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“Cardan turns back to me, gazing down at me as he did in my imaginings. 'When you forced me into working for the Court of Shadows, I never thought of the things I could do- frightening people, charming people- as talents, no less ones that might be valuable. But you did. You showed me how to use them to be useful. I never minded being a minor villain, but it's possible I might have grown into something else, a High King as monstrous as Dain. And if I did- if I fulfilled the prophecy- I ought to be stopped. And I believe that you would stop me.' 'Stop you?' I echo. 'Sure. If you're a huge jerk and a threat to Elfhame, I'll pop your head right off.' 'Good.' His expression is wistful. 'That's one reason I didn't want to believe you'd joined up with Madoc. The other is that I want you here by my side, as my queen.' It's a strange speech, and there's little of love in it, but it doesn't seem like a trick, either. And if it stings a little that he admires me primarily for my ruthlessness, well, I suppose there should be some comfort that he admires me at all. He wants me with him, and maybe he wants me in other ways, too. Desiring more than that from him is just greed. He gives me a half smile. 'But now that you're High Queen and back in charge, I won't be doing anything of consequence anyway. If I destroy the crown and ruin the throne, it will only be through neglect.' That startles a laugh out of me. 'So that's your excuse for not doing any of the work? You must be draped in decadence at all times because if you aren't kept busy, you might fulfil some half-baked prophecy?' 'Exactly.”

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Book:The Queen of Nothing
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“You should go.' 'This is my room,' he points out, affronted. 'And that's my wife.' 'So you keep telling everyone,' the Bomb says. 'But I am going to take out her stitches, and I don't think you want to watch that.' 'Oh, I don't know,' I say. 'Maybe he'd like to hear my scream.' 'I would,' Cardan says, standing. 'And perhaps one day I will.' On the way out, his hand goes to my hair. A light touch, barely there, and then gone.”

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“I understand she didn't take very good care of Prince Cardan.' I am thinking of the crystal globe in Eldred's rooms and the memory trapped inside. 'It wasn't as though she didn't dress him in velvets or furs; it's that she left them on until they grew ragged. Nor was it that she didn't feed him the most delectable cuts of meat and cake; but she forgot him for long enough that he had to scavenge for food in between. I don't think she loved him, but then I don't think she loved anyone. He was petted and fed wine and adored, then forgotten. But for all that, if he was bad with her, he was worse without her. They are cut from the same cloth.' I shudder, imagining the loneliness of that life, the anger. The desire for love. There is no banquet too abundant for a starving man. 'If you're looking for reasons why he disappointed you,' Oriana says, 'by all accounts, Prince Cardan was a disappointment from the beginning.”

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“Since you're mortal, Jude, I cannot hold you to your promises. But you can hold me to mine: I guarantee you safe passage. Come back to Elfhame with me, and I will give you the means to end your exile.' 'The means to end it?' I ask. If he thinks I don't know better than to agree to that, he's forgotten everything worth knowing about me. 'Come back to Elfhame, tell me what you would tell me, and your exile will end,' he says. 'I promise.”

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Book:The Queen of Nothing
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“So did you murder Balekin?' Nihuar asks me, clearly able to put off her curiosity no longer. 'Yes,' I say. 'After he poisoned the High King.' 'Poisoned?' she echoes in astonishment, looking at Cardan. He shrugs, lounging in a chair, looking bored as ever. 'You can hardly expect me to mention every little thing.”

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“Cardan was not an easy child to love, and he's only grown worse with time. He would scream to be held, and then once picked up he would bite and kick his way out of my arms. He would find a game and obsess over it until it was conquered, then burn all the pieces. Once you're no longer a challenge, he will despise you.' I stare at her. 'And you're giving me this warning out of the kindness of your heart?' She smiles. 'I am giving you this warning because it doesn't matter. You're already doomed, Queen of Elfhame. You already love him. You already loved him when you questioned me about him instead of your own mother. And you will still love him, mortal girl, long after his feelings evaporate like morning dew.' ... 'Is that why you intercepted the letters he sent? To protect me? Or was it because you're afraid that he won't tire of me? Because, my lady, I will always be a challenge.”

