The King's Cursed Bride

Protected

Author's Note: There's a melody mentioned at the end of this chapter. If you'd like to hear what it sounds like, I'll leave a video for it above :)

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The liquid sank more deeply into her gash, and it felt like flames wormed beneath her skin, singeing the blood in her veins. She jerked her arm back, but Viltus' grip tightened on her wrist. By the time he'd finished, her forearm throbbed with pain. Her heart slammed into her chest so hard, her entire frame quaked, causing the bowl of liquid in her lap to slosh.

Viltus placed the now-empty jar on the table and lifted the bowl from her lap to set it on the table as well. "There. Now I simply need to re-bandage your arm and you can return to your slumber."

Carissa sucked in a breath. She was wide-awake now. "That hurt."

Viltus swiped the roll of gauze and the water from the table. He seated himself next to her on the cot, his gaze tender. "I know. I'm sorry."

She hadn't realized how cold and wet she was until his body heat warmed her side.

Viltus ripped off a wad of gauze before dipping it into the water. He curled his fingers around her wrist, held the damp gauze above her wound, but stopped, gaze riveted on her thumb.

"What?"

"Your thumb." He turned her palm over. "It's cut."

A fine red line sliced diagonally across the pad of her thumb. She'd gotten the cut at twelve, while thumbing through the Prince's letters. "I've had it for many years. Many, many, many years." She shut her mouth to keep from blabbering. Did alcohol always loosen one's tongue so?

He pressed against her thumb, and she winced. "It hasn't scarred." He peered closer. "And how did you get such a fine cut as this? It looks as if it's from paper... Commoners don't often have the luxury of paper." He glanced at her, brows arched.

Even in her tipsy state, with the world wobbling a little, she knew she'd be in trouble if he unveiled more from her past. "My father had books. Many books. Book of libraries." She frowned. "Libraries of books."

"Also unusual for a commoner."

She cupped her cheek with her free hand. Did Viltus have any idea how hard it was to answer these questions while inebriated? "He was a rich man. A very rich man." She gasped as a suitable lie formed. "A merchant, in fact!" She must be an expert liar to think under such conditions. "A very rich merchant. Very rich. So rich."

"I see." Viltus' gaze on her remained unwavering until she was tempted to squirm beneath its intensity. Finally, he glanced back towards her arm. He dabbed the gauze wad against her wound.

Though it stung, it was nothing in comparison with the odorous liquid he'd poured on earlier.

He wrapped a layer of gauze snug around her forearm before tearing and tying its end. "That should hold for the night."

She plopped back onto the cot and gathered her cloak beneath her as a pillow. "You're on my cot."

He chuckled and stood up. "You're quite wet, as is your cloak. Do you have any spare blankets or dresses in your satchel?"

She jerked up into a sitting position. The world swayed before stilling. Her satchel? Where was her satchel? She hadn't thought of it for hours.

"Don't look so panicked, Carissa." He strode to the wall and plucked her satchel up. "Your satchel is right here."

She clenched fistfuls of her damp skirt, resisting the urge to dash to him and grab it. "May I have it?"

He tilted his head, suspicion deepening the groove between his brows. "Of course." He strode back to her and settled it in her lap.