The Queen of Nothing (The Folk of the Air, #3)

by Holly Black

“Prince Cardan will be your last born child,” the Royal Astrologer said. “He will be the destruction of the crown and the ruination of the throne.”

I take a deep breath, at home and homesick all at the same time.

“Jude, you can’t really think I don’t know it’s you. I knew you from the moment you walked into the brugh.”

“I wouldn’t play the game if I couldn’t win.”

“She is my wife,” Cardan says, his voice carrying over the crowd. “The rightful High Queen of Elfhame. And most definitely not in exile.”

“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 me 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.

“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.”

“And next time, I will expect your curtsy.”

Our marriage is an alliance. It is a bargain. I tell myself that it doesn’t have to be more than that. I try to tell myself that Cardan’s desire for me has always been mixed up with disgust and that I am better off without it.

“Mock me all you like. Whatever I imagined then, now it is I who would beg and grovel for a kind word from your lips.” His eyes are black with desire. “By you, I am forever undone.”

“In the mortal world, when I thought you were my enemy, I still missed you.” “My sweet nemesis, how glad I am that you returned.”

“It’s you I love,” he says. “I spent much of my life guarding my heart. I guarded it so well that I could behave as though I didn’t have one at all. Even now, it is a shabby, worm-eaten, and scabrous thing. But it is yours.”

“A king is not his crown.”

“He doesn’t have the experience,” I say. “And I don’t like him.” “I tried to kill you,” she reminds me. “You’ve described pretty much every important relationship in my life,” I return, taking slow, shallow breaths. “I like you fine.” That makes her grin toothily. “Then I ought to get to work.”

You have only seen the least of what I can do, I think at them, trying to believe it myself.

I am suited to the shadows, to the art of knives and bloodshed and coups, to poisoned words and poisoned cups. I never expected to rise so high as the throne. And I fear that I am utterly unsuited for the task.

“I love you, Liliver. I’ve loved you from the first hour of our meeting. I loved you and despaired. Before I die, I want you to know that.”