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“The polished wood door is still carved with an enormous and sinister face, still flanked with lanterns, but sprites no longer fly in desperate circles within. A soft glow of magic emanates instead. 'My king,' the door says fondly, it's eyes opening. Cardan smiles in return. 'My door,' he says with a slight hitch in his voice, as though perhaps everything about returning here feel strange. 'Hail and welcome,' it says, and swings wide.”

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“He was nice in the carriage. I didn't know he knew how to be nice.' That makes me laugh. At the door to my chambers, she puts her hand on my arm. 'He was trying to impress you, you know. Talking to me.' I frown. 'I think he just wanted to hear about weird candy.' She shakes her head. 'He wants you to like him. But just because he wants you to doesn't mean you should.”

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Book:The Queen of Nothing
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“I could worn Randalin that he ought to be afraid of the way that Cardan is looking at him. Cardan turns to me, and some of the heat of his anger is still in his eyes. 'Jude, would you give me and the councilor a moment alone? I have a few things I would like to urge him to consider. And Grima Mog has brought you soup.' 'I don't need anyone to help me tell Randalin that this is my home and my land and that I am going nowhere and relinquishing nothing.' 'And yet,' Cardan says, clamping his hand on the back of the councilor's throat, 'there are still some things I would say to him.' Randalin allows Cardan to hustle him into one of the other royal parlours. Cardan's voice goes low enough for me to not make out the words, but the silky menace of his tone is unmistakable.”

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“Randalin rushes toward the door, nearly running into Heather in his haste. He blinks at her in astonishment, clearly not prepared for the presence of a second mortal. Then he departs, avoiding even a glance in my direction. 'Big horns,' Heather mouths, looking after him. 'Little dude.' Cardan leans against the doorframe, looking very satisfied with himself.”

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“I told him to watch out,' the Roach says. .... 'But would he listen? I'd have ordered him, if not for the little matter of him being the High King.' 'Cardan sent you?' I ask. 'Not exactly,' says the Roach, moving the light so that I can see the person with him, the one I elbowed. The High King of Elfhame in plain brown wool, a cloak on his back of a fabric so dark it seems to absorb light, leaf blade in the scabbard on his hip. He wears no crown on his brow, no rings on his fingers, nor gold point limning his cheekbones. He looks every inch a spy from the Court of Shadows, down to the sneaky smile pulling at a corner of his beautiful mouth. Looking at him, I feel a little light-headed from some combination of shock and disbelief. 'You shouldn't be here.' 'I said that, too,' the Roach goes on. 'Really, I miss the days when you were in charge. High Kings shouldn't be gallivanting around like common ruffians.' Cardan laughs. 'What about uncommon ruffians?' I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, and his laugh gutters out. The Roach turns his gaze to the ceiling. I am abruptly aware that I am in a nightgown Oriana lent me, one that is entirely too diaphanous.”

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“He's begun a new sword for Madoc.' 'I wouldn't mind ruining that before it's put to my throat,' says Cardan. 'Look for the big one,' I say. 'That'll be it.' The Roach gives me a frown. I can't help not having a better description; the last time I saw it, it was barely more than a bar of metal. 'Really big,' I say. Cardan snorts.”

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“I will accompany you,' Cardan says, rising. I open my mouth to explain all the reasons that he can't go. The problem is that as I look up in to his gold-rimmed eyes and he blinks mock-innocently down at me, I can't think of a single one that will actually stop him. 'Good,' he says, sweeping past me. 'We're decided. ... In the hall, I am forced to walk faster to catch up with Cardan. 'You don't even know where we're going.' He pushes black curls away from his face. 'Fand, where are we going?' The knight looks miserable but answers. 'To Hollow Hall.' 'Ah,' he says. 'Then I am already proven useful. You will need me to charm the door.”

