The King's Cursed Bride

Broken Bride

 Author's Note: This week's honorary commenters, as posted on my Instagram, are aDropofBeauty and mariaola2000! They have 37 comments on their thread, and they typed out an entire recipe for Fairywing melon cider, which includes health benefits. Check out the last chapter to find their highly amusing comments ;)

***

She broke the surface of the water, her hair pouring down her shoulders and back in watery streams.

The man sputtered and coughed as he sat up. "Fall. But I suppose you already know that now."

He was far too close. She gripped the sides of the tub, preparing to launch herself out, but the man curled his arms around her.

"Please stay, Carissa. Please. I didn't mean to frighten you."

The hot press of his body against hers caused fear to clamp her throat. He was smothering her; she couldn't breathe. She threw a punch at his chest, and he loosened his hold on her, though not so much that she could escape.

She lashed out and kicked as best she could, until the water churned with her thrashing.

"Carissa."

His voice quivered with emotion, and she stopped struggling. Never had she heard a sound so steeped in grief, not the cry of a lone wolf, nor the wail of the wind, nor the weeping of an orphan.

She tilted her head up, and water trickled from her hairline down her cheeks. The moonlight painted the man's face in silver. His eyes sparkled with sorrow, and his expression was softer than she'd expected.

Her heart gave a lurch of recognition. "Elon?"

He nodded.

She shook her head, dispelling the last of her imaginings. This was the man she owed everything to, who loved her beyond comprehension, and she'd just... "I'm so very sorry."

"It's alright, Carissa." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "It's alright."

Only now that she'd stopped fighting did she notice how his arms tremored. He slowly withdrew and rose, water sloshing around him and spilling from his clothes.

He offered her a hand and pulled her to her feet before stepping out of the tub. He left her before fumbling in the dark. A second later, light sprang to life. He set down the firesteel and turned away from the lit candle to face her.

His gaze dipped downward before he wrenched it away, color flaring up his neck and winging across his cheeks. "If you'd like a dry chemise, you'll find one in the wardrobe."

She glanced down. The wet fabric had become completely transparent. "Thank you."

She strode to the wardrobe and pulled out a more modest nightgown, though it was no less silky. Once she'd peeled off her wet lingerie and changed, she turned and found Elon wringing his wet shirt over the tub. Whip scars crisscrossed his bare back.

He'd freed her. Paid her debts. Healed her. Yet what did he get in return? A broken bride.

There had to be some way she could repay him. But what could he possibly want that she had? Carissa thought back to his reaction when he saw her wet clothing, his wide eyes, rising color, sharpened breathing. Of course; he would want what any man wanted.

Elon stilled as she approached, his hands frozen mid-wring.

She drew a finger down the length of one of his scars before going on her tiptoes. Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered, "Elon?"

A shudder ran through him, but with a harsh exhale, Elon broke the spell and walked away. "Yes?" He smoothed the wet shirt across the table before walking to the wardrobe, giving her a wide berth. He opened the wardrobe doors wide, creating a changing screen between them.

She hesitated a moment before following him.

He'd changed pants, and he was preparing to slip a shirt on.

She curved her hand over his shoulder before he could. "I would have offered myself earlier... but I'm afraid I'd forgotten after Akar's intrusion."

He turned, his shirt wadded in his fist. "Do you think this wise?"

"Of course. You're my husband, and I'm your wife."

His chin dropped to his chest, but not before she saw uncertainty play across his features. It was another of his expressions she hadn't seen before.

Carissa lifted his chin with her fingertips. "Come."

When she curled her hand around his arm, he offered no resistance. She stopped at the side of the bed. Now what? She knew how it'd started with other men, but it was unlikely Elon would do the same.

"Is everything well, Carissa?"

She huffed and turned towards him, though she denied him his gaze. "I don't know what to do." She waited for his laughter—after all, what nightwoman would question what to do in this instance?—but it never came.

He set his hands above her hips and gripped her waist before setting her on the bed. "I'd imagine it'd start slowly." He seated himself beside her and loosely wrapped her in his arms.

"Slowly." She could do that.

The graze of Elon's lips against hers was so light it barely qualified as a kiss. He continued to brush his lips back and forth against hers, until she wasn't sure she could bear it any longer. Surely he needn't be this slow.

Carissa pressed closer and tilted her head, willing him to kiss harder, deeper. He drew back, leaving naught but cool air to caress her lips. She drew in a deep breath, feeling a warm wash of triumph at her victory. She'd actually enjoyed the intimacy, and not a thought of Iver had tainted their kiss.

Before she could draw close again, Elon pressed a finger to her lips. "Slow, Carissa."

"We needn't go slow."

"No?" His eyebrows arched.

"Not on my account."

"But we will nonetheless."

Carissa pursed her lips. That was completely unnecessary, but before she could protest, Elon kissed her again. The urge to quicken their pace melted as she grew accustomed to the slow dance of his lips against hers. The mingling of their breath felt hot and heavy in her chest, and she savored its warmth.

When he laid back against the bed, she was more than ready to go with him. They were physically tangled together—their legs brushing, arms curled around each other, lips locked—but somehow their intimacy felt deeper than touch. He shifted, moving from her side to above.

Her heart slowed its beat as it flooded her veins with sharded ice. His weight was crushing her, the hot feel of him smothering her.

She couldn't breathe.

In that moment, she was back at Iver—and it was one moment too many. She had to make it stop. She shoved her arm outward, and her forearm collided with his throat.

***

Author's Note: You know the drill. Sneak peek. Top of my profile or external link. ;)