Chapter Text
✧ ˖°⌖꙳✧
I know I don't know you
But I want you so bad
Everyone has a secret
Oh, can they keep it?
Oh, no they can't
— Secret by Maroon 5
✧ ˖°⌖꙳✧
The first time Jude heard the word Elfhame, she was seven.
Her parents almost never fought - her mom liked to hum in the kitchen, her dad liked to kiss her forehead, and they both liked to laugh at jokes Jude didn’t always get. It was annoying sometimes, watching them be so perfect. Taryn always sighed dreamily about it, as though their parents were living proof that True Love existed. Jude, on the other hand, suspected True Love was just what made parents make weird eyes at each other during dinner.
But tonight there was no humming, forehead kissing, and definitely no laughing. Instead, there was… tension. Her parents spoke in raised voices sharp enough to keep Jude awake while Taryn snored peacefully beside her, unicorn plush clutched like a shield.
Jude gave her sister a flat look. It was typical. Taryn could sleep through an earthquake, a flood, or the apocalypse. If monsters came tonight, Jude would have to do the sensible thing and fight them off with nothing but a flashlight and a well-aimed kick.
Slipping out of bed, she crept toward the stairs. The floor groaned under her toes, like it wanted to tell on her, but Jude crouched low and pressed herself to the banister like a spy.
Downstairs, her mother was pacing, arms folded tight. Her father sat with his elbows on his knees, looking like someone had glued him to the couch.
“It isn’t safe,” her mother whispered fiercely. “If he finds us - ”
“We’ve been safe for years,” her father interrupted in the kind of voice that made Jude’s stomach squeeze. “He won’t come here. He can’t.”
Her mother spun on her heel, and that’s when Jude heard it. The word. It was strange and heavy, but beautiful too, like a secret being dropped in the middle of the living room.
“Elfhame is not as far as you think.”
Jude’s eyes went wide. Elfhame.
She mouthed it silently. It tasted like magic and maybe a little like mud. The kind of word you weren’t supposed to know yet, like “taxes” or “wine.”
Her father’s hands curled tighter. “We built a life here. A normal one. For them.”
Them. Jude’s ears perked. For the girls. That meant her.
Her mother shook her head, dark hair spilling into her face. “You think he’ll forget? You think Elfhame forgets anyone?”
There it was again. Elfhame.
Jude grinned despite herself. Whatever it was, she wanted it. It sounded sharp and dangerous, and Jude liked dangerous things.
She lowered herself onto the step, chin propped on her knees, listening harder.
Maybe Elfhame was a monster. Maybe it was a sword. She hoped it was a sword.
The next month, the Duarte family went to the park with a basket full of sandwiches, juice boxes, and one very grumpy Jude.
Everyone else seemed to be having the time of their lives. Vivi had already found an audience - three older kids and a pair of wide-eyed toddlers - who were watching her shuffle cards with suspicious elegance. Jude knew her sister was up to no good. Vivi’s “party tricks” always ended with someone losing pocket change. Or in this case, probably their allowance.
Taryn sat sweetly on the blanket with their parents, braiding grass into a crown like some kind of angel child. Her mom cooed over her, her dad chuckled fondly, and Jude sat ten feet away under a tree, sentenced to exile.
She was grounded. At a picnic.
Apparently, shoving a boy named… Liam? Lima? Llama? Something with an L - was a crime, even though he had pushed Taryn first and cut in line at the swings. Jude knew she’d been right. It wasn’t her fault he landed in the dirt. Dirt was everywhere in parks. He should’ve been grateful, really, for the chance to get acquainted with it up close.
Her parents hadn’t seen it that way. They had scolded her about “appropriate behavior” and “not resorting to violence.” Violence! As though what she’d done counted as violence. She hadn’t even kicked him.
Jude scowled and dug a stick into the ground, carving a very unflattering portrait of the boy-whose-name-sounded-like-a-farm-animal. Maybe she should’ve taught him a lesson privately, somewhere his parents couldn’t run over gasping about poor little Liam-Llama. That way her parents wouldn’t have caught her either.