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“Cardan manages to persuade my sister to tell him a little about the mortal world. He sounds delighted at her description of slushy machines, with their violently bright colours and sugary strangeness. She is hallway through an explanation on gummy worms when we are back at the palace and climbing down from the carriage.”

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“Cardan comes over, stepping on my star chart, kicking over the ink-pot with his silver-tipped boots, sending the blood spilling across the paper, blotting out my marks. 'Come with me,' he says imperiously. 'I knew you liked her,' says Locke. 'That's why I had to have her first. Do you remember the party in my maze garden? How I kissed her while you watched?' 'I recall that your hands were on her, but her eyes were on me,' Cardan returns. 'That's not true!' I insist, but I remember Cardan on a blanket with a daffodil-haired faerie girl. She pressed her lips to the edge of his boot, and another girl kissed his throat. His gaze had turned to me when one of them began kissing his mouth. His eyes were coal-bright, wet as tar. The memory comes with the slide of Locke's palm over my back, heat in my cheeks, and the feeling my skin was too tight, that everything was too much.”

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“Come with me,' Cardan says again, drawing me away from the blood-soaked star chart and the others taking their lessons. 'I am a prince of Faerie. You have to do what I want.' He leads me to the dappled shade of an oak tree, then lifts me up so I am seated on a low branch. He keeps his hands on my waist and moves closer, so that he's standing between my thighs. 'Isn't this better?' he says, gazing up at me. I am not sure what he means, but I nod. 'You're so beautiful.' He begins to trace patterns on my arms, then runs his hands down my sides. 'So very beautiful.' His voice is soft, and I make the mistake of looking into his black eyes, at his wicked, curving mouth. 'But your beauty will fade,' he continues, just as softly, speaking like a lover. His hands linger, making my stomach tighten and warmth pool in my belly. 'This smooth skin will wrinkle and spot. It will become as thin as cobwebs. These breasts will droop. Your hair will grow dull and thin. Your teeth will yellow. And all you have and all you are will rot away to nothing. You will be nothing. You are nothing.' 'I'm nothing,' I echo, feeling helpless in the face of his words. 'You come from nothing, and it is to nothing you will return,' he whispers against my neck. A sudden panic overtakes me. I need to get away from him. I push off the edge of the branch, but I don't hit the ground. I just fall and fall and fall through the air, dropping like Alice down the rabbit hole.”

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“Are you angry about-' He cuts himself off, looking at my face more carefully. 'No, you're afraid. But why would you be afraid of me?' I am trembling with a feeling that I barely understand. 'I'm not,' I lie. 'I hate you. You sent me into exile. Everything you say to me, everything you promise, it's all a trick. And I, stupid enough to believe you once.' The sheathed knife slides easily to my hand. 'Of course it was a trick-' he begins, then sees the weapon and bites off whatever he was about to say.”

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“I have added bonemeal to my bread,' Aslog says. 'Ground just as fine as any grain. My loaves will be more famed than ever before, though not for the same reason. And if I served Queen Gliten the bones of her own consort, at her own table, what of it? It is no more than she deserves, and unlike her, I do pay my debts.' He snorts, and she looks at him in surprise. 'Well,' he says, 'that's awful, but a little bit funny, too. I mean, did she have him with butter or jam?' 'You always did laugh when you would have been better served staying silent,' she says with a glower. 'I recall that not.' Cardan doesn't add that he laughs when he is nervous.”

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Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“,,,you think it was sunrise I was waiting for and not my queen. Do you not hear her footfalls? She has never quite managed the trick of hiding them as well as one of the Folk. Surely you've heard of her, Jude Duarte, who defeated the redcap Grima Mog, who brought the Court of Teeth to their knees? She's forever getting me out of scrapes. Truly, I don't know what I would do without her.”

