How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories (The Folk of the Air, #3.5)

by Holly Black

too late to prevent the international incident that was her youngest brother.

Jude, Cardan thought, hating even the shape of her name. Jude.

For she loved the son, and her father had threatened to have him slain if they wed. “Now, the witch’s son knew only a little magic, but he knew a great deal about the heart of the rich man’s daughter. And so, when rumors came to him that someone was going to break the curse, he knew he must act immediately. He could not break the curse, but he did know how to bring a curse down on himself. “And so he made himself a monster twin to hers and rushed at the boy. “The boy’s back slammed against the wall, and he felt something crack in his chest. His curse was broken. He felt remorse for at least a few of the things he’d done. And he was filled with a strange and tender love for her, his cursed bride.

Cardan ought to have been the boy with the heart of stone in Aslog’s story, but somehow he had let his heart turn to glass. He could feel the shattered shards of it lodged in his lungs, making his every breath painful.

Locke tried to knock Cardan off him. But Cardan had the advantage, and he used it to wrap his hands around Locke’s throat.

“My prince?” The door’s wooden face was the picture of distress. “You’re not truly going out like that, are you?” “My door,” Cardan replied. “I most certainly am.” He promptly fell down the front steps.

“It is a mere nothing. No need for dramatics.” “I am nothing,” Cardan said, “if not dramatic.”

“Why didn’t you hate everyone?” he asks. “Everyone, all the time.” “I hated you,” Jude reassures him, bringing her mouth to his.

One novel, titled The Duke’s Duke, with a photo of a shirtless man on the cover, rests beside sequels: Too Many Dukes and Duke, Duke, Goose.

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