The King's Cursed Bride

Hideous

Author's Note: Two things. First of all, I'm doing WattPad book reviews now on YouTube! If you'd like to see my first WattPad book reviews video, I'll leave it under conversations in my profile.
Secondly, I wanted to tell you guys that the plot might... take a darker turn. I don't write dark things just for the heck of it. Each and every event in this story has a purpose, so no matter what happens, just trust me on this 😉
*ahem* Now, with that ominous note out of the way, on with the story!

***

Viltus clenched his jaw and nodded his head towards Garma's house.

She turned in the direction of his nod in time to see Garma's shutters clatter shut.

"I'll carry you inside, and we'll continue this discussion there. I don't believe either of us wants to have an audience."

"Fine."

He bent to pick her up, but her pointed finger stopped him.

"Minus you carrying me."

A frown darkened his expression. "You're in no condition to—"

She rolled to her hands and knees—and gasped as she nearly crumbled beneath a wave of pain. Her chest felt like it was going to rip open at the seams.

Viltus swept her into his arms, and she offered no further protest. Though his movements were gentle, the slight jostle of each step jarred her entire frame. She swallowed a whimper.

By the time he set her onto the cot, sweat beaded her hairline. She turned her face away from him. Over the weeks, she'd grown accustomed to some of the pain, but now she felt each wound acutely: the sting across her back, the fire gnawing at her forearm, the cuts piercing her skin, the searing burn on her cheek.

Her chest tightened in a sob, and fire crackled across her ribs.

Viltus pressed a hand to the lower curve of her ribcage, and she bit her tongue to stifle a hiss of pain. "I think you've fractured a rib." He rose and returned a moment later with strips of linen. "We'll bind your chest, and your ribs should heal in a few weeks."

She tried to sit up, but the pain had her collapsed onto the cot and gasping a moment later. "Stop saying that."

"What?"

"That I'll heal." She clenched her jaw. "You know I won't."

Viltus' lips tightened. "You might be a slow healer."

She jerked the sleeve up on her left arm, revealing the burn on one side, a shallow cut on the other. "This is a cut from two weeks ago, Viltus. I've cleaned and tended to it every day. Explain that."

His brows puckered in uncertainty—a foreign expression on his face. "You're certain it was from two weeks ago?"

She huffed, the movement causing pain to flare in her chest. "Yes."

"It's stopped bleeding."

"But the skin hasn't closed."

Viltus rubbed his chin, shadowed with scruff. "The first step to healing is when the bleeding stops."

"And what if that's the only step I'm capable of?"

His gaze dropped to the floorboards, his jaw muscles pulsing.

"My skin has never been able to heal, Viltus. Whether it's a paper cut or a knife wound."

He released a harsh breath. "Let me bind your ribs."