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“Now what?' 'We wait for the sun together,' he says, his gaze going to the hot blush of the horizon. 'And no one dies.' He sits with her as red turns to gold, as blue edges out black. He sits with her as grey creeps over Aslog's skin, and he does not look away from the betrayal on her face as she becomes stone.”

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“I have added bonemeal to my bread,' Aslog says. 'Ground just as fine as any grain. My loaves will be more famed than ever before, though not for the same reason. And if I served Queen Gliten the bones of her own consort, at her own table, what of it? It is no more than she deserves, and unlike her, I do pay my debts.' He snorts, and she looks at him in surprise. 'Well,' he says, 'that's awful, but a little bit funny, too. I mean, did she have him with butter or jam?' 'You always did laugh when you would have been better served staying silent,' she says with a glower. 'I recall that now.' Cardan doesn't add that he laughs when he is nervous.”

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“Then Cardan comes in to view, a fond smile on his lips. When he speaks, he does so in a conspiratorial whisper. 'When I was a child, we would stage burials, like little plays. The mortals were dead, of course, or at least they were by the end.' At that, I can finally speak. 'You're lying,' I say. 'Of course I'm lying,' he returns. 'This is your dream. Let me show you.' He presses a warm hand against my cheek. 'I love you, Jude. I've loved you for a long time. I will never stop loving you.”

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“Lady Asha, as the mother of a prince, found herself much in demand with the Court, if not the High King. Given to whimsy and frivolity, she wished to return to the merry life of a courtier. She couldn't attend balls with an infant in tow, so she found a cat whose kitten were still born to act as his wet nurse. That arrangement lasted until Prince Cardan was able to crawl. By then, the cat was heavy with a new litter and he'd begun to pull at her tail. She fled to the stables, abandoning him, too. And so he grew up in the palace, cherished by no one and checked by no one. Who would dare stop a prince from stealing food from the grand tables and eating beneath them, devouring what he'd taken in savage bites? His sisters and brothers only laughed, playing with him as they would with a puppy. He wore clothes only occasionally, donning garlands of flowers instead and throwing stones when the guard tired to come near him. None but his mother exerted any hold over him, and she seldom tried to curb his excesses. Just the opposite.”

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“Lady Asha, as the mother of a prince, found herself much in demand with the Court, if not the High King. Given to whimsy and frivolity, she wished to return to the merry life of a courtier. She couldn't attend balls with an infant in tow, so she found a cat whose kittens were still born to act as his wet nurse. That arrangement lasted until Prince Cardan was able to crawl. By then, the cat was heavy with a new litter and he'd begun to pull at her tail. She fled to the stables, abandoning him, too. And so he grew up in the palace, cherished by no one and checked by no one. Who would dare stop a prince from stealing food from the grand tables and eating beneath them, devouring what he'd taken in savage bites? His sisters and brothers only laughed, playing with him as they would with a puppy. He wore clothes only occasionally, donning garlands of flowers instead and throwing stones when the guard tired to come near him. None but his mother exerted any hold over him, and she seldom tried to curb his excesses. Just the opposite.”

