Author's Note: I've been busy lately, so now it's time to catch up on some well-deserved dedications! This chapter is for Shalom900. She's been reading this story since, like, forever, and I've always appreciated the little comments she leaves at the end :)

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The ceremony was so transitory it had barely been a ceremony. The only proof that it'd happened was the ring cinching her finger. Though she'd protested that she'd dirty the ring, Elon had slid it onto her finger anyhow.

Elon mounted the steps of the embassy, his feet clapping against marble. He stopped at the third floor and shifted her in his arms to open the door.

A bed sat flush against a wall. Soft blankets and pillows coated it like gold-threaded snow. A window yawned before them, its view obscured by emerald curtains. An ornate tub was a few feet away, the steam from its waters frosting the air.

The lavish bed snagged her gaze once more. Nausea twisted hard and tight against her stomach. Elon was not like the other men. Was not.

So busy was she reminding herself that she didn't notice Elon had lowered her until warm water soaked her back. Her eyes flared open. Elon set her in the water, which lapped at her neck, and withdrew, the sleeves of his doublet plastered and wet.

The rest of his doublet was smeared in grime, as were the knees of his pants. All because he'd deigned to touch her. He didn't appear disgusted, but she was disgusted for him. Carissa sank lower into the water. No wonder he wanted her to bathe.

Elon knelt by her and unsheathed a dagger from his waistband. "I'm going to cut off what's left of your clothes, Carissa. Do you trust me in this?"

Carissa gripped the shreds of cloth covering her chest as every muscle clenched with dread. The thought of being laid entirely bare... A violent shudder jerked her shoulders. It'd been done to her before, so she ought to have been accustomed to it.

"Carissa?"

She swallowed, shoving the singeing bile back down her throat. "Do what you will."

Elon nodded. "Thank you." He slid the tip of the dagger along the seams of her clothing. With a series of snaps, the threads broke.

She swallowed hard and scrunched her eyes shut as the cloth slipped off her torso, exposing her shoulders to the air. Piece by piece, the rest slipped off of her.

"I'm finished, Carissa."

Still, her eyes remained closed.

Elon shifted, and something squeaked, then squished.

A frown fluttered over her brows—what was he doing?—and she opened her eyes. Her gaze first landed on the water, and she gasped and pressed a palm against her chest, as if somehow that would preserve her modesty. Already, the water grew murky. Beneath its wavering surface, her wounds were plainly visible: from the red violet finger-shaped bruises wreathing her legs and middle to the cuts and burns marring her arms.

Her skin ignited with embarrassment, and she curled her legs to her chest. Pain jolted her fragmented rib, and she gasped as fire crashed over her.

"Carissa, cease. Please. You needn't be ashamed, and I don't want you hurting yourself further." Something else squished again.

Carissa slowly unfurled her folded legs, pressed herself to the side of the tub, and glanced at Elon. He was pouring a purple-tinted goop from a bottle and scrubbing it over his hands until his skin shone with the slick material. "What is it? What are you doing?"

"It's soap." He flashed her a smile, his brown eyes crinkling. "Heard of it?"

Her eyebrows leapt high onto her forehead. "Just because I'm a commoner—"

He bent close, nudging her nose with his. "I jest, Carissa."

"Oh..." She drew back and eyed his soapy hands. He hadn't disrobed, so he wasn't taking a bath. She gasped and clung more tightly to the side of the tub. "You're not bathing me. I won't allow it."

"No?"

She shook her head.

"Just trust me for a while longer, Carissa." He ran a finger along a tendril of her grime-caked hair. "I vow I'll be gentle."

She slipped down into the water, concealing as much of herself as was possible. "But I'm..." She glanced down at herself and crinkled her nose. "Ew."

His smile broadened, and he loosed a laugh that warmed her down to her toes. "Well, that's what bathing is for, is it not?"

She pursed her lips. "Fine. But don't expect me to allow this on a regular basis."

"Why ever not?"

She frowned. "Well, there are servants, female servants, to help me with these things anyway, right?"

His thumb slid beneath her jaw. "I'm your husband, Carissa, and your King."

She blinked. "How is that relevant?"

"As your lover and ruler, my primary job in our relationship is to serve you."

Her eyebrows rose high enough that it tightened the skin on her burnt cheek. She flinched and lowered her eyebrows. "I don't think that's how it works."

"And you would know, being a husband and king yourself?" He quirked an eyebrow, brown eyes warm as spiced tea. "That's the measure of a leader: not how many servants you have, but how many people you serve."

She began to gnaw at her lower lip, only to release it when pain needled her skin. One of the men at Iver had been particularly rough there. "So does that make you my servant and leader?"

"Of course, and as such, I'd ask you to allow me to fulfill my calling and serve you to the best of my abilities." He held up his soap-slicked hands. "In this area as well as others." By a Reaper's scythe. Somehow, he had a way of melting her resistance until she was pudding in his hands.

She nodded. "If that's what you wish."

He nodded, suddenly solemn. "I thank you." He gripped the bottom of his doublet and drew it over his head, stomach and back muscles drawn taut with the movement.

She sucked in a breath and glanced away.

"You are well?"

"Yes. It's just... for a King... you're rather..." She cleared her throat. "Well exercised."

He nodded. "I thank you." Then he dipped his hand into the water, and all thoughts of his flexing muscles vanished.

She clamped onto either side of the tub to hold herself still, resisting the urge to fold herself as would a clam. True, she'd enjoyed his kiss, but she had no desire to be touched any further by a man. She tightened her grip on the tub's rim, and her body quaked with the effort.

Elon brushed her leg, and she tensed. Then his fingers grazed a bruise, and it disappeared beneath his touch.

She jerked into a sitting position, only to crumple in pain from her broken rib.

Before her head could slip beneath the water, Elon lifted her from her underarms and set her back against the tub. 

"Calm yourself, Carissa."

"But you–you—" She glanced at her leg again. There most certainly had been a bruise there.

"I told you I would help with the curse, did I not?" He smoothed the bruises from her other leg, his jaw tensed and brows furrowed. Then he hesitated before pressing his fingers against her broken rib.

His skin was warm before, but now it grew hot, though not hot enough to burn. A loud snap echoed through the room, and the pain in her rib vanished. It was almost as if her rib had popped into place, though there'd been no pain.

She took a shallow breath. No pain. A deeper breath. Still no pain. Carissa laughed, and her chest remained wondrously painless. "Elon, I—"

Elon was bent over the tub, his forearms on its rim. He was shaking.

Alarm trilled through her, and she drew closer. "Elon?"

His breathing calmed, and he glanced up and offered her a smile. "Better?" He straightened. A brown bruise stained his skin, right above his ribs. Within seconds, it faded.

She blinked. Had she imagined it? "What happened?"

Instead of answering, Elon drew his hand down her forearm. The gash disappeared, as if he were sewing her skin together by touch. A sharp, ragged breath drew her gaze to Elon.

Red slashed down his forearm, weeping blood.

And then Carissa realized what was happening. He was healing her by taking on her wounds for her.

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Author's Note: As usual, the sneak peek can be found here as an external link or at the top of my profile <3