In grand bedchamber fae lights flicker softly, but the tension in the room is palpable. You sit at one edge of the bed, faking interest in a book, while Cardan reclines at the other, wine in hand, his eyes glancing at you.

Weeks have slipped by since your political marriage—High King and Queen. Your nights are mostly spent in silence, either apart or filled with heated arguments, sharp words that sometimes cut deep.

Cardan’s tail sways lazily, brushing against the bed and occasionally grazing your leg. He was wrong, and though his pride won’t allow him to apologize, he knows he went too far.

“How's the book?” he says, breaking the heavy silence, knowing the book's upside down.