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“Too difficult? Better not to make the attempt? Those are the words of a coward,' Cardan said, full of childish bravado. In truth, his brother intimidated him, but that only made him more scornful. Prince Dain smiled. 'Let us exchange arrows at least. Then, if you miss, you can say that it was my arrow then went awry.' Prince Cardan ought to have been suspicious of this kindness, but he'd had little enough of the real thing to tell true from false. Instead, he notched Dain's arrow and pulled back the bowstring, aiming for the walnut. A sinking feeling came over him. He might not shoot true. He might hurt the man. But on the heels of that, angry glee sparked at the idea of doing something so horrifying that his father could no longer ignore him. If he could not get the High King's attention for something good, then perhaps he could get if for something really, really bad. Cardan's hand wobbled. The mortal's liquid eyes watched him in frozen fear. Enchanted, of course. No one would stand like that willingly. That was what decided him. Cardan forced a laugh as he relaxed the bowstring, letting the arrow fall out of the notch. 'I simply will not shoot under these conditions,' he said, feeling ridiculous at having backed down. 'The wind is coming from the north and mussing my hair. It's getting all in my eyes.' But Prince Dain raised his bow and loosed the arrow Cardan had exchanged with him. It struck the mortal through the throat. He dropped with almost no sound, eyes still open, now staring at nothing. It happened so fat that Cardan didn't cry out, didn't react. He just stared at his brother, slow, terrible understanding crashing over him. 'Ah,' said Prince Dain with a satisfied smile. 'A shame. It seems your arrow went awry. Perhaps you can complain to our father about that hair in your eyes.”

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“Too difficult? Better not to make the attempt? Those are the words of a coward,' Cardan said, full of childish bravado. In truth, his brother intimidated him, but that only made him more scornful. Prince Dain smiled. 'Let us exchange arrows at least. Then, if you miss, you can say that it was my arrow then went awry.' Prince Cardan ought to have been suspicious of this kindness, but he'd had little enough of the real thing to tell true from false. Instead, he notched Dain's arrow and pulled back the bowstring, aiming for the walnut. A sinking feeling came over him. He might not shoot true. He might hurt the man. But on the heels of that, angry glee sparked at the idea of doing something so horrifying that his father could no longer ignore him. If he could not get the High King's attention for something good, then perhaps he could get if for something really, really bad. Cardan's hand wobbled. The mortal's liquid eyes watched him in frozen fear. Enchanted, of course. No one would stand like that willingly. That was what decided him. Cardan forced a laugh as he relaxed the bowstring, letting the arrow fall out of the notch. 'I simply will not shoot under these conditions,' he said, feeling ridiculous at having backed down. 'The wind is coming from the north and mussing my hair. It's getting all in my eyes.' But Prince Dain raised his bow and loosed the arrow Cardan had exchanged with him. It struck the mortal through the throat. He dropped with almost no sound, eyes still open, now staring at nothing. It happened so fast that Cardan didn't cry out, didn't react. He just stared at his brother, slow, terrible understanding crashing over him. 'Ah,' said Prince Dain with a satisfied smile. 'A shame. It seems your arrow went awry. Perhaps you can complain to our father about that hair in your eyes.”

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“Valerian and Locke look strange; their clothing moth-eaten, their skin pallid, and only inky smudges where their eyes ought to be. Nicasia doesn't seem to notice. Her sea-coloured hair hangs down her back in heavy coils; her lips are twisted in to a mocking smiles, as though nothing in the world is wrong. Cardan wears a bloodstained crown, tilted at an angle, the sharp planes of his face as hauntingly beautiful as ever.”

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“The off curve of her ear was what he had noticed first. A roundness echoed in her cheeks and her mouth. Then it was the way her body looked solid, as though meant to take up space and weight in the world. When she moved, she left behind footprints in the forest floor. Because she didn't know how to glide silently, to disturb no leaf of branch. He felt smug to see how bad she was at even such an easy thing. It was only later that it disturbed him to think back on the shape of her boot in the soil, as though she was the only real thing in a land of ghosts. He had seen her before, he supposed. But at the palace school, he really looked. He noted her skirts, spattered with mud, and her hair ribbons, partially undone. He saw her twin sister, her double, as though one of them were a changeling child and not human at all. He saw the way they whispered together while they ate, smiling over private jokes. He saw the way they answered the instructors, as though they had any right to this knowledge, had any right to be sitting among their betters. To occasionally better their betters with those answers. And the one girl was good with a sword, instructed personally by the Grand General, as though she was not some by-blow of a faithless wife.”

