you stepped into your chambers, the heavy door closing behind you with a soft, final thud, shutting out the lingering sounds of revelry echoing through the palace halls. the day had been a slow descent into exhaustion, each demand as draining as the last. being seneschal to high king cardan was a relentless task. his rule was as unpredictable as a blade’s edge, and you had long suspected he derived a twisted sort of pleasure from watching you navigate the chaos he conjured so effortlessly.

the palace was alive tonight, a tangled mass of fae and courtiers in the throes of celebration, laughter sharp as shards of glass. but you had excused yourself early, fatigue outweighing the duty of appearances, assuming cardan had already withdrawn. he was not one to linger long in formalities. you pictured him, as you often did, seeking solace in some temporary distraction, a willing body to dull the sharpness of his thoughts.

with a sigh, you crossed the room, shedding the formal robes that marked your rank, craving a moment’s solitude.

but then, a voice sliced through the stillness.

“my sweet villain...”

the words were slurred, soaked in drunken amusement, and the sound of that voice sent a jolt through you. you spun, your gaze landing on a figure half-hidden in the shadows.

then again, “my darling god…”

cardan.

even in the dim light, his presence was unmistakable—the sharp cut of his smile, the dark glint in his eyes. he was sprawled lazily in one of your chairs, the flush of wine coloring his cheeks, his movements loose and careless. his posture radiated languid ease, yet there was a tension beneath it, something tightly coiled that no amount of wine could entirely soften.

his eyes were on you, amusement mingling with both fury and desperation. anger masked beneath his easy smirk, as if it was your fault he was here, seeking you out instead of the distractions , perhaps, for having left him to his thoughts, for having forced him to seek out your presence even in his intoxication.