She jabbed the dirt portrait in the eye. That felt better.
Across the grass, Vivi gasped, one hand flying to her chest as she turned over a card. The crowd of kids groaned and dug into their pockets. It was definitely a scam.
Just as she was about to jab Liam-Llama’s dirt-eye again for good measure, Jude heard a sound. It was not the flap of Vivi’s cards or the sing-song voice of her mother. It was something softer, like someone trying very hard not to be heard.
Jude’s head snapped up. Her reflexes had always been quick. She tilted her chin toward the tree line. And there was a boy.
He was taller than her, but not by much, all angles and sharpness, as though someone had forgotten to feed him properly. His curls were dark and messy, catching the light, but his cheeks were hollow, and his clothes looked wrong. Not wrong like dirt-stained or torn, but wrong in a fancy way. They were too nice for a park picnic. And on his finger - Jude narrowed her eyes - was a ring. A real one. It was not made of plastic or from a gumball machine. Kids didn’t wear rings like that.
He hovered just beyond the trees, half-hidden, gaze darting to the ground like it might swallow him whole. Definitely not one of the neighborhood kids. He looked as out of place as a cat at a dog show.
Jude’s mouth curved into a sly grin.
Well. This was better than sulking under a tree.
She stood, brushing dirt off her shorts.
The boy shifted, like he thought he’d gotten away with something by staying quiet.
Wrong.
She dropped into a crouch, the way Vivi did when she was sneaking up on squirrels, and started after him as quietly as she could. Which wasn’t very quiet, but good enough.
The boy’s shoulders stiffened. Then he turned sharply and slipped further between the trees.
She followed, darting from trunk to trunk, her heart pounding with the thrill of it. He moved quickly for someone so frail. Every time he thought he’d lost her, Jude burst out of the brush like a particularly determined badger.
It turned into a ridiculous and exhausting game.
He cut left. She cut left. He doubled back. She doubled back faster. He ducked under a branch, and Jude barely missed cracking her forehead on it.
They circled the same patch of trees three, maybe four times. Jude’s lungs burned, but her grin never faltered.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” she muttered under her breath, as though he could hear her.
The boy finally stopped, leaning against a trunk, chest heaving. His pale face was flushed now, curls plastered damp to his temples. He looked both miserable and resigned, like someone who’d been caught in the world’s most pointless trap.
Panting, Jude plopped down on the grass a few feet away. She jabbed a finger at him, breathless but gleeful.
Up close, the boy was even weirder.
Jude tilted her head, openly staring. He was so thin he looked like he might blow away if the wind got ideas. His clothes were all wrong, too fancy for the park, like he’d gotten lost on his way to a wedding. And that ring. Rings were for dads or magicians or people who wanted to look mysterious.
Her eyes narrowed. Maybe he was friends with Llama-boy. That would explain the weirdness. If so, this stranger deserved a shove too.
The boy, for his part, was staring right back. His gaze flicked to her hair, which never did what she told it to. Strands stuck up at odd angles, haloed by grass bits from when she’d dropped to the ground. Jude scowled and shoved it back, but his eyes lingered like she was some kind of curiosity.
“What?” she snapped finally. “Never seen a girl before?”
He blinked, and muttered, “Not like you.”
Jude sat back on her heels, eyebrows shooting up. “Not like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
The boy’s mouth opened, then closed, like he hadn’t expected her to actually ask.
Jude smirked. He didn’t know she was grounded, of course - how could he? Unless he was some spy for Liam-Llama’s family. But more likely, he was just… strange. Strange and out of place and, most importantly, interesting.
She tapped her chin, pretending to consider him. “You’re tall,” she decided aloud. “But I’m clever. So if you are friends with the boy who stole the swing, you better watch out.”
That earned her the smallest twitch of his lips. It was not a smile exactly, but close enough to make Jude’s chest fizz with triumph.
The boy tilted his chin up. “My name is Cardan.”
