The King's Cursed Bride

One: Part 1

Elon lead her within. There wasn't much but a fireplace full of ash and a rotting bedframe. Drops of rain dribbled from the roof above. Elon seated her in the driest corner he could find before tipping the bedframe on its side and dragging it out of the cabin. The wood wasn't strong enough to support their weight, and it would needlessly take up room.

Next was the roof. He grabbed a tarp from his sack before leaping, catching the edge of the roof, and hoisting himself up. He stayed over the main support structures, lest he fall through the roof and land on Carissa. He fastened the tarp to each corner of the roof before leaping back down, landing in a crouch.

He entered the cabin and noted with satisfaction that no rainwater was dripping through. Carissa remained huddled in the position he'd left her, and he felt a sharp pinch beneath his ribs.

Tonight could go a number of ways, and his foresight remained too murky to tell him which. Part of it was because of Carissa and the choices she was likely to make. But most of it was because his emotions were beginning to cloud his judgement. In truth, this particular night had always been hard for him to foresee.

He felt a strange clash of heat and cold within him. Unsure what to do, he turned toward the fireplace. He shuffled around the ash a bit before realizing that doing so wouldn't spontaneously create a fire. "I–I'm going to try and find wood. Dry wood." Even though it was raining. Had he thought to pack any wood in their packs?

The cabin suddenly felt a bit too small, and Elon abandoned it for the forest. Only when the cold, wet air nipped his skin did he realize that his behavior would seem impossibly confusing to Carissa. He scolded himself for letting the potential future dictate his emotions rather than the present. He'd had his foresight long enough by now that he should have known better.

Since the rain had just begun, he was able to dig through a layer of leaves and gather a few dry twigs. When he returned, Carissa flicked her gaze toward him before glancing away.

The intensity of the pain in his chest increased tenfold. Lands, he loved her. He only wished he knew how to best express it.

He kindled a fire as quickly as possible before grabbing some fresh pine boughs from the forest, tossing them within the cabin, and setting a blanket over them. That would have to serve as their bed. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than the wet, rotting floorboards.

And then he seated himself by Carissa, his arm barely grazing hers. Minutes passed in silence, and though the roof had ceased leaking and the fire was roaring, she continued to shiver.

He cast a sideways glance at her. As flattering as her wet clothes were, they were likely freezing. "Carissa, love, why don't you take off your clothes?"

She turned toward him, confusion blanketing her expression.

Embarrassment burned his skin, so hot that he was surprised his wet clothes didn't begin hissing with steam. "I–I mean, surely you would be warmer without them."

She blinked owlishly at him, her pretty forehead puckering in a frown. "Elon? Are you all right?"

"Of course. Fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You keep stuttering. You rarely ever stutter."

He cleared his throat. "Never mind that. Why don't you shed your clothes and warm yourself?"

She stood and began to fumble with her clothes. But the water made them stick to her skin, and her numb fingers likely weren't helping matters. Elon rose and began assisting her, letting her shirt fall to the floor with a wet slap.

When she peered over her bare shoulder at him, sadness and shyness flickering in her gaze, it took everything in Elon not to... To what? Hold her? Kiss her? A number of other things?