The King's Cursed Bride

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Author's Note: I'm almost at 1,000 followers, and just seeing the numbers rise by almost 200 per month during the last two months has been amazing (Next goal: Top 10 on Wattpad Fantasy Rankings). I'm thinking I should do something special when I reach 1K, you know? Like maybe a few shots of when Elisa and Viltus have their reunion? What do you guys think?

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Their horse's hooves thundered against the path, leaving a flurry of dirt in their wake. The horse's stride was long and smooth—and it was much more enjoyable than the plodding of a walk or the jolting bounce of a trot. Elon's arm cinched Carissa's waist, and though it'd been unpleasant at first, her discomfort was easy to ignore as the pine-laden air seared her nostrils and the crisp air flung her hair back.

Her heart thudded in time with the horse's gallop as they veered around a corner. The scenery became more familiar: that fallen tree, the muddy rut to the left, the cry of the birds above. As Elon slowed the horse, she recognized the first building of the village—a long-abandoned cottage occasionally scavenged by children, its floorboards dark with rot, its walls spilling in on themselves, its roof pitifully slouched. The pine trees thinned, and the roof and chimneys were the first she saw of the half-timbered houses.

A thickset woman passed them, her facial features strangely delicate in contrast with her figure. Her arms were curled around a tub of freshly washed linen, but her steps slowed when she saw them.

Carissa waved. "Greetings, Renya!"

Renya's feet rooted to the spot, and her tub dropped to the ground.

More people slowed as buildings crowded either side of the street—a pair of bickering girls, a young man clearing the road of stones, a city council member dressed in thick swathes of velvet.

The street blossomed into the village square, and the horse's hooves clip-clopped against the pavement. This was the only area of the village where the street was stone, and most in Hasita were quite proud of the little square.

Hills curved the horizon. Pine trees and building jutted into the air. Mist-swaddled mountains sat high above them.

She was finally home.

"Where to, love?"

Elon's breath stirred the wisps of hair at her neck, and she turned towards him.

"Did you want to visit your parents?"

Anxiety bubbled in her stomach. She'd run from them, her consuming desire to gain freedom and independence overpowering any concern she'd have for them. Even in Zonah, her emotions and troubles had so engulfed her that she'd rarely spared a thought for her parents. Would they even want to see her again?

Elon squeezed her waist lightly. Though the touch was meant to be comforting, she couldn't help but stiffen. "I think you should."

She nodded slowly. Even if they didn't want to see her, the least she could do was apologize. Elon rode forward, and the crisp breeze turned frigid, worming its way into her lungs and hardening her heart into a lump of ice.

She'd always taken her parent's love and acceptance for granted. If they rejected her, it would be well-deserved. Emotions crashed and swirled and roiled within her chest, yet on the outside she felt still and cold. She shuddered again.

"Carissa, if you scoot closer to me, my cloak is large enough that it would encompass both of—"

"No. Thank you." They reached the end of the square. Silence crackled between them, only softened by the thud of the horse's hooves against the dirt.

She pinched the end of her tongue between the tips of her teeth until the pain grew searing. When Elon had invited her closer, only one word had filled her head: No. But why couldn't she have taken the time to soften her answer?

She needed Elon now more than ever—and to know that even should her parents stop loving her, he would not. Carissa placed her hand on top of his, the one holding her waist. She threaded their fingers together and glanced over her shoulder.

He smiled, his gaze flickering from feature to feature: the curve of her ear, her mussed hair, her questioning gaze, her cold cheeks, her tight lips, her rounded chin. If she didn't fear his touch, what would Elon do? Brush her hair back? Nip her ear? Nuzzle her neck?

Carissa turned to forward, her face blazing. Never had someone communicated their love for her so eloquently through their selfless deeds, compassionate words, and tender gazes. She longed to return his affection with an exquisitely painful ache that pulsed like a heartbeat, first flaring beneath her ribs, then constricting around her chest.

But she'd tried to ignore her fears before, and the result had been humiliating. Regardless of how much either of them desired physical intimacy, it seemed they both would have to wait.

Carissa pointed. "Right."

Elon tugged on the reins, and the horse veered right, onto a path weaving between the pine trees.

With each lurch of the horse, nausea thickened in her stomach. She gripped the front of the saddle until her knuckles turned pale as snow and her joints ached. Even in Zonah, a part of her had always felt tethered to Hasita, to her parents. They'd loved her for eighteen years. If she lost that love...

Bile wet the back of her throat, slick and sour. "Elon, please."

He halted in the middle of the path, leaned to the side, and gazed into her face.

"We need to go back. I'm going to be sick."

He leaned back in the saddle, his gaze surveying the trees in silence. "If you never go now, you'll always be wondering, Carissa."

He was right, and the wondering would torment her, the screech of 'what if' echoing inside her skull like the shrill squeak of a loose wagon wheel. "Then let us continue."

She didn't notice the rest of their journey—only that it ended too soon. In the middle of a clearing, a thatched roof sat perched upon a house. The walls were thick layers of white stucco, the bumpy texture of which had always reminded her of congealed cottage cheese. Vertical logs divided the stucco at regular intervals, supporting the roof.

And there was the wooden door that was more familiar than the back of her hand, with the mismatched copper hinge near the top right corner and the rusting iron ones below. The quilted curtains rustled—a telltale sign that someone was peeking out at the visitors—but no one emerged.

Elon slowed the horse, dismounted, and fastened the reins to a wooden post before lowering Carissa. She cupped the top of the splintery post and stared at the door, goose bumps shooting up her arms. Save the flicker of movements behind the curtains, there hadn't been any signs of their presence.

Which meant they were there. But they weren't going to welcome her.

She forced out a breath through gritted teeth. Her nerves were causing her to misperceive the situation. Someone else might be watching the house for them. Even though they never left. Perhaps they were sick, and they didn't want to spread the illness. Even though they'd never fallen ill for as long as she'd been alive.

As they walked to the house, she was practically clinging to Elon's arm for support. Each step jarred her, cramps twisting her stomach tighter and tighter.

Elon raised his fist to knock.

A frigid wash of dread rushed over her, and she squeezed his arm. "Elon—"

He knocked before turning to brush her hair with a kiss. "It'll be alright, Carissa."

A few seconds of silence passed before a feminine voice called, "Come in."

Her mother. She hadn't asked who it was, which meant her parents knew exactly who was at their doorstep. Elon opened the door, and the sound of the rusting hinges sent another flurry of goose bumps across her skin.

For most of her life, she'd thought of Hasita as her home. In the next few moments, she feared that would change.