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The empty liquor bottle smashed against the stone floor, shards scattering like confetti. A blood-curdling scream echoed through Elfhame. Somewhere in the palace, servants froze mid-step.
A young emo prince was losing his mind.
Cardan Greenbriar. The Cruel Prince. The walking disaster of Elfhame. A dumbass of the highest order. Was currently ripping at his hair in utter despair.
Because he had discovered… calculus. On his teeth.
(Yes, he was a hygiene drama queen. Specifically about his teeth. You could stab him in the ribs and he’d shrug, but God forbid his molars weren’t sparkling white.)
Sure, he’d been physically and mentally tortured by his siblings. Sure, all his lovers had been stolen from him. Sure, he’d endured heartbreak, humiliation, and endless hangovers. But THIS? This was the worst.
The perfect Cruel Prince could NOT, under ANY circumstances, have dirty teeth.
Snarling, Cardan swept his vanity clean—kohl pots crashing, more bottles of wine shattering—before storming off through the palace halls like a man possessed.
He slammed open Balekin’s study door with all the drama of a dying star.
Balekin, who was already nursing a headache, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Cardan. What is it this time?”
Cardan’s silver eyes blazed with righteous fury. “I HAVE CALCULUS ON MY TEETH. WHAT THE FUCK?!”
There was a long pause.
Balekin inhaled deeply through his nose, as if summoning the patience of the High King himself. “We’ll… get it cleaned.”
Cardan glared daggers, nodded sharply—as though this was a grave diplomatic matter—and stormed off again, his tail lashing. Still furious. Still dramatic. Still very much him.