The King's Cursed Bride

Healed

Author's Note: I've been busy lately, so now it's time to catch up on some well-deserved dedications! This chapter is for Shalom900. She's been reading this story since, like, forever, and I've always appreciated the little comments she leaves at the end :)

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The ceremony was so transitory it had barely been a ceremony. The only proof that it'd happened was the ring cinching her finger. Though she'd protested that she'd dirty the ring, Elon had slid it onto her finger anyhow.

Elon mounted the steps of the embassy, his feet clapping against marble. He stopped at the third floor and shifted her in his arms to open the door.

A bed sat flush against a wall. Soft blankets and pillows coated it like gold-threaded snow. A window yawned before them, its view obscured by emerald curtains. An ornate tub was a few feet away, the steam from its waters frosting the air.

The lavish bed snagged her gaze once more. Nausea twisted hard and tight against her stomach. Elon was not like the other men. Was not.

So busy was she reminding herself that she didn't notice Elon had lowered her until warm water soaked her back. Her eyes flared open. Elon set her in the water, which lapped at her neck, and withdrew, the sleeves of his doublet plastered and wet.

The rest of his doublet was smeared in grime, as were the knees of his pants. All because he'd deigned to touch her. He didn't appear disgusted, but she was disgusted for him. Carissa sank lower into the water. No wonder he wanted her to bathe.

Elon knelt by her and unsheathed a dagger from his waistband. "I'm going to cut off what's left of your clothes, Carissa. Do you trust me in this?"

Carissa gripped the shreds of cloth covering her chest as every muscle clenched with dread. The thought of being laid entirely bare... A violent shudder jerked her shoulders. It'd been done to her before, so she ought to have been accustomed to it.

"Carissa?"

She swallowed, shoving the singeing bile back down her throat. "Do what you will."

Elon nodded. "Thank you." He slid the tip of the dagger along the seams of her clothing. With a series of snaps, the threads broke.

She swallowed hard and scrunched her eyes shut as the cloth slipped off her torso, exposing her shoulders to the air. Piece by piece, the rest slipped off of her.

"I'm finished, Carissa."

Still, her eyes remained closed.

Elon shifted, and something squeaked, then squished.

A frown fluttered over her brows—what was he doing?—and she opened her eyes. Her gaze first landed on the water, and she gasped and pressed a palm against her chest, as if somehow that would preserve her modesty. Already, the water grew murky. Beneath its wavering surface, her wounds were plainly visible: from the red violet finger-shaped bruises wreathing her legs and middle to the cuts and burns marring her arms.

Her skin ignited with embarrassment, and she curled her legs to her chest. Pain jolted her fragmented rib, and she gasped as fire crashed over her.

"Carissa, cease. Please. You needn't be ashamed, and I don't want you hurting yourself further." Something else squished again.

Carissa slowly unfurled her folded legs, pressed herself to the side of the tub, and glanced at Elon. He was pouring a purple-tinted goop from a bottle and scrubbing it over his hands until his skin shone with the slick material. "What is it? What are you doing?"