The Gilded Game

The festival has shifted into something softer now. Candlelight flickers over winding paths, laughter hums like distant music, and the air is thick with warmth and magic. Around us, couples loop small and delicate ribbons around each other’s wrists, murmuring sweet nothings or teasing remarks.

Across the way, I catch a glimpse of Locke and Nicasia, their heads tilted together in hushed laughter. From Locke’s pocket, something glints in the dim light—a ribbon, sleek and shining. I wonder where Jude is honestly.
Beside me, Cardan watches the scene unfold with that infuriating, unreadable amusement of his, the corner of his mouth just barely curled.
The exchange of bows should be a nice thing done for couples, who make them together and then exchange them. But since I was late this did not happen.

I lean back as a sprite drifts past, a silver tray balanced on her fingertips, and before I can think better of it, I snatch two small bows, the first ones I can grab.

When I turn, he’s already watching—head tilted, lips parted, as if he caught me in some unspeakable act.
His brows lift.

"I have to tell you that neither orange nor yellow are my colors."

I glance down. One bow is a bright, sunlit yellow, the other a deep orange.

I frown. I don’t think yellow is my color either.
I barely have time to be disappointed before Cardan, without hesitation, plucks the orange bow from my hands. He then extends his other wrist toward me, the black silk of his sleeve slipping back to reveal pale skin, the delicate bones beneath.
For a second, I just blink at him.

He wants me to tie it on him.

I loop the ribbon around his wrist, my fingers brushing his skin. He’s warm. Too warm for someone so cold.

This is just practice, I tell myself. Flor’s lessons in action.

I’m proving I could make someone hesitate. I want to know how far I can push him.
I loop the ribbon once, then twice, drawing it tighter than necessary before securing it with a bow.

I can feel the weight of his gaze on me, heavy as a hand at the base of my spine.

"Too tight?"

I murmur, not looking up.

"You’re taking too long"

he counters, but his voice is lower than before.

I pull the ribbon taut, my knuckles grazing the inside of his wrist.

When I glance up at him through my lashes, his lips have parted slightly, as if he had started to speak and thought better of it.
I take my time pulling away, letting my fingers linger just a little longer than they should. He blinks.

Interesting reaction.

I hum, reaching for my own wrist, but before I can, Cardan moves.

In a single swift motion, he loops the orange ribbon around my wrist, his fingers ghosting over my gloves.

"Did you wish someone would tie it on you?"

His voice is low when he asks.

"I actually didn’t think someone would be willing enough to do such a thing."

"Is that so?"

The words are velvet, curling at the edges like smoke.

"I thought you thought highly of yourself."

"I do"

I lie, flashing him a grin that’s more teeth than sweetness.
"But in this case, I think highly of you as well."

I hold his gaze, watching for the flicker of surprise, the tightening of his jaw, any sign that my words have struck true. For a heartbeat, he’s utterly still. Then his lips curve.

"How terrifying"

he murmurs, lifting his hand, the one with the ribbon on his wrist. As if what I said actually terrified him. But the ribbon we tied together earlier still glints from his pocket, a flash of gold against the black silk of his trousers.
"But I get your point."
He says, his voice a low, indulgent thing, as if he’s granting me some great mercy by admitting it.

Yes, I think, because I know he likes flattery.

A movement catches my eye—Jude and Taryn weaving through the crowd, their gowns a study in contrasts: Taryn in cream and pearls, Jude in midnight blue, the slits in her dress betraying the knives she no doubt has strapped to her thighs.

I lean forward a little, ignoring Cardan, and trying to figure out if Jude can notice me. Taryn does, and they both nod at me.
I see them hesitate when they see Cardan next to me. They probably won't come closer if he's there.
I turn back to him.

"My friends are here."

I don’t wait for his response before stepping away, though I feel the weight of his stare between my shoulder blades. I just want to greet them for a moment, I hope this isn't another reason for his already bad mood to get worse.

Jude catches my hand the moment I reach them, spinning me in a slow circle.
"Hey, beautiful" she says, grinning.

I laugh.

"You two are a vision as well."
Taryn’s cream gown is delicate, threaded with pearls, while Jude’s dark blue dress is built for movement, the gold clips in her horn-styled hair glinting like tiny weapons.

"I see you’ve already done that”
Jude says, lifting my wrist to examine the orange bow tied there.
"He surely could’ve picked a better color."