Jude squinted. Weird name. It sounded like something out of Taryn’s storybooks. But if he wanted to play pretend, she could let him.
“Cardan?” she said, rolling it around like a marble. “Sounds made-up.”
His eyes flashed indignantly, like she’d insulted a sacred oath. “It isn’t.”
That only made her grin wider. Teasing him was fun.
He crossed his arms, then looked out toward the trees as though the park offended him. “This world is… strange.”
Jude blinked. “Strange? It’s just a park. There’s grass, and swings, and a boy who deserved to eat dirt.”
“I mean your world,” he corrected, gaze flicking back to her. “I don’t belong here. I am the prince of Elfhame.”
Jude’s stomach gave a lurch.
Elfhame.
She knew that word. She’d heard it whispered in the dark by her parents when they thought she was asleep. It had hung in her chest like a splinter ever since.
But prince? That was fake. That was storybook stuff. That was Alice tumbling into Wonderland - Jude’s favorite book, though she never admitted it because then Taryn would tease her about secretly liking magic and princes.
Still, her eyes narrowed on him. This strange boy with the too-fancy clothes and the ring like he’d stolen it from a treasure chest.
He could be lying. Vivi lied sometimes, about where she’d been or what she could do. Jude lied too, when it suited her.
So maybe this Cardan was just another liar.
Her grin sharpened.
“Prince, huh? Sure. And I’m the Queen of Earth.”
Cardan’s chin lifted, his voice edged with a kind of arrogance that didn’t quite match the way he’d been running in circles like a panicked rabbit. “I can’t lie,” he said, like it was obvious. “The Fae cannot.”
Jude blinked at him. “The Fae?”
His eyes glittered. “Not like mortals are. Not like you.”
Something in her stomach flipped. Not like mortals. Not like her. The way he said it was too confident, like he knew a secret about her she hadn’t told. Jude’s fingers curled into the grass, heat crawling up her neck.
He couldn’t know. No one ever knew. Jude was good at lying - better than good. She’d once told Taryn their goldfish had been chosen for a secret mission and that was why it disappeared down the toilet. She’d convinced her parents she hadn’t been the one who broke her mother’s mug, even though the handle had practically stuck itself to Jude’s guilty little hands. When Jude lied, people always believed her.
But this boy - this Cardan - he looked at her like he could see every trick she’d ever pulled.
Her eyes narrowed. “So you’re saying you’re… what? A truth machine? Some kind of weird human detector?”
Cardan’s lip curled disdainfully, though his voice was almost soft. “I am not human.”
Jude’s laugh came out too quickly. “Next you’ll tell me you’re a dragon in disguise.”
But her laugh wavered the second she saw his ears.
They were pointed. Not like her own, or like Taryn’s. But -
Exactly like Vivi’s.
Her breath snagged. She stared for too long, and Cardan noticed. He flinched, as though her gaze stung, then squared his shoulders, daring her to say something.
Did Vivi know him somehow? Had she told him she had a little sister who lied sometimes?
Her chest tightened.
Jude forced a grin, the kind that felt like baring teeth. “Pointy ears. Big deal. My sister has those too.”
Something flickered across Cardan’s face - surprise, maybe, or recognition.
Jude’s pulse hammered. She hated that she felt like she’d given something away, like she was the one who’d slipped.
She scowled hard, like that might smother the feeling. “So maybe you’re different. But that doesn’t make you a prince.” She spat the word like it was something gross she’d found in her sandwich. “You’re just a boy with weird ears and stupid clothes who thinks he’s better than everyone else.”
But deep down, no matter how hard she glared, she couldn’t shake the truth buzzing under her skin.
This boy was different.
Cardan’s eyes gleamed, sharp as glass. “Not just different,” he corrected. “Better. I am a prince. The blood in my veins is worth more than anything in your entire little world.”
Jude’s jaw dropped. Heat flared in her chest, a wildfire of pure indignation. Better? Worth more? Who was this stringy boy to look at her like she was nothing?
