The King's Cursed Bride

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Author's Note: So sorry I'm publishing this late! I was on a plane all day, so that didn't leave me with much time :) Hope everyone has a very merry Christmas!

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Clouds had choked out the afternoon sun, bathing the city in winter-kissed shadow.

That was something else Carissa hated about Zonah: the seasons. One could only tell the season by the variation of the temperature, not the activity of animals, cycle of plant life, or the colors of the leaves. Sometimes she missed her village. It felt like she'd torn herself from where she'd belonged.

If belonging included incessant public scrutiny.

She shuffled her feet to keep warm as she waited in line. Some of the children in front of her were chasing each other or playing clapping games to keep warm.

A knot of envy tightened around her stomach. She remembered when she moved so freely, so painlessly, when she thought nothing of taking a deep breath or stretching in the morning.

"Next."

The woman in front of her walked forward, tugging her children along. "I need extra food rations. In addition to these children—" she waved a hand over the little ones playing "—I have another on the way." She massaged her slightly bulging stomach with her palm.

The man's gray mustache twitched. He finally nodded. "Of course, of course. The King will generously give you the provisions you need." He scrawled in a journal, then on a piece of paper, before handing her the paper. "Show that to the food distributors at the pubs, and they should give you what you need."

The woman thanked him graciously before scurrying off with the children.

"Next."

Carissa stepped forward.

The man's mustache twitched a bit more actively as his gaze landed on her cheek. Finally, it settled to only twitching every few seconds. "What do you require of the King, miss?"

"I need a private audience with him."

He blinked rapidly as his pleasant expression molded into a sneer. "A private audience? With the King? Whatever for?"

Heat rushed through her face, but she forged onwards. "I just need to speak with him."

"The King doesn't have time for any woman off the streets." He sniffled heavily, and his mustache stopped twitching. "Is that all you require?"

She nodded.

He waved her aside. "Next."

She straightened. "Sir, I need to see the King." Someone cleared their throat behind her, obviously waiting their turn. She ignored them.

Red unfurled across the man's cheeks, like a rose spreading its petals. "Next."

Anger bubbled in her chest. She hadn't come this far to be turned away. "But—"

"Guards!" The man's voice grew shrill as he screeched.

A thick hand settled on her shoulder. "Is there a problem here?"

She knew the knight was probably there on account of the King's idiotic representative, but he was going to hear her side of the story as well. She whirled to face him. "Yes! This man—" She blinked.

Something was familiar about the brown stubble roughening his jaw, his thick brows, his soft gaze.

"You're that knight! One of those that Garma summoned."