"It’s actually my fault"
I admit, biting back a laugh.
"And it was worse for him, he got stuck with bright yellow."

They both lean slightly, peering over my shoulder at Cardan, his expression one of practiced boredom, who now holds a glass of wine. I wonder when he had the time to get one.
Jude snorts. "Black and yellow. A bee."
I choke on a laugh.

"This dress is beautiful"
Taryn says, touching the red embroidery at my sleeve.
"It’s the one your sister gave you, right? And the gloves are stunning too."

"Yes, exactly"
I say, warmth flickering in my chest at the thought of Talia. I miss her.
"Joaalk gifted me the gloves today."

"Oh, right—I heard he’s back"
Jude says.

We hear a slightly loud laugh coming from not too far away. Nicasia is still talking to Locke and he is holding something in his hand.
Jude doesn't seem to pay much attention to it.

"Ah yes! You’re coming with us to Locke’s party later?" Taryn asks.

"Are you going?" I counter.

"I thought you already wanted to go"
Jude cuts in, frowning.
"We only agreed because we heard you said you were coming too."

"My answer was a bit altered, then”
I say dryly. Not surprising.
“I never confirmed my attendance, but if you’re both going to be there it might not be that bad."

"Good! We are about to go." Taryn says, brightening.

"Okay. I should go back now."
I murmur, glancing back at Cardan, who’s now watching our little group with an unreadable expression.
"He’s not in a good mood tonight."

"Is he ever?" Jude mutters.
I stifle another laugh.

"See you later."

As I return to Cardan, he's leaning lazily against the nearest tree, swirling the wine in his glass with idle grace. The ribbon in his pocket still glows faintly, a stubborn ember in the dark silk.
When I approach, his gaze drags over me like a physical touch, slow, assessing.
“Back so soon?”

“If you prefer, I’ll leave.”
I tell him, turning on my heel, just to see if he’ll stop me.

He lets out a dramatic sigh. The rustle of fabric as he tips his head back against the bark, baring his throat to the moonlight.
“Must you be so tiresome?”

“I’ll leave you to your bad mood.” I don’t move.

“And where would you be going now?”
His voice is syrup-slow, laced with false indifference.

I press my lips together to stifle a smile.
“Jude and Taryn are going to Locke’s party. I am going with them.”
A beat. “You’re going as well, so-”

A low chuckle. He takes a sip of wine, the glass obscuring his smirk.
“I suppose I could be convinced.”

I tilt my head. “By who?”

His eyes gleam.

“Do you require another personal invitation? A plea, perhaps?”
Didn't he just receive the invitation from Locke himself?

“Oh, nothing so dramatic.”
He flicks a glance at the orange ribbon on my wrist.
“Just an ounce of effort on your part.”
A pause, weighted.
“Convince me.”

Oh, he wants to play.

I step closer. My gaze honeyed and dangerous.
“Convince you?”
I echo, my voice dipping into something darker, sweeter.
Why would I convince him? It's not like he didn't already plan to go there anyway.
The orange ribbon around my wrist suddenly feels too tight, too warm.
Cardan watches me with that half-smile, the one that says he’s already won but wants to savor the fight. So I take another step, until the toes of my slippers brush his polished boots.

“What would it take?”
I murmur, tilting my chin up.
“More flattery? Or do you just want to see me beg?”

His gaze dips to my hair, following the way they fall on my shoulder, before snapping back up.
“I think you know exactly what I want.”
Do I?

The ribbon in his pocket seems to pulse, a silent witness to this game we're playing. I could reach for it. I could pull it free and let it coil around my fingers. But I should be bold enough to put my hands on him, and despite everything I don't feel like doing it. I don't even know how he would react to it.

"I can't read your mind, prince."

I pull back before he can react, already turning toward the sound of distant music and laughter.
His hand snaps out, fingers circling my wrist. The touch burns through the silk of my glove.

“Try harder” he murmurs.

Around us, the revel is winding down. The music has softened, the crowd thinning as nobles drift toward the carriages lining the moonlit path. Torches flicker, casting long shadows that twist like living things.
His grip tightens, just slightly, before he releases me with a lazy flick of his wrist, looking away from me.
I let out a light breath, then bow slightly, also moving in the direction of the carriages.

Once at the entrance to the grove, Jude and Taryn are already there, lingering near one with silver detailing. When Jude spots me, she catches my gaze and gives me a sharp nod, jerking her head toward their carriage.
I start toward her, only for Cardan to step smoothly into my path, blocking me with infuriating ease.

