Cardan’s wet tar eyes locked with hers across the festival. She had realized the moment she’d asked him not to drink for the evening that she’d grossly miscalculated how strongly he wanted to spite her. She was only thankful that he didn't partake in the nevermore that had been passed around by a few of the more wild faeries. They were now stunned in the hedge maze, starry eyed and petrified. Cardan was sprawled across a carved oak throne, his head tipped back, and his spidersilk shirt unbuttoned to his sternum. His crown was slipping down his tousled waves and was in danger of slipping off entirely with one wrong shift. She’d felt his gaze chasing her shadow all evening and a sharp, vicious grin told her she needed to go tend to him before he found a way to entertain himself. She sighed, recognizing that she would not be getting any further with negotiations tonight, and retreated to his side. 

Oak gets to pick his bedroom.