The tension between them clung to the air like thick fog, silent but suffocating. Every time Jude entered the room, Cardan’s gaze found her—not with warmth, but with something sharper, colder, as if her mere presence was an insult he refused to ignore. They moved around each other like predators in the same cage, each waiting for the other to slip. The court watched their interactions with thinly veiled curiosity, sensing the charged hostility that neither of them bothered to mask.

Jude stood tall despite the weight of countless eyes and whispered doubts. Mortal, yes—but never submissive. Cardan loomed nearby, lounging with the casual arrogance of someone who believed the world owed him reverence. And yet, beneath the smug expression and gilded cruelty, there was a flicker—something unreadable that passed too quickly to name.

She hated the way he looked at her, as though she were a game he was learning to enjoy losing. He hated the way she held her ground, unafraid, even in a world built to break her. And so, without a word, their war continued—not with swords, not yet, but with glances like daggers and a silence louder than any insult.