I narrow my eyes. "Really?"

He lifts a hand to his chest, feigning innocence. "What? I am simply walking."

"In my way" I point out.

"Perhaps you are in mine"
he counters smoothly. Then, lowering his voice just slightly, he adds
"You wouldn't abandon your partner after such a moving display of devotion, would you?"

I cross my arms. I don't remember any devotion.
"Did I miss something?"

He gestures lazily toward my wrist, where the orange ribbon still sits.
"You tied a ribbon around me, Lilia. The entire court saw it. If you leave now, I’ll be the subject of stares all evening."
He wanted to be begged, yet here he is, weaving a story where I am the villain.

"Oh, please.” I scoff.
“As if they would whisper about how the mortal girl spurned the poor, tragic prince."

His lips curl, full of mock sorrow.
"How will his fragile heart recover?"

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head.
"Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Let them see what they might expect."
he says, soft but certain.

I glance back at Jude and Taryn. They’re watching, waiting.
I don’t owe Cardan anything. I know that. But it’s not an everyday thing to have the prince of Elfhame standing before you, practically asking—no, maneuvering—for your company.
A part of me wants to deny him just to see what he’d do. Just to see how far this so-called fragile heart of this imaginary prince will let him go.
But instead, I exhale through my nose. With a flick of my hand, I gesture for Jude and Taryn to go on without me.

Cardan grins like I’ve just handed him a crown of my own making.
He moves with a flourish, stepping aside to gesture toward the carriage as if he’s offering me something grand.
When he opens the door himself; He actually, physically opens it; I narrow my eyes.
He must be really drunk.

I step inside, the plush velvet seats swallowing me whole. A second later, Cardan follows, sliding onto the bench opposite me with that liquid grace of his. His legs stretch out to either side of mine, knees brushing my skirts, claiming what little space exists between us as his own.

The carriage is dim, but not dark enough to hide the way the flickering lantern light gilds the sharp angles of his face: the curve of his mouth, the sweep of his lashes, the gold of his makeup bleeding into his darkened eyes. He looks at me with an almost lost look, probably because of the wine, even if in reality I don't think I've seen him drink that much.

The carriage lurches forward, and his gaze drifts to the window, watching the revel fade behind us. I don’t look away from him. I wonder if having me in the carriage with him was something he had planned from the beginning. And if so, I wonder why his actions always go so counter to what I know he really thinks. Is there a some sort of bet at stake?

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

His voice is low, almost disinterested, his gaze still fixed on the passing dark.

“I was wondering why the prince of Elfhame wanted me here with him so much.”
That gets his attention. He turns to me fully, eyes glinting.

“By saying that, it sounds as if I insisted until I convinced you.”

“You kind of did” I say, raising my brows.

“You planted yourself in my path, basically demanded I come with you, and now I’m in your carriage instead of my friends’.”

He hums, as if considering my words, then offers me a slow, lazy smile.

“That doesn’t sound like something I would do at all.”

I tilt my head.
“
You haven’t answered my question”
I press, bracing a hand against the seat as the carriage rounds a corner.

He leans back, unbothered. “I don’t owe you an answer.”

I huff, turning toward the window. Fine. If he wants to play the silence game, I can play it better.

A moment later, I feel the brush of his boot against mine, teasing. When I glance back, he’s looking at me with that infuriating half-smile, the ribbon we made is sitting next to him, glowing faintly in the dim light.

“Bored already?” he murmurs.

“Not really. There’s no need to create an attempt to distract me.”
My voice is steady, but my pulse betrays me, leaping at the way his gaze lingers. I bring a gloved hand to the orange ribbon tied around my wrist, running my fingers over one of its folds.

His eyes flick to the movement, then back to my face.
“You’ve been doing it all night.” he tells me.
“I wonder who you’ll try to ensnard next.”

I lift a brow. “Next?” I echo.
“Funny. I wasn’t aware I’d ensnared anyone yet.”

His expression doesn’t change, but something in his posture shifts, the casual slouch sharpening at the edges.
“No?”
He glances around the carriage, deliberately nonchalant.

I hate that my pulse betrays me. Hate the way my breath hitches when his gaze drags back to me.

“If I recall correctly”
I murmur, tilting my head just enough to make it look effortless
“you were the one who kissed me. Both times.”

