The King's Cursed Bride

Bonded: Part 1

"Death." Quint's voice was a rustling whisper, no louder than the movement of a scampering mouse. And then he slipped a dagger from his sleeve, rushed towards Elon, and swiped it across his chest.

Sitting slightly behind Elon as she was, she couldn't see the extent of the wound, but it had to be life-threatening. And Elon hadn't even made a move to defend himself. Was he truly going to die and leave her at the mercy of this man? Why hadn't he used his Foresight?

And then Quint drew back, his face white as flour. Elon lifted his sword, leveled it at Quint, and drove it through his chest. It pierced through his back, sprouting like a silver cornstalk, its blade glossy with fresh blood. And then Elon drew his sword out.

Quint's body hit the floor with a dull thud, his head cracking against the stone. In the confines of the cell, the sound was as sharp and loud as shattering glass.

Elon knelt beside him, brushed Quint's eyelids so they were closed. Then he turned towards Carissa.

Carissa's gaze landed on the floor by his feet. She didn't want to see the remnants of anger of his face, the blood drying on his sword. She'd never seen such darkness and violence in him, and it frightened her a bit, to be reminded that the man who held her when she cried had the power to take life with a flick of his wrist.

He brushed her hair aside, his fingertips gliding along her cheek. "Carissa?"

His voice sounded breathless, with a soft, sweet tone that made her chest ache. She squeezed the base of her finger harder. After Quint had dunked her head in the bucket, she'd begun to fear that he'd never come, that she hadn't meant as much to him as she'd thought she did.

Elon caught the first tear on the edge of his thumb and wiped it away. He pressed a kiss to her temple before scooping her into his arms.

And then he was off, sprinting down the dark hallways at a speed that made her dizzy, the air ripping by so fast that she could barely catch enough to fill her lungs. He clasped her tightly against chest, to keep from jostling her. Even so, her chest burned with each of his steps, likely from when Quint had punched her.

She closed her eyes, hoping that if she didn't look at her finger it'd hurt less. It felt like someone had driven a nail into her stump, the cold metal parting flesh and nudging aside bone as it drove itself into her palm.

Water splashed around her, soaking her to her chest, and she startled, opening her eyes.

They were in her room. Elon had placed her into a tub, clothes and all. He held up her hand, then pressed the severed end of her finger to it. Carissa blinked. He must have taken it from the cell. The end felt cold and dead against her sensitive flesh, so pale it appeared waxy. Though she knew it'd been cut off, it was strange that she couldn't feel it, as if it'd become completely numb.

Her stomach twisted, its contents swishing, and she glanced away before she could vomit.

Water engulfed her hand, Elon rubbing the seam between the stump on her palm and the end of her finger. Warm tingles shot up her arm. Gradually, feeling returned to the end of her finger, until it could feel the wetness and warmth of the water.

She glanced at it. It was as if it'd never been cut. The skin was perfectly smooth, and it flexed at her command.

Elon moved to her back, fumbling with the laces on her dress. He was more clumsy than usual. Finally, it slipped off her shoulders. Elon helped her slip it off before setting the wet heap of cloth next to the tub. Then came her chemise.

Elon's hand curved against the bottom of her ribs. Carissa continued to curl and uncurl her hand as warmth sank through her, easing the pain in her chest. For once, Elon's touch against her bare skin was soothing, the gentle pressure of his hand, the grate of his callouses. She followed the line of his shoulder down his arm to his fingers.

And she stopped.

He was missing a finger. The ring finger of his left hand, right beneath the second joint.

Carissa caught his hand up in hers, examining the stub that had moments ago been on her hand. "Elon..."

He pulled his hand away and brushed her forehead, where Quint had slammed it against the side of the bucket. "It's alright, Carissa. I knew this was a possibility."

"But your finger."

He shrugged and continued to caress her forehead. When he drew away, her body was perfectly painless.

"But this injury is permanent, Elon. You should've just let me deal with it."

He snorted. "And let you suffer the rest of your life, forever risking an infection? Risk losing you? I think not."

His words echoed those in his letter. You need me. Without me, you are lost. And though we've never met, I don't want to lose you, Carissa. Please don't let me lose you.

She stared at her perfectly intact finger. At the age of twelve, she'd had no idea how true those words were. No idea.

She glanced at Elon, her gaze snagging on his torn shirt, where Quint had cut him. Yet his skin appeared perfectly untouched. She placed her newly healed hand against the exposed part of his chest. "I thought Quint cut you."

"He did—or tried, rather."

She arched her eyebrows in a silent question.

Elon smiled, placing his broken hand atop her whole one. "You do realize I'm practically invincible, don't you? I can't be cut, poisoned, burned. I'm immortal. I'm stronger and faster than other men." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to her wet one, their breaths mingling. "But I have one weakness."

Tears blurred her vision. "Me. You can't be hurt unless you heal me."

He nodded. "Yes, Carissa. You."

"Why don't you hate me, then?"

A startled laugh burst from his lips, and he leaned back. "Hate you because you're my weakness? No, that's silly. The only reason you're my weakness is because I love you, because I allow myself to be hurt for your sake."

Something about the beauty of his words stole her breath. Elon frustrated, surprised, and confused her, and his methods of building a relationship didn't always make sense to her, but he loved her more deeply than she could even begin to comprehend.

Carissa curled her fingers around the front of his shirt and dragged him forward—though he didn't need much urging. "I love you." She stared into his eyes, hoping he'd understand the weight of her words, the depth in them she didn't know how to speak.

But perhaps there was a way aside from speaking that could make him understand.

Carissa pressed her lips to his, pulling him farther forward so he had to lean over the tub. And then he fell in with her.

***

Author's Note: I have some YouTube video editing to do before my classes today, so I'm afraid I don't have time for a sneak peek :P

And voting is now closed for The Fiction Awards! A huge thanks to everyone who voted; I'll post a scoreboard soon.