The King's Cursed Bride

Imprisoned

She stumbled through the narrow dirt street, trying to keep pace with Viltus as he dragged her along. Though the thought of death caused her heart to twist, why did Viltus treat it so importantly? Surely people in Zonah died often.

Round, mud-caked stone peeked above the ground until the dirt road turned to cobblestone. Arriving peasants congealed into a thick crowd that lined the main road. Why was everyone watching a funeral?

The haunting tune grew louder and sweeter as Viltus guided her through the dense press of people. They stopped at the edge of the road.

Two black horses carried a wooden coffin, set on a pallet between them. A woman strode ahead of them, her steps smooth as silk. Her fingers danced upon her wooden flute as she wove the doleful melody note by note. Dozens of other horses, topped with knights bearing shields with the royal mark, marched before and behind the coffin, their solemn clip-clops providing a beat for the music.

Carissa caught her breath. Had King Elon died? Why else would there be so many royal knights bearing his insignia?

Viltus nudged the man next to him. "Whose funeral?"

The man's black-pored nose twitched as his gaze slid along the horses. "Counselor Revin. Murdered, he was."

Carissa blinked and remembered to breathe. Murder?

"How?" Viltus asked.

The man sniffed before his nose returned to its occasional twitch. "They say it was a Reaper."

Viltus stiffened. "A Reaper? From Esmeray?"

The man's grizzled jaw dipped. "Aye. Hence the scores of knights going out with the procession. His highness has ordered Zonah's entire perimeter to be guarded, none allowed to leave or enter. They're hoping to catch the Reaper."

"Has one ever been caught?"

The shoulder of the man's patch-work cloak rose. "Not that I've heard of."

Viltus turned back to the funeral with a low 'hmmm.' "If the city has been put on lock-down, it seems the King was unable to catch him with his powers."

Carissa's ears pricked at the word. It was strange she should know so little of that man she would've wed.

The man's tongue darted out as he moistened his chapped lips. "I'm not so sure he has them. The royals have always been awfully secretive about them powers of theirs." The man ducked his head, his voice softening. "Think he says he has powers to keep us commoners in line?"

"Quite possibly."

Their voices faded as the flute's whistle continued to sing, seeming to echo down every alley in a way that made her skin tingle with goose bumps. When the coffin had disappeared and the clusters of knights thinned, Viltus guided her back through the crowd with a gentle touch to her back.

A murder? Never had something so horrific happened in her village. Why would someone murder? She stared up at the sky, as if to find the answer there, and it stared back at her blankly. Its pale gray pallor made her eyes mist, and she dropped her gaze to the ground as questions continue to hum and buzz within her.

"Viltus?"

He stopped by his house and opened the door for her. "Yes, Carissa?"

She stepped into his house. "Why would a Reaper murder a city council member?" She swiveled to face him, her voice lowering. "Do they really shed their skin and change forms like people say?"

Viltus slammed the door behind them and leaned against it. "Some say they can morph into Yare wolves. Some say they're the undead, resurrected by Esmerian sorcerers. In truth, I'm uncertain. Very little is known about them."