His gaze snaps back to mine. And then, lower.
“And it seemed to me”
he says, voice quiet, dangerous,
“that you didn’t mind. Both times.”

“Did I?”
I let a slow smile curl at the corner of my lips, tilting my chin as if considering his words.
His ego is insufferable. Someone ought to take a blade to it.

“You forget easily” he says flatly.

I feign a thoughtful hum.
“Only the not-so-memorable things.”

His fingers flex against the seat. Just a fraction. His face remains smooth,but it’s too smooth. I can tell I've unsettled him.
Damn me. Maybe Flor is right. I do need to work on my charismatic responses.

His hand moves suddenly, fingers brushing the orange ribbon still tied around my wrist. I barely have time to react before he tugs it loose, letting it slip to the carriage floor like something inconsequential. Like something that no longer serves its purpose.
He reaches forward, his fingers trail over the inside of my wrist, just above the edge of my glove, the touch barely there, but it might as well be a brand.
He tugs lightly at the edge of my glove, watching my expression carefully. I go still.

I barely have time to breathe as he brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss just above the silk. The heat of it seeps through, a phantom warmth sinking into my skin.
My pulse stutters.
Before I can withdraw, he moves lower, trailing kisses down to my wrist, where the edge of my glove meets bare skin. His fingers slide up my arm, tracing the silk, slow and teasing, like he's savoring the sensation. Like he means to unravel me thread by thread.
I swallow hard, struggling to keep my breath steady.
And then, he catches the edge of my glove between his teeth.
I go rigid.

With excruciating slowness, he pulls it free, inch by inch, the silk whispering against my skin as it slips away. My wrist. My fingers. The air feels sharper against the newly exposed skin, more intimate than it should be.

His mouth brushes the inside of my wrist as he releases the glove completely, letting it fall onto the seat between us.
My stomach tightens.
This wasn’t in Flor’s teachings.
I was supposed to be the one in control. I was supposed to make him flustered.

Cardan watches me the entire time, his eyes gleaming with amusement. His thumb ghosts over my now-bare wrist, his touch featherlight, yet somehow heavier than anything before.

“This”
he murmurs, tracing a slow, languid circle over my skin
“is perhaps quite memorable.”

"Seduce without giving too much. Lead them on. Let them think they have the power but show them they don't."

Flor’s words echo in my mind like a mantra.

I can do this. I can make him flustered.

"I wonder if—"
Cardan begins, voice smooth as spilled ink, but I don’t let him finish.

My bare hand presses against his chest, firm and unyielding. He shifts back slightly, more intrigued than surprised, letting me guide him until his spine meets the velvet-lined wall of the carriage. The hush of the space makes the movement feel louder than it is, amplifying the slow, deliberate way I press forward.
My other hand follows, fingers splayed against silk and embroidery, a steady pressure that keeps him where I want him. His body is slightly caged by mine now and he seems quite surprised by it but also there's something else flickering in his eyes.

A quiet laugh leaves my lips as I move, bending one leg into the seat between us, the other still grounded for balance. I let my fingers trail up, light as a spider’s thread, deliberate as a curse.
They skim the hollow of his throat, the sharp line of his collarbone, the cold gems of his necklace, each touch a calculated provocation.
His lashes lower just a fraction. A tell.
His breathing doesn’t stutter, but it deepens, careful now. Controlled.

We can be two playing this game.

“This space is too small”

I murmur, my voice lower than usual, sharpened by control I almost believe I have.
For a heartbeat, he says nothing.
Then, his hands are at my waist, fingertips pressing just enough to remind me that he's not a man who likes to be toyed with.
One of his hands slides down to the curve of my hip, and in one swift movement, he pulls me fully onto his lap. I let out a sharp breath as my knees straddle either side of him, my skirts tangling around us like a trap we both walked into willingly.

“It is indeed”
he breathes, voice like wine and smoke.
His words thank my skin like a match, threatening to spark something I don't know if I can contain.
But I won't let him have the last word.

I lean in, slowly, until my lips brush the shell of his ear—not quite a kiss, not quite innocent either.
Close enough that if he so much as tilts his head, he’ll feel the ghost of my breath against his skin.

“Oh, Prince Cardan.”

The words drip like honey, light enough to be mistaken for something sweet. But they aren’t.