Her glare sharpened into something wicked. “Congratulations,” she said sweetly, her voice bright with venom. “Do you want a sticker for being so full of yourself? Or maybe a gold star on your fancy prince forehead?”
For a moment, Cardan just stared at her, like he’d never been spoken to that way in his entire princely life.
“You are infuriating,” he declared, and somehow he made it sound like a compliment.
“Good,” Jude shot back, folding her arms. “I’d hate to be boring like you.”
His laugh was self-satisfied. He straightened, brushing bark off his sleeves, as though he was done wasting his time. “I can’t stay. I don’t have much time here.”
“Good,” Jude repeated, though the word caught in her throat.
Cardan took a few steps back toward the trees, but before he vanished, he glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll see you next time, Jude.”
Jude froze. Her heart lurched against her ribs. “What - how - ”
He turned fully now, a grin cutting across his pale face. “You carve your name into the dirt like a child with secrets to spill. Your reflexes aren’t nearly fast enough to hide it.”
Jude glanced at the stick still lying in the grass, at the scrawled JUDE half-dug into the mud. She’d been stabbing Liam-Llama’s dirt-eye when - oh no.
Her cheeks burned. “You cheated,” she accused, pointing at him like she could jab the smug right off his face.
“I noticed,” he said smoothly, tilting his chin. “That’s not cheating. That’s being clever. Something you claimed to be.”
He turned arrogantly, already half-swallowed by the shadows of the trees. Jude’s glare followed him like a curse. She was just about to shout something truly nasty after him when -
She blinked.
For the barest second, as he stepped through a shaft of sunlight, she saw a swish. A dark and quick thing slipping behind his legs like it didn’t belong there. A tail.
Jude rubbed her eyes, hard. When she looked again, it was gone. Just Cardan’s bony back and those ridiculous too-fancy clothes.
Her heart thudded. Was it her imagination?
Jude scowled at the trees, her chest fizzing with confusion and rage. Stupid prince-boy with his stupid face and his maybe-tail.
“Fine,” she muttered under her breath, grabbing the stick she’d left in the dirt. She jabbed it into the ground with renewed determination. “Next time, I’ll catch you. I’ll know exactly what you are.”
Her fists curled tight. No one got to outsmart her.
A lot of time passed, and Cardan never came back.
Not that Jude was waiting for him. She wasn’t excited or anything. She just wanted to teach him a lesson. A very important lesson about how he was not better, or smarter, or cleverer than her.
That was all.
Still… every time her parents mentioned a picnic, she perked up before she could stop herself.
“Maybe the park again?” she’d suggest, trying to sound casual, like she didn’t care.
Sometimes they went. Sometimes they didn’t.
And every time they did, Jude kicked at the grass, squinted suspiciously at the tree line, and tried very hard not to look like she was waiting for a prince-boy with possible tail problems.
But he never came.
After a while, people started to notice things.
Taryn complained first. “Why do you want to read that one again?” she whined as Jude pulled Alice in Wonderland from the shelf for the third time that week.
“Because it’s good,” Jude snapped, hugging the book to her chest. “It has swords. And monsters.”
“It has rabbits and tea parties,” Taryn corrected, rolling her eyes.
Her mother laughed softly when Jude asked for another fairy tale at bedtime. “You’ve gotten a taste for magic, haven’t you?”
Jude scowled into her pillow.
Even Vivi raised a brow when Jude pestered her about “party tricks.” Jude had been watching closely while Vivi made coins vanish or shuffled cards so quickly it looked like the deck had turned into water. And Jude started to wonder.
Were they really tricks?
Or were they like what Cardan had done that day in the park? Magic, not sleight of hand?
Jude tested her theory in very scientific ways.
Once, she dropped a coin in Vivi’s lap and demanded, “Make it disappear.”
Vivi grinned and twirled it between her fingers. In a flick and a shimmer it was gone.
Jude gasped, then immediately crossed her arms. “You hid it. In your sleeve. I bet if I searched you, I’d find it.”
Vivi only laughed and opened her palms. They were empty. The coin jingled a moment later on the other side of the room.