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Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“Vivi and Heather take them out for bubble tea. There are no actual bubbles. Instead, he is served toothsome balls soaked in a sweet, milky tea. Vivi orders grass jelly, and Heather gets a lavender drink that is the colour of the flowers and just as fragrant. Cardan is fascinated and insists on having a sip of each. Then he eats a bite of the half-dozen types of dumplings they order- mushroom, cabbage and pork, cilantro and beef, hot-oil chicken dumplings that numb his tongue, then creamy custard to cool it, along with sweet red bean that sticks to his teeth. Heather glares at Cardan as though he bit the head off a sprite in the middle of a banquet. 'You can't eat some of a dumpling and put it back,' Oak insists. 'That's revolting.' Cardan considers villainy takes many forms, and he is good at all of them. Jude stabs the remainder of the bean bun with a single chopstick, popping it into her mouth and chewing with obvious satisfaction. 'Gooh,' she gets out when she notices the others looking at her. Vivi laughs and orders more dumplings.”

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Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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“With Nicasia by his side, Cardan drew others to him until he formed a malicious little foursome who prowled the isles of Elfhame looking for trouble. They unravelled precious tapestries and set fire to part of the Crooked Forest. They made their instructors at the palace school weep and made courtiers terrified to cross them. Valerian, who loved cruelty the way some Folk loved poetry. Locke, who had a whole empty house for them to run amok in, along with an endless appetite for merriment. Nicasia, whose contempt for the land made her eager to have all of Elfhame kiss her slipper. And Cardan, who modelled himself on his eldest brother and learned how to use his status to make Folk scrape and grovel and bow and beg, who delighted in being a villain. Villains were wonderful. They got to be cruel and selfish, to preen in front of mirrors and poison apples, and trap girls on mountains of glass. They indulged all their worst impulses, revenged themselves for the least offense, and took every last thing they wanted. And sure, they wound up in barrels studded with nails, or dancing in iron shoes heated by fire, not just dead, but disgraced and screaming. But before they got what was coming to them, they got to be the fairest in the land.”

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“He stalked back to the enormous moth, but it wouldn't return him to Elfhame until he went to a nearby general store, glamoured leaves into money to buy it an entire six-pack of lager, and then poured the booze into a frothing puddle on the ground for the creature to lap at.”

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“I would have my room,' Cardan said, narrowing his eyes and assuming his most superior pose. 'Perhaps you two might take whatever this is elsewhere.' Part of him thought she would laugh, having known him before he perfected his sneer, but she shrank under his gaze. Locke stood up, putting on his pants. 'Oh, don't be like that. We're all friends here.' Cardan's practiced demeanour went up in smoke. He became the snarling feral child that had prowled the palace, stealing from tables, unkempt and unloved. Launching himself at Locke, he bore him to the floor. They collapsed in a heap. Cardan punched, hitting Locke somewhere between the eye and the cheekbone. 'Stop telling me who I am,' he snarled, teeth bared. 'I am tired of your stories.' Locke tried to knock Cardan off him. But Cardan had the advantage, and he used it to wrap his hands around Locke's throat. Maybe he really was still drunk. He felt giddy and dizzy all at once. 'You're going to really hurt him!' Nicasia shouted, hitting Cardan's shoulder and then, when that didn't work, trying to haul him off the other boy. Locke made a wordless sound, and Cardan realised he was pressing so tightly on his windpipe that he couldn't speak. Cardan dropped his hands away. Locke choked, gasping for air. 'Create some tale about this,' Cardan shouted, adrenaline still fizzing through his bloodstream. 'Fine,' Locke finally managed, his voice strange. 'Fine, you made, hedge-born coxcomb. But you were only together out of habit; otherwise, it wouldn't have been so easy to make her love me.' Cardan punched him. This time, Locke swung back, catching Cardan on the side of the head. They rolled around, hitting each other, until Locke scuttled back and made it to his feet. He ran for the door, Cardan right behind. 'You are both fools,' Nicasia shouted after them.”

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Book:How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories
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