They’re a mockery. A cruel little echo of what I heard his friends say when they spoke about me.
I feel him go very still.
Then, with a languid confidence I don’t entirely feel, I trail my fingers from his necklace downward, slow as falling leaves. I reach the edge of his doublet, my touch featherlight. Hovering.

“Acting cold the whole evening”
I murmur, my breath a feather against his neck.
“But then letting me do this.”
I press a light kiss to the angle of his jaw.
“And this.”
Another, lower, just beneath his ear.

His grip on my waist tightens, not enough to stop me, just enough to betray the restraint he's holding onto by a thread.
His head tips back ever so slightly against the wall of the carriage, eyes heavy-lidded, jaw taut. But his lips stay parted, breathe quiet and drawn.
I should stop.

I tilt my head and kiss the corner of his mouth—just barely. Not enough to satisfy. Just enough to tease.
Then another, lower, closer to the pulse in his throat. Cardan's breath catches, but he doesn't stop me.
Then I pull back, just enough for our eyes to meet.
His gaze is molten, gold swallowed by black, his usual smirk replaced by something raw and wanting.

Good.
Let him ache.

I move to pull away—and then the world tilts.
Cardan moves like liquid shadow, reversing our positions in one fluid motion. My back hits the velvet seat, his body caging me in. His breath ghosts across my lips, warm and maddening, and my heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird, but I hold my ground.

His hand slides down touching the back of my thigh, fingers curling around it as he lifts my leg slightly, settling it across his lap. The movement makes my dress ride up just enough for his knuckles to thank the rowan berry necklace that I hide under my clothes even though I don't need it anymore and caressing my bare skin. I feel trapped.

He leans in again, slower this time, lips grazing my jaw, my cheek, the sensitive hollow beneath my ear.

"Say it again"
he whispers, voice velvet and venom.

"What?"
My reply is breathless, traitorous.

His mouth hovers a whisper from mine, his eyes molten in the dim carriage light.

"Call me." he murmurs

I stay silent, jaw clenched. He rewards my defiance with leaving little kisses on my neck.

His hand moves over my thigh a little, bringing it slightly higher, causing my dress to fall further dangerously.
My breath catches, just once. I curse myself for it.
His fingers flex on my thigh. The fabric of my skirt shifts again, and now there's nothing but air and skin beneath his touch. My stomach tightens.

"Say my name again."

he breathes.

“Let me hear again how it sounds from your lips.”

My jaw tightens.

So I lean up—not much, just enough to let my lips hover beside his ear, where my voice will feel more than sound.

“Cardan” I whisper.

"It’s nothing to laugh about" I snap

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he raps twice against the carriage wall sharp, commanding, and the vehicle surges forward again, wheels turning sharply as we change course.

Then he’s moving, settling back into the seat opposite me with infuriating grace. Our positions are reversed now: him where I was, me where he’d been.

I sit up and tug the strap of my dress back into place, cheeks flushed, breath still uneven. The carriage sways again, now with sharper turns as the driver redirects. I glance toward the window, but the glass is too clouded to see.

Cardan leans back, his posture maddeningly composed despite the wreckage we’ve just made of each other. But there's a flush high on his cheeks, his lips slightly parted. His shirt is askew where I touched him.

I snatch my discarded glove from the floor, tugging it back on with more force than necessary. As if that could undo anything.

He adjusts his own clothes with infuriating calm, though his fingers linger a second too long on the creases I left behind.

Running my hands through my hair, I mutter "I must look terrifying right now."

Cardan reaches out without a word, his fingers brushing a loose strand back into place—one I hadn’t even noticed. His touch is startlingly gentle.

"Not the term I would've used"

he says, withdrawing to his seat.

When I meet his gaze, something unfamiliar flickers in his eyes. I don't know if it's because of what just happened, but it seems to me that he's looking at me with an almost sweet look.

It has to be a trick of the light.

The carriage lurches gently as it comes to a full stop. This time, there's no sudden panic, just silence stretching too long between us. Cardan glances toward the door but doesn't move to open it.
My pulse still hasn't forgiven me for what just happened. His gaze lingers on my mouth a moment too long, and I know he's thinking about it too.

"After you" he says, voice rougher than usual.

I hesitate only a heartbeat before placing my gloved hand on the handle. Cool night air rushes in, a stark contrast to the heat still coiled low in my stomach.

Cardan doesn’t follow.

The walk to Locke’s house feels endless.