[How shameless he's become, that the thought of being spied through the window mid-tryst, rather than mortifying him, only sharpens his excitement. Unfettered from the reputation he's meticulously crafted in Ravka, happily does he submit to the suggestion of Cardan's persuasive hands. Let him pin him against the window like some kind of butterfly on display. He sighs into the fierce heat of that kiss, fighting back, but it isn't really fighting at all. And when Cardan rolls his hips into him, with the insistence of a fist rapping at a door, he parts his thighs to invite him.]

You mean to say it hasn't already?

[He turns his head aside, panting lightly. Cardan hasn't managed to kiss the sly grin off of him yet.]

Alina could come home at any minute. [Curling into Cardan's ivory neck, lips at his earlobe.] But that isn't a lie. I would be lying if I said she'd be displeased to walk in on this scene you've arranged. Ah, but when I phrase it that way, it becomes the truth...

[Squeezing the Faerie king's waist, he presses a kiss to the juncture of his ear and jaw.]

I despise herring. [His lips find Cardan's again.] My dearest ambition is to abdicate my throne and retire to the countryside to write awful poetry. [And again.] I was always my father's favorite son.

[Lies, all of them]