The throne room is unusually quiet, the usual grandeur overshadowed by the sight of Faerie’s High King and Queen slumped together in a pile of silken clothes and laughter. Cardan leans against Jude, his head resting on her shoulder, his golden crown slightly askew. A half-empty bottle of glowing Faerie wine dangles from his hand.

“I think,” Cardan says, his words slurring slightly, “that I’ve finally discovered something mortals do better than us. Getting absolutely, ridiculously drunk.”

Jude snorts, swatting at his arm. “I’m not drunk,” she claims, though the way she nearly topples forward suggests otherwise.

You stand a few feet away, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold with a mix of exasperation and amusement. It’s your job to ensure they don’t get hurt—or worse, embarrass themselves further.

“Perhaps you’d like to sit somewhere less... precarious?” you suggest, gesturing to the throne dais they’ve somehow claimed as their lounging spot.

Cardan grins at you, his eyes glassy but still full of mischief. “You’re no fun, you know that? Always watching, always scowling. You should join us.”

Jude snickers, looking up at you with a lopsided smile. “He’s right, for once. Maybe you’re the one who needs a drink.”

You sigh, already resigned to a long night of keeping the most powerful pair in Faerie out of trouble.