The King's Cursed Bride

The Final Sacrifice

Carissa paced the cramped length of the cell. She was a fool, and it was her foolishness that had led to her imprisonment and Mera's death. But Elon had sent her back, which meant that it wasn't too late to set things right.

The Reapers came for her, one dragging Mera's body away and two seizing her. They held a Nephesh against her back. It burned like a hot coal, until she could smell the scent of seared flesh. It was almost enough to make her vomit, but she held herself upright, stumbling as she tried to resist the pain.

She didn't bother trying to ask the Reapers where they were going; she already knew.

They were going to the Reaper King.

The room they entered was small, the floors, walls, and ceiling made of stone. The flame of a single purple torch fluttered in the corner, casting the room in light and shadow. They led Carissa to a table. It was partially tilted, halfway between laying horizontally and standing vertically. When she saw the leathers straps spilling from the sides, she knew what the table was intended for.

Her stomach twisted, and she suppressed the urge to fight her captors. The Reaper King wouldn't come until she was safely subdued.

They shoved her back against the table and began crossing the straps over her arms, torso, and legs, yanking them tightly enough to pinch her skin.

"How does it feel, Carissa?"

Carissa glanced to the side. Brone. She could feel the resentment welling within her. This man was responsible for so much death and pain. But Elon would ask that she forgive him. "How does what feel?"

"Knowing that you've failed." He leaned closer, until the scar on his chin was visible. "You've failed to protect the caravan, your husband, and now yourself. Each time, I have emerged the victor."

He counted those merciless slaughters as victories? She knew that Elon had suffered for the traitors, but here was at least one traitor who could never be worthy of such a sacrifice.

But, then again, when had she ever been worthy of his sacrifices?

"Well, Brone. You know what?"

"What?" he sneered.

"I forgive you."

His expressions went slack with shock, only to tighten in anger. "Ha! You think I want your forgiveness?" His broad hand hit her cheek, making tingles crawl over her skin and stars dance in her eyes.

Carissa shifted her jaw. "You may not, but you have it any way."

"You know what I do what? I want to hear your screams—full of anger and helplessness and agony. I want to know that neither you nor your husband will ever plague these lands again."

Hinges squeaked, and Brone's lips parted to reveal a broad grin. "Here comes the Reaper King, Carissa."

With all the trials she'd faced, she should have been unfazed. For all the faith she had in Elon, she should have been calm. As much as she longed for death, she should have been glad to see the Reaper King.

But instead, the beat of her heart mimicked that of a trotting horse, drumming steadily against her chest. A cold sweat flared across her skin, lapping at her palms, beading at her hairline.

She was terrified.

No, she didn't fear death itself, but she feared the route to it. But Elon wouldn't let this happen unless he had a plan for it.

"Carissa." The Reaper King plucked a fluidly shaped dagger from his belt and ran it along her cheek.

She released a slow breath, though her heart continued to pound. The chamber itself wasn't that frightening. There wasn't much aside from the table, the torches, and the stone interior. But oily dread pooled in her stomach nonetheless.