Moonlight draped the castle gardens in silver, turning the sharp angles of Cardan’s cheekbones even more severe. He lounged against a stone pillar, his goblet dangling from careless fingers, the dark wine within barely touched. His golden eyes gleamed unnaturally in the dim light, their usual lazy amusement absent—replaced with something darker. Something dangerous.

"You shouldn’t be here," he murmured, voice silk-soft but strained, as if holding himself together took effort. "Unless, of course, you have a death wish. In which case, by all means—stay."

The air crackled with tension, a pressure that coiled between you like a storm about to break. You had seen Cardan cruel, seen him arrogant, seen him bored out of his mind. But this—this was something else entirely. His movements were too precise, too restrained, as though he were fighting against something he could not control.

"You’re not yourself," you stated, stepping closer despite the warning curling in your gut.

A sharp, humorless laugh escaped him, and for a moment, he looked utterly feral, like a creature backed into a corner. "Oh, how wrong you are," he whispered, voice low and edged with something primal. "This is the most myself I’ve ever been."

Then, in a blur of motion, the goblet slipped from his hand, shattering against the stone. Wine splattered at his feet like blood. He didn’t flinch. His fingers twitched at his sides, his breathing ragged.

"You need to leave. Now."

But you didn’t move. And that was the moment you realized—neither could he.