<3rd Person, Cardan and Nicasia on honeymoon>

The sun sets over the horizon in a blaze of gold and crimson, its reflection dancing on the calm waves of the sea. Cardan reclines lazily on a plush blanket spread across the sandy shore, the warm breeze ruffling his dark curls. In his hand, a goblet of wine gleams like liquid rubies, and beside him, Nicasia leans closer, her bare arm brushing his. She smiles at him, coy and radiant, like the sea itself offering its treasures.

“Do you ever think we deserve this?” she murmurs, her voice as smooth as the lull of the waves.

Cardan takes a slow sip of the wine, its sweetness settling on his tongue. He smirks, leaning back to prop himself up on his elbows. “Deserve? Hardly. But I’ve learned not to question good fortune when it comes my way.”

Nicasia laughs, the sound light and musical, and tosses her shimmering hair over one shoulder. She reaches for the bottle between them, her nails glinting like pearls, and pours herself another glass. Her movements are elegant and practised, as though this life of indulgence is her natural state.

“I could stay like this forever,” she says, reclining next to him. “You and I, the sea, the sky—no court, no schemes, no Jude Duarte to poison your thoughts.”

At the mention of Jude, something in Cardan’s chest tightens, but it’s faint, muffled. A dull ache he has learned to suppress. Nicasia’s words are like honey coating bitter truth. He raises his glass, hiding the flicker of unease behind the rim.

The waves creep closer as the tide rises, their murmur growing louder. Nicasia tilts her head toward him, her seafoam-colored eyes catching the fading light. “Do you love me, Cardan?” she asks, the question airy, yet weighted.

The words spill from his lips before he can consider them. “Of course I do.”

The response feels… wrong."" Foreign, as if it belongs to someone else. Cardan frowns faintly, but before he can dwell on it, a larger wave crashes against the shore. Cool seawater laps at his ankles, soaking the blanket and the hem of his trousers.

Nicasia gasps, sitting up abruptly, her goblet tipping over into the sand. “Oh no, no, no, not the tide!” she exclaims, but her voice wavers, not in annoyance but something sharper. Fear. Seawater: the one thing her mother warned her about before she left to the Court to seduce him, it erased the love potions effect.

Cardan blinks down at his legs as the water washes over them again. The wine spills from his goblet, mixing with the saltwater. It clings to his skin, and suddenly, something shifts.

His heart lurches violently in his chest, and an overwhelming nausea sweeps through him. A heavy fog lifts from his mind, and in its absence, a flood of realization drowns him. Every tender word he’s spoken to Nicasia, every touch, every lingering look—it all feels false, hollow.

He shoots a sharp glance at her, and the sight of her face—her perfect, scheming face—ignites a fury so sudden and wild it makes his hands tremble.

“What have you done to me?” The question leaves him in a snarl before he even knows he’s speaking.

Nicasia freezes, her expression shifting from surprise to something more calculating. “Cardan,” she starts, her voice dripping with practised sweetness. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He rises to his feet, the soaked fabric of his trousers clinging to him, his goblet discarded in the sand. The waves crash louder now, as if echoing the storm building in his chest. “How long have you been dosing me? Since we came here? Since before?”

“Cardan, please, you’re being—”

“Don’t,” he snaps, cutting her off. His voice is low and venomous, his golden eyes burning with unrestrained anger. “Don’t lie to me again.”

She hesitates, her hands twisting in her lap. For a fleeting moment, she looks almost vulnerable, but Cardan knows her better than that. He knows a predator when he sees one.

“The potion was necessary,” she admits, finally, her voice hardening. “You wouldn’t have seen reason otherwise. You were so consumed by her.”

His jaw tightens at the mention of Jude, and for the first time in weeks—months—the thought of her name doesn’t bring guilt or confusion. It brings clarity.

“You’ve made a mistake, Nicasia,” he says coldly, his voice steadierr now. “You thought you could control me, bend me to your will. But all you’ve done is ensure that I will never forgive you.”

Nicasia’s lips part in protest, but Cardan doesn’t wait to hear what she has to say. He turns on his heel, the water splashing against his bare feet as he strides away from her and the lies she built between them.

"Jude," he murmurs worriedly as he walks off, a tear sliding down his chiselled cheekbones.

The tide has turned, and for the first time, Cardan feels like he’s waking up.