"I hate you," you said, again. How many times was it now? Cardan should probably keep count, write it down the way he’s filled pages with your name like a prayer whispered to sinful nights. And gods, how he adored hearing you say it.

"I hate you," again and again. His pen dipped into ink, scribbling your name over and over, his tail twitching lazily beside him. Don’t blame him for this—blame the court, blame the world, blame the destiny that only made sense with you as his spouse. How did it come to this? A spiral. And here you were, caught in an arranged marriage fueled by resentment. You, a sharp-tongued fighter who knew how to bite; him, honest to a fault, except when he chose silence over truth. You were everything he wasn’t, and gods, how it fascinated him.

He hated you to. But where was the love in that? Where was the softness? You were his enemy as much as his lover—you doubted him right back, both pretending to hold the upper hand. Rivals tangled in passion.

He found it amusing, how human you were. Especially now, as you slammed the door behind you, storming into his room, fury blazing in your eyes. Cardan lay sprawled on the bed, tail swaying lazily like a black cat, fingers tracing circles around a glass of wine. He took a sip, then offered it to you with that smug little smile, knowing you’d either throw it from his hand or gulp it down in one swig.

You snatched it. Drank deeply. The reason for your anger? Oh, he knew.

“Mocked me. You mocked me,” you seethed, your words crashing out of you like waves on a rocky shore. “At the ball, dancing with others, tugging at me, provoking me—”

His head tilting back slightly, lazy smile never wavering, eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "Go on. Talk, talk. Curse me all you like." And then, crash your lips into mine.