“Liar,” Cardan says fondly.
Jude takes a deep breath and turns to Oak. “If you really want, you have our formal permission, as your sovereigns, to abdicate your position as our heir.”
Oak raises his brows, waiting for the caveat. He’s been telling her he didn’t want the throne for as long as he can remember having a reason to say the words. For years, she acted as though he’d eventually come around. “Why?”
“You’re a grown person. Aman, even if I’d like to think of you as forever a boy. You’ve got to determine your own fate. Make your own choices. And I have to let you.”
“Thank you,” he forces out. It’s not a polite thing to say among the Folk, but Jude ought to hear it. Those words absolve him of no debt.
He’s let her down and possibly made her proud of him, too. His family cares about him in ways that are far too complex and layered for it to come from enchantment, and that is a profound relief.
“For listening to you? Don’t worry. I won’t make it a habit.” Walking to him, she puts her arms around him, bumping her chin against his chest. “You’re so annoyingly tall. I used to be able to carry you on my shoulders.”
“I could carryyou,” Oak offers.
“You used to kick me with your hooves,” she tells him. “I wouldn’t mind a chance for revenge.”
“I bet.” He laughs. “Is Taryn still angry?”
“She’s sad,” Jude says. “And feels guilty. Like this is the universe punishing her for what she did to Locke.”
If that were true, so many of them deserved greater punishment.
“I didn’t want—I don’tthinkI wanted Garrett dead.”
“He isn’t dead,” Jude says matter-of-factly. “He’s a tree.”
He supposes it must be some comfort, to be able to visit and speak with him, even if he can’t speak in return. And perhaps someday the enchantment could be broken when the danger was past. Perhaps even the hope of that was something.
“And you had every reason to be mad. We did keep secrets from you,” Jude goes on. “Bad ones. Small ones. I should have told you what the Ghost had done. I should have told you when Madoc was captured. And—you should have told me some things, too.”
“A lot of things,” Oak agrees.
“We’ll do better,” Jude says, knocking her shoulder into his arm.
“We’ll do better,” he agrees.
“Speaking of which, I would speak with Oak for a moment,” Cardan says. “Alone.”
Jude looks surprised but then shrugs. “I’ll be outside, yelling at people.”
“Try not to enjoy it too greatly,” says Cardan as she goes out.
For a moment, they are silent. Cardan pushes himself up off the bed. Messy black curls fall over his eyes, and he ties the belt of his deep blue dressing gown more tightly.
“I am sure she doesn’t want you getting up,” Oak says, but he offers his arm. Cardan is, after all, the High King.
And if he slipped, Jude would like that even less.
Cardan leans heavily on the prince. He points toward one of the low brocade couches. “Help me get over there.”
They move slowly. Cardan winces under his breath and occasionally gives an exaggerated groan. When he finally makes it, he lounges against one of the corners, propped up with pillows. “Pour me a goblet of wine, won’t you?”
Oak rolls his eyes.
Cardan leans forward. “Or I could get it myself.”
Outmaneuvered, Oak holds his hands up in surrender. He goes to a silver tray that holds cut crystal carafes and chooses one half-full of plum-dark liquor. He pours it into a goblet and passes that over.
