The King's Cursed Bride

Hurt

Author's Note: This chapter reminds me loosely of the song above; wait until  you finish reading to listen to it, and it'll make more sense ;)
And I would have posted this chapter nine minutes earlier, but my little sister insisted on reading the chapter herself before she would relinquish the computer...

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The door clicked shut behind her, and she kept her back to it, her quivering hand still on the knob. "Akar."

He was seated on the bed, the plush mattress dipping beneath his massive frame. Though the hour was late, his dark gaze was alert. "I said you would come, didn't I?"

She suppressed the urge to grimace at his arrogance. Running back out the room and slamming the door in his face would almost be worth it. But not quite. "You did, but I haven't come here for what you think."

He rose, and the wooden bed frame uttered a loud moan. "You no longer seek employment?"

She clenched the doorknob more tightly. "Well, I–I do, but I won't be a nightwoman."

He barked a laugh. "You won't, hmm? Then what will you be?"

"A servant. I can clean, cook, and do whatever else is required of me."

He snorted. "I have but one task that I require of you, and it was not one you listed. And I'm afraid you're too frail for any real labor... isn't that right?" He bared his teeth in a smile.

Did Akar know the extent of her injuries? "I'm sure those tasks are no more taxing than being bedded."

He approached closer. The floor seemed to tremble beneath each of his mighty footsteps—or perhaps it was her own trembling that made the room wobble so. He stopped a hand's breadth from her. "We have no need of another serving woman."

"You have no need of another nightwoman, do you? You made the position, so I would stay here, because you need me."

He lowered his chin, giving her a full view of his narrowing eyes. She'd heard rumors of a strange celestial event, when the sun turned black, yet blinded those who looked at it. She imagined the event was somewhat like Akar's gaze—dark, yet blinding. "Yes, Carissa. I do need you."

She began to twist the knob behind her, but as moist as her palm was, she wasn't able to grip it.

His hands gripped her upper arms, so thick and massive they nearly reached from her shoulder to her elbow. "And I could have you." The pitch of his voice had dipped until it rumbled through his chest in a predatory growl. "You've come of your own free will, with the understanding that you'd be a nightwoman, so it's—" He blinked and cocked his head. His gaze suddenly saw right past her.

What was happening? Maybe her curse was contagious, and he'd gotten too close? She struggled against his grip, but his hands only tightened around her arms.

Then he blinked again, and his gaze returned to her. "If I agree to this, you will submit yourself to Akasha's ministrations."

Her lips parted. He was agreeing?

"Understood?" He shook her.

She nodded mutely.

"Good." He released her and paced along the length of the room. "You'll serve wine to the men. Our wine contains... certain ingredients which ensure our customers' experience is satisfactory. Akasha will have you veiled and cosmetics applied regularly to your face. I don't want men to see you and assume all of our women are so... disfigured."

That didn't make sense. Moments ago, he was going to have her be a nightwoman, though it was likely her scars would be discovered sooner or later. Now that he was hiring her as a server, he was worried about her appearance? "But why—"