“
I would have my room,' Cardan said, narrowing his eyes and assuming his most superior pose. 'Perhaps you two might take whatever this is elsewhere.'
Part of him thought she would laugh, having known him before he perfected his sneer, but she shrank under his gaze.
Locke stood up, putting on his pants. 'Oh, don't be like that. We're all friends here.'
Cardan's practiced demeanour went up in smoke. He became the snarling feral child that had prowled the palace, stealing from tables, unkempt and unloved. Launching himself at Locke, he bore him to the floor. They collapsed in a heap. Cardan punched, hitting Locke somewhere between the eye and the cheekbone.
'Stop telling me who I am,' he snarled, teeth bared. 'I am tired of your stories.'
Locke tried to knock Cardan off him. But Cardan had the advantage, and he used it to wrap his hands around Locke's throat.
Maybe he really was still drunk. He felt giddy and dizzy all at once.
'You're going to really hurt him!' Nicasia shouted, hitting Cardan's shoulder and then, when that didn't work, trying to haul him off the other boy.
Locke made a wordless sound, and Cardan realised he was pressing so tightly on his windpipe that he couldn't speak.
Cardan dropped his hands away.
Locke choked, gasping for air.
'Create some tale about this,' Cardan shouted, adrenaline still fizzing through his bloodstream.
'Fine,' Locke finally managed, his voice strange. 'Fine, you made, hedge-born coxcomb. But you were only together out of habit; otherwise, it wouldn't have been so easy to make her love me.'
Cardan punched him. This time, Locke swung back, catching Cardan on the side of the head. They rolled around, hitting each other, until Locke scuttled back and made it to his feet. He ran for the door, Cardan right behind.
'You are both fools,' Nicasia shouted after them.
”
”
Holly Black (How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories (The Folk of the Air, #3.5))