Another time, Jude plopped in front of her sister with a deck of old playing cards. “Okay,” she ordered. “Do the one where you guess my card.”
Vivi obliged. Jude picked one, shoved it back in the deck, shuffled wildly to make sure Vivi couldn’t cheat.
And Vivi still plucked the right card on the first try, smirking all the while.
Jude glared. “You’re suspicious.”
Vivi blinked innocently. “I’m talented.”
“Suspicious,” Jude repeated, narrowing her eyes.
She couldn’t shake it. Vivi’s tricks were too smooth.
And when Jude looked at her sister’s pointed ears which were exactly like his - she felt her stomach twist.
So she started watching Vivi like a detective in one of those mystery shows her dad liked, scribbling notes in the margins of her school notebooks.
Vivi smiled at Mom weirdly today. Must investigate.
Card trick AGAIN. Suspicious x3.
Tail?? Check under Vivi’s jacket next time.
Jude told herself it was just curiosity. She was definitely not still thinking about Cardan.
The backyard was her battlefield, and Jude never lost a war there.
She raised her plastic sword high, her voice echoing across the empty space. “Unhand her, foul beast, or taste the steel of my blade!”
Her delivery was fierce. The kind of line that made her chest fizz with pride. She could practically see the audience cheering.
Taryn, of course, had gotten cast as the princess. Which meant she spent her practice time at home draping scarves over her hair and sighing dramatically at invisible dragons. Of course Taryn was a princess. She was soft and pretty and smiled like she was born for it. But Jude had snagged the role with stubbornness. She was going to be a knight, and she was going to be the best knight the third grade had ever seen.
She swung again, nearly toppling over with the force of it, then thrust the sword out with a final, triumphant cry. “I fight for justice!”
A voice snorted from the shadows. “Liar.”
Jude froze. Her head whipped toward the far side of the backyard.
There he was leaning lazily against the bleachers, curls a mess, ring glinting on his finger. Cardan.
Her chest squeezed in a wild mix of triumph and fury. He was here. He’d come back. And of course he had to catch her mid-sword-swing.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped, cheeks flushing.
Cardan’s lips curved in that infuriating way. “Watching you lie.”
“I’m not lying!” Jude clutched the sword tighter.
He tilted his head, gaze narrowing like he could see straight through her. “You’re not a knight. You’re a mortal girl waving around mortal metal.”
Her face burned hotter, but she thrust the sword out again, chin up. “It’s for my play, stupid. I am a knight. The best one. Better than anyone.”
Cardan’s brows lifted, his voice laced with disbelief and mockery both. “They let you be the knight? Shouldn’t you be the damsel?”
“No,” Jude growled, stomping forward a step. “Taryn’s the princess. I’m the fighter. Because I fight. And because I’m better at it.”
Something flickered in his eyes at that - but his smirk returned quickly. “You’re lying again.”
“I’m not!” Jude nearly stamped her foot. “I earned this role.”
She pointed her sword straight at him, plastic tip wobbling. “You’ll see. On stage. Everyone will. I’m the knight.”
Cardan only leaned further against the bleachers.
Jude jabbed her sword at him again, cheeks flushed. “And anyway - you took forever to come back.”
Cardan blinked, caught off guard. “Forever?”
“Not that I was waiting,” she added quickly, words tumbling over themselves. “I wasn’t. But you said you’d see me next time, and you didn’t. You made a promise. And what kind of prince doesn’t keep his promises?”
For the first time, his smirk faltered. His dark eyes sharpened on her face, curious, like he’d found a new crack to prod at. “How do you suddenly know so much about princes?”
Jude’s stomach dropped. Her grip on the plastic sword tightened until her knuckles ached. He couldn’t know about the fairy tales stacked under her pillow, the scribbled notes about crowns and curses and kingdoms - no one knew about those. Not even Taryn. Especially not Taryn.
Her face went hot, and she scowled hard to cover it. “Shut up,” she snapped, swinging her sword in his direction. “You don’t know anything.”
