The King's Cursed Bride

Shadowed

            

"The wolves are getting closer."

Carissa stopped unsaddling her horse and peered around it. Two Reapers were pitching a tent, their backs to her.

"Zorelle says one of the humans must not have taken the Y'thapa," he continued.

Carissa removed the saddle and saddle blanket before stroking a brush over the horse's coat. Maybe it was another human who hadn't taken the Y'thapa. Or maybe she wasn't as good at controlling her fear as she'd thought. She'd have to see Elon sooner rather than later, then. She needed his advice.

"Don't worry," the other replied. "I'm certain Zorelle has a plan. She always does, you know."

Carissa began to unbridle the horse, her hands trembling as she did so. The exertion of the day and her hunger were getting to her. She had to find something to eat. But first on the agenda was seeing Elon.

"Excuse me."

Carissa barely stifled a gasp. What was it with these people? Was it really necessary to silently approach her from behind? She turned towards the servant. "Yes?"

It was the girl from last night—the one who'd given her the dress and applied makeup on her. But there wasn't a spark of anger in her eyes. Her expression was as blank and clear as freshly fallen snow. "Mistress Zorelle has requested your presence at dinner." She gestured to her horse, where it stood tied to a tree. "Another servant will attend to your horse."

Which meant she'd have to delay her plan to see Elon. Carissa slapped on a smile. "Of course."

The girl walked towards the large tent in the center of camp, Carissa following behind her. When they entered the tent, Carissa saw the set up was much the same as the night before—from the food to the waiting servants. She avoided eye contact with the servants as she seated herself.

"Welcome. Please help yourself." Zorelle flicked her hands towards a servant, and he approached Carissa with an empty platter.

Carissa glanced at the rows of food-filled plates. Should she refuse to try some as she had last night?

"Not hungry?"

She was most definitely hungry. Carissa resisted the urge to press her fist to her hollow stomach. "I'll eat whatever you have, Zorelle."

Zorelle laughed. "So mistrustful. Very well." She gestured for the servant to fill her plate. After he'd done so and had set the plate before her, Zorelle dug into her food with relish.

Carissa's stomach twisted with jealousy.

The servant piled a second plate, laden with identical foods, and placed it in front of Carissa.

Carissa picked up a slice of cheese and slipped it into her mouth. Its sharp flavor filled her mouth, its smooth texture a caress to her tongue. Only after she swallowed it did she realize it had a bitter aftertaste.

Carissa glanced up, saw Zorelle's triumphant smile.

Her food had been drugged.

But how? Zorelle had eaten the same food. Perhaps the servant had been the one to drug her food. Or perhaps Reapers were immune to this drug.

Carissa slowed her chewing. Should she spit it out? Or was the drug already in her system?

"Something wrong, Carissa?" Zorelle arched her eyebrows.

If she spat it out, Zorelle might find a different way to force her to take the drug. That meant the only solution was to play dumb, swallow her food, and throw it up later. Hopefully the drug would only affect her if she digested it.

Carissa swallowed. "No. The food here just tastes strange."

"It's Esmerian food. What did you expect?"

Carissa shrugged and popped another piece of the food into her mouth. For a moment, she imagined the drug coursing through her veins, sapping her emotions. She forced a swallow, nearly choking on the food as it went down. Maybe she should have just refused to eat again. Zorelle was obviously trying to befriend her, so maybe she wouldn't force Carissa to take the drug.

But it was too late now.

They ate the rest of their meal without speaking. Their utensils clinked. A servant coughed.

Carissa finally sat back, taking a deep breath. The air was tinged with the acrid smell of smoke and must—possibly from the purple lamp. "I believe I've had my fill."

Zorelle scooted her chair back. "Excellent. It's nice to see that you're finally beginning to trust us."

Her smile was sharp at the edges, the gleam in her eyes victorious, and for a brief moment, Carissa was tempted to stick her finger down her throat and vomit everything onto the table. That would wipe the smirk from her lips.

Instead, Carissa yawned. "I feel quite tired now. I think I'll rest."

Zorelle's smile widened. "Of course. Sleep well."

Carissa rose and wandered out of the tent, towards the edge of camp. She knelt next to a tree, pulled her hair back, and stuck her finger down her throat. She gagged, her chest heaving. Her dinner splattered onto the dirt. Carissa spat out the remnants of the bitter taste and sat back on her haunches.

So if Zorelle was drugging her food, what was she supposed to eat?

Carissa on the hard-packed ground and stared out at the camp. Brown-robed servants and black-cloaked Reapers flitted between the tents. The purple torches stretched their shadows into twisted, grotesque forms. A few servants huddled closed together, their voices hushed, their tones urgent. One nodded and pressed a wad of paper into the other's awaiting palm. What was it with these servants and their note passing? What were they planning? The servants parted, and then there was silence—a silence so thick it made her head ache as her ears strained to detect any noise.

Nothing but darkness and silen—

Something shuffled behind her. Dry grass crunched. Carissa rose a whirled around. A few feet into the forest, a pair of red eyes glided closer. A Reaper, perhaps? But then he neared the camp, allowing the light to glisten against his black nose, shine against his night-colored fur, curve against his fangs.

A Yare wolf.

Carissa backed away slowly, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin. Yare wolves smell fear better than they do blood, and humans reek of fear... Her breaths came in snags and tatters, the edges jagged against her throat.

No. She had to calm down. She had to take deep breaths. She mustn't run or the wolf would chase her, and then it'd all be over.

Inhale.

The wolf stepped closer.

Exhale.

His nose crinkled in a snarl.

Inhale.

Carissa's legs began to tremble.

Exhale.

The wolf crouched, his muscles bunching.

Inhale.

His posture suddenly relaxed, and he let out a strange, hoarse bark. Then he turned, disappearing into the darkness.

Carissa's breath escaped in a sigh. She'd done it. She could control her fear.

Feet padded the ground behind her, and she turned.

The boy—she'd entirely forgotten his name—glanced up at her. "I have to tell them. I'm sorry."

Carissa blinked. "Tell them I didn't take the Y'thapa? But I controlled my fear. He ran away."

The boy shook his head. "That wolf was a scout. He left to find the pack."

A chill prickled her skin, and Carissa rubbed at her arms. "I've never heard of a wolf pack having a scout. Surely you're mistaken."

The boy's gaze slid to the darkness. "These aren't normal wolves." He glanced at her. "You're the reason the wolves are shadowing us, and I can't allow that any longer. I'm sorry." Then he pivoted and strode back towards camp.