Как король Эльфхейма научился ненавидеть истории

Marriage means sharing each other's interests, and since his wife's run toward strategy and murder, he's used to her throwing herself at absolutely everything that crosses her path. If she isn't doing that now, there's a reason.

"Huh, says Jude. "Where exactly are these w—”

"Which Court?" Cardan interrupts, hoping to keep Jude from immediately volunteering to fight something.

"Why didn't you hate everyone?" he asks. "Everyone, all the time."

"I hated you," Jude reassures him, bringing her mouth to his.

Cardan considers that villainy takes many forms, and he is good at all of them.

"Who doesn't want to control fate?" Cardan answered, setting his coin to spinning again.

The Roach slammed his hand down on the table, breaking the pattern. "Remember, all you really get to control is yourself.”

…what did it matter? He had always been awful.

Now he was just worse.

"I am nothing," Cardan said, “if not dramatic."

Jude looked up at him, and in her eyes, he recognized a hate big enough and wide enough and deep enough to match his own. A hate you could drown in like a vat of wine.

Whatever flame lived inside Cardan, it burned only hotter and brighter.