Cardan’s grin returned, like he’d caught a secret. “I know enough.”
Jude stomped her foot, heat buzzing in her chest. “No, you don’t!”
“For a knight, you’re very easy to rattle.”
Jude gritted her teeth. Oh, she was going to prove him wrong - in the play, and every other time he dared to show his stupid and pointy-eared face again.
Jude squared her shoulders, plastic sword gleaming faintly. Her chest was still hot with embarrassment, but she shoved it down, turning it into something sharper. “If you think I’m lying, then prove it. Fight me.”
Cardan blinked, then barked out a laugh. “Fight you? With that?” He gestured at the wobbling plastic sword like it was the silliest thing in the world.
“Yes,” Jude said fiercely. “Right now. Unless you’re scared.”
“I am not scared,” Cardan hissed. “It’s simply unfair. You have a weapon. I don’t.”
Jude’s grin spread like wildfire. “Then it’ll be easy for me to win.”
He gaped at her, utterly scandalized. “That’s not how battles work!”
“It is if you’re clever,” Jude shot back. She tossed him the sword, and when he fumbled to catch it, she darted to the prop bin and grabbed a cardboard shield. She strapped it onto her arm, triumphant. “There. Now it’s fair. You’re the knight, and I’m the monster.”
“I am not a monster,” Cardan said sharply, brandishing the sword with all the grace of a wet noodle. “I am a prince.”
“Then defend yourself, Your Highness!” Jude lunged.
Cardan yelped - an actual, honest-to-goodness yelp - and stumbled back as the cardboard shield smacked against his arm. He swung wildly, nearly missing her head by a mile. Jude cackled.
“Pathetic!” she declared. “You call that swordsmanship? Even Liam-Llama could do better.”
Cardan’s ears flushed pink. He straightened, trying to look regal despite clutching a toy sword. “I’m not used to fighting with mortal weapons.”
“Excuses, excuses,” Jude taunted, darting in again. He blocked clumsily this time, the plastic sword squeaking against cardboard. She shoved him backward until he was pinned against the bleachers.
His chest heaved, curls sticking to his forehead. For a moment, he looked… actually desperate. Then his mouth curled into something sly. “You want fair? Fine.”
The air shimmered. Her stomach flipped, but before she could step back, her shield hit something that wasn’t just Cardan.
For a split second, he wasn’t a bony boy in fancy clothes - he was taller, his face shifting into something eerie and otherworldly, with eyes that glowed faintly gold. Jude gasped, stumbling. The illusion melted almost instantly, leaving Cardan smirking behind his curls.
“Cheater!” she shouted, pointing accusingly.
“Clever,” he corrected, swinging the sword with a little more confidence now. He managed to nick the edge of her shield, and his grin widened like he’d won a real battle.
“Still cheating,” Jude huffed. She pressed forward again, shield bashing against his chest. “And you’re still losing!”
The duel turned messy after that. Jude darted and shoved, nimble as a wildcat, while Cardan swung and flailed. They circled the backyard like it was an arena, Jude shrieking battle cries, Cardan snapping back with princely insults.
Finally, with one last push, Jude sent him sprawling onto the mats. The plastic sword skittered away. Jude stood over him, shield raised, grinning so hard her face hurt. “Ha! Victory! I told you I’m the knight. You’re just the damsel.”
Cardan groaned dramatically, sprawled on the floor like a fallen hero. Then he looked up at her with that maddening glint in his eyes. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Jude. Next time, I’ll win.”
Jude jabbed her shield against his shoulder. “We’ll see.”
And even though her chest was still pounding, she was already planning her next strategy.
After the day Jude had her duel and lying match with Cardan, she’d gone home tired.
Tired and… and happy?
No, she was just… energized. From winning. (Well, sort of winning. She would have, if he didn’t cheat.)
The very next week, Jude absolutely destroyed her role in the school play. She clanked around in cardboard armor, shouted her lines like a real knight, and even got applause. If Cardan had been there, he would’ve known she was the bravest, strongest, cleverest knight of all - and he would’ve stopped doubting her.
