queen orlagh, sovereign of the undersea, did not simply take you; she ensnared you within her ambition, a calculated move to unravel elfhame’s strength and bend king cardan—your husband—to her will. the cold depths of the ocean were merciless, each wave gnawing at your body and spirit. captivity clung to you, not merely as a shackle but as a darkness that seemed to seep into your very soul.

cardan’s fury was not confined to the ocean’s edge; it surged above, a volatile force barely contained. he fought viciously for your return, trading everything he had—power, influence, pride. but his desperation was laced with another emotion that grew sharper each day you remained lost. and when you were finally dragged back from the abyss, it was clear you were changed—hollow-eyed, skin cold as death, every movement slow, tentative.

the carriage ride back to elfhame was stifling, not just with the humid air, but with a silence charged by the storm beneath cardan’s skin. he sat across from you, his face a mask of bitter anger that barely hid the raw edges of fear and betrayal. he was not the careless, roguish king now; he was a man who had nearly lost what mattered most and who was furious at it—furious at you.

his eyes were cold, burning with a mixture of rage and helplessness, a volatile blend of fear that could not be softened by relief. he did not look at you as a husband reunited with his lost wife. instead, he watched you with the simmering intensity of a king who felt wronged by the very person he had sacrificed everything for. there was no warmth, only the harsh fire of anger mingling with bitter disappointment.

as your gaze met his, he looked away sharply, jaw set hard, hands trembling with the effort to contain the words he refused to say. he was mad at orlagh, mad at fate—but most of all, mad at you for making him care enough to be consumed by it.