I might be an idiot but…. Couldn’t Cardan just say he didn’t kill Val Moren’s boyfriend? He can’t lie so it’d be pretty easy to clear up that misunderstanding, right?
A prince of Faerie, nourished on cat milk and contempt, born into a family overburdened with heirs, and a nasty little prophesy hanging over his head — since the hour of Cardan’s birth, he has been alternately adored and despised. Perhaps it’s no surprise that he turned out the way he did; the only surprise is that he managed to become the High King of Elfhame anyway.
Some might think of him as a strong draught, burning the back of one’s throat, but invigorating all the same.
You might beg to differ.
So long as you’re begging, he doesn’t mind a bit.
“This?” he demands, looking down at the waves far beneath them. “This is how you traveled? What if the enchantment ended while Vivi wasn’t with you?”
“I suppose I would have plummeted out of the air,” Jude tells him with troubling equanimity, her expression saying, Horrible risks are entirely normal to me.
Cardan has to admit that the ragwort steeds are swift and that there’s something thrilling about tangling his hand in a leafy mane and racing across the sky. It’s not as though he doesn’t enjoy a little danger, just that he doesn’t gorge himself on it, unlike some people. He cuts his gaze toward his unpredictable (page ends)…
And here is one of Rovina Cai’s gorgeous illustrations of Jude and Cardan on ragwort steeds