But he wasn’t.
Time passed and the days blurred, normal and boring. School, homework, games. Sometimes she caught herself glancing at the trees in the park or the corners of the yard, waiting. But he didn’t come back.
Until one afternoon.
Jude, Taryn, and Vivi had been sentenced to lawn duty. Picking up sticks and sweeping leaves in the sticky sun, while Dad watched from the porch with his newspaper. It was exhausting, especially since Jude was doing most of the work (Taryn fussed too much about her shoes, and Vivi kept pretending to be distracted).
Finally, Jude plopped down onto the grass, wiping her forehead. “Break time. I deserve it.”
Then - like the universe was trying to mock her - there he was leaning against the tree at the far edge of the yard.
Jude’s heart thudded, but she sat up straighter, crossing her arms. She was not happy to see him. Not even a little.
Because she was a grown-up now. She was in fourth grade.
“Back again?” she said, like he was a bad penny that kept showing up. “Took you long enough.”
Cardan didn’t move from his spot against the tree. He just tilted his head, that smirk curling wider, like he’d been waiting for her to notice him.
“I came back,” he said simply.
Jude rolled her eyes. “Obviously. I’m not blind.”
He ignored her snap, his dark eyes fixed on her with that unnerving steadiness. “Do you want to know why?”
Jude hesitated, then gave her best I don’t care shrug. “Not really.”
“Because,” he continued anyway, with the air of someone delivering Very Important News, “you’re interesting.”
Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He stepped closer, slipping past the sunlight like it bent out of his way. “I’ve never met a mortal who looks at me like you do. Like I’m just… a boy.”
Jude’s ears burned. She scrambled to her feet, fists on her hips. “I don’t look at you like anything! You’re just annoying. That’s all.”
“Annoying, but interesting,” he said smoothly, like he’d won. “That’s why I came back.”
Jude sputtered. Of all the ridiculous things - !
She wasn’t some creature for him to gawk at like a bug in a jar.
Her eyes narrowed. Fine. If he thought she was so fascinating, she’d remind him exactly who he was dealing with.
“Alright, ‘Prince’ Cardan,” she said, her grin sharp as a blade. “If I’m so interesting, then let’s play again.”
He lifted a brow. “Another duel? You already lost the last one.”
“I didn’t lose,” Jude snapped, then jabbed a finger at him. “And I don’t mean fighting. I mean a lying game.”
“Lying?” His nose wrinkled. “I told you. I can’t lie.”
“Then you’ll lose,” Jude said with a feral little grin. “Easy for me.”
Cardan’s eyes narrowed. “Mortals and their cheating tongues.”
She ignored him and crossed her arms. “I’ll go first. I’m secretly a pirate queen. My ship is parked behind the slide.”
Cardan arched an eyebrow. “Oh, of course. That explains why the swings creak like rigging in the wind. And all the pigeons? Your crew, I suppose?”
Jude blinked. He was supposed to just admit she was the better liar, not… play along. “Exactly,” she said quickly, not missing a beat. “They’re very loyal.”
“Hmm,” Cardan said, as if pondering something deep. “Funny. Because if I ask those birds, I think they’d swear fealty to me.”
Jude scowled. “You don’t even know how to talk to pigeons.”
“I don’t have to,” Cardan said smoothly. “They already know who their prince is.”
Her lips pressed thin. Finally, he straightened and said, carefully, “I once fought a sea monster.”
Jude’s jaw dropped. “That’s not fair! You can’t lie!”
“I didn’t,” he said smugly. “I fought it. In my dreams.”
Jude stomped her foot. “Dreams don’t count!”
“They do if you’re clever.”
Her cheeks burned, but she wasn’t backing down. “I once wrestled a dragon in my dreams. And I won. With a single punch.”
Cardan tilted his head, pretending to think. “Strange. In my dreams, you cried and begged me to save you.”
Jude let out a scandalized squawk. “I did not!”
“You did.”
