she had said, the way she felt. He thought he could hear some important part of himself breaking.
—
Three days later, she came to him again. This time, he bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood to keep from crying out her name. And afterwards, he didn’t beg her to come back, to hear him out.
He felt that he would drown in the silence between them. But if this was all she ever gave him of herself?
Cardan would take what he could get.