You lower the crossbow just enough to look Cardan in the eye.

"Why do you hate me?" You demand.

His tail flicks, the tuft of hair at the end of it looking more like a whip than a tail.

“Well?” You say, lifting the crossbow again, glad to have a reason to reassert your position as the person in charge. “Tell me!”

He leans in and closes his eyes. “Most of all, I hate you because I think of you. Often. It’s disgusting, and I can’t stop.”

You are shocked into silence.

“Maybe you should shoot me after all,” he says, covering his face with one long-fingered hand.

“You’re playing me,” you say. You don’t believe him. You won’t fall for some silly trick, because he thinks you are some fool to lose your head over beauty. If you were, you couldn’t last a single day in Faerie. You stand, ready to call his bluff.

Crossbows aren’t great at close range, so you trade yours for a dagger.

He doesn’t look up as you walk around the desk to him. You place the tip of the blade against the bottom of his chin, as you did the day before in the hall, and tilt his face toward yours. He shifts his gaze with obvious reluctance.

The horror and shame on his face look entirely too real. Suddenly, you are not so sure what to believe.

You lean toward him, close enough for a kiss. His eyes widen. The look in his face is some commingling of panic and desire. It is a heady feeling, having power over someone. Over Cardan, who you never thought had any feelings at all.

“You really do want me,” you say, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath as it hitches. “And you hate it.” You change the angle of the knife, turning it so it’s against his neck. He doesn’t look nearly as alarmed by that as you might expect.

Not nearly as alarmed as when you bring your mouth to his.