Jude jabbed a finger at him. “That’s not even clever. That’s just rude.”
Cardan shrugged, looking insufferably pleased with himself. “Maybe I don’t need to lie to beat you.”
Jude glared at him from the corner of her eye. She was already planning her next outrageous lie - something so impossible even a fae prince couldn’t twist it around.
Jude sat up suddenly, determination blazing in her eyes. “Okay, new round. This time, I’m definitely going to win.”
Cardan smirked like he’d been waiting for this.
Jude puffed out her chest. “I’m the Queen of Uranus. Everyone up there wears crowns made of bubblegum, and I have twelve knights who fight for me.”
Cardan blinked once. “Do the knights kneel before you?”
Jude grinned. “Obviously.”
“Then I believe you,” he said smoothly. “For you’d certainly force anyone to kneel.”
Jude’s jaw dropped. “That’s not - you can’t just - ” She flailed her arms. “You’re supposed to call me out!”
He tilted his chin. “I never said I wouldn’t believe you. I only said I can’t lie.”
Jude narrowed her eyes. “Then I’m actually the President of the United States. That’s why I’m grounded sometimes - important President business.”
Cardan tapped his chin. “So that explains why you shove boys into the dirt? A fearsome leader indeed.”
Jude groaned. “You’re not even playing right!”
“I’m playing exactly right,” Cardan countered. His smile was wicked now. “I once drank an entire river.”
“You what?”
“In a dream.”
“Dreams don’t count!” Jude yelled again, stomping her foot.
“They do if you’re clever,” he repeated, enjoying her outrage far too much.
Jude scrambled for a bigger, better lie. Something so outrageous he couldn’t weasel out of it. Her face lit up. “I once ate the whole moon. That’s why it has a bite missing!”
Cardan tilted his head back, like he was studying the sky. “Mmm. I wondered who did that.”
Jude’s mouth fell open. “You can’t just agree with me!”
“But I can.” He gave her a look that made her want to throw grass in his face. “And that means you still haven’t won.”
Jude groaned and fell back on the grass, arms spread like she’d been defeated in battle. “I hate you.”
“We’ll see,” he said, maddeningly confident.
Jude stomped forward, fire in her eyes. “This time I’m going to win. I’ve got lies so good you won’t know what’s real.”
He tilted his head, eyes glinting, all arrogance and shadow. “Try me, little liar.”
“I ate fifty hot dogs in one minute.”
Cardan made a face. “I almost believe you. You mortals do the strangest things. But you’d be dead.”
“Nope. I have a super stomach.” Jude patted her belly proudly. “Indestructible.”
“Oh?” Cardan leaned in, studying her like she was a puzzle he wanted to take apart. “Then if I stab you right now, you wouldn’t even flinch?”
Jude’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t even have a sword.”
“I don’t need one,” he said, tapping the ring on his finger. “I have magic.”
Her heart did a weird lurch. Magic. He wasn’t lying.
But she refused to let him win.
“Fine,” Jude snapped. “Actually, I’m a shapeshifter. Right now I’m a girl, but usually I’m a giant wolf who eats knights for breakfast.”
Cardan tilted his head. “You don’t smell like a wolf.”
Jude nearly tripped over her own tongue. “W-what do you mean, smell?!”
His grin sharpened. “Exactly what I said.” He gave a slow, dramatic sniff, and Jude’s whole face went red.
“You’re cheating!” she burst out. “You’re not allowed to use smelling or magic or whatever. Just lying!”
“I told you,” Cardan said, infuriatingly calm. “I can’t lie. So the game was unfair from the beginning.”
“Then how come you’re winning?!”
Cardan’s smile turned sly. “Because you’re doing all the lying for both of us.”
Jude’s jaw dropped. He was - ugh, he was right.
“You - !” she sputtered, pointing at him with all the fury of a knight accusing a villain. “Next time, I will win. I don’t care if I have to practice for a hundred years.”
Cardan looked delighted, like she’d just promised him the best entertainment of his life. “Good,” he said, with a little bow. “I should like to see you try.”