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Author's Note: There's a melody mentioned at the end of this chapter. If you'd like to hear what it sounds like, I'll leave a video for it above :)

***

The liquid sank more deeply into her gash, and it felt like flames wormed beneath her skin, singeing the blood in her veins. She jerked her arm back, but Viltus' grip tightened on her wrist. By the time he'd finished, her forearm throbbed with pain. Her heart slammed into her chest so hard, her entire frame quaked, causing the bowl of liquid in her lap to slosh.

Viltus placed the now-empty jar on the table and lifted the bowl from her lap to set it on the table as well. "There. Now I simply need to re-bandage your arm and you can return to your slumber."

Carissa sucked in a breath. She was wide-awake now. "That hurt."

Viltus swiped the roll of gauze and the water from the table. He seated himself next to her on the cot, his gaze tender. "I know. I'm sorry."

She hadn't realized how cold and wet she was until his body heat warmed her side.

Viltus ripped off a wad of gauze before dipping it into the water. He curled his fingers around her wrist, held the damp gauze above her wound, but stopped, gaze riveted on her thumb.

"What?"

"Your thumb." He turned her palm over. "It's cut."

A fine red line sliced diagonally across the pad of her thumb. She'd gotten the cut at twelve, while thumbing through the Prince's letters. "I've had it for many years. Many, many, many years." She shut her mouth to keep from blabbering. Did alcohol always loosen one's tongue so?

He pressed against her thumb, and she winced. "It hasn't scarred." He peered closer. "And how did you get such a fine cut as this? It looks as if it's from paper... Commoners don't often have the luxury of paper." He glanced at her, brows arched.

Even in her tipsy state, with the world wobbling a little, she knew she'd be in trouble if he unveiled more from her past. "My father had books. Many books. Book of libraries." She frowned. "Libraries of books."

"Also unusual for a commoner."

She cupped her cheek with her free hand. Did Viltus have any idea how hard it was to answer these questions while inebriated? "He was a rich man. A very rich man." She gasped as a suitable lie formed. "A merchant, in fact!" She must be an expert liar to think under such conditions. "A very rich merchant. Very rich. So rich."

"I see." Viltus' gaze on her remained unwavering until she was tempted to squirm beneath its intensity. Finally, he glanced back towards her arm. He dabbed the gauze wad against her wound.

Though it stung, it was nothing in comparison with the odorous liquid he'd poured on earlier.

He wrapped a layer of gauze snug around her forearm before tearing and tying its end. "That should hold for the night."

She plopped back onto the cot and gathered her cloak beneath her as a pillow. "You're on my cot."

He chuckled and stood up. "You're quite wet, as is your cloak. Do you have any spare blankets or dresses in your satchel?"

She jerked up into a sitting position. The world swayed before stilling. Her satchel? Where was her satchel? She hadn't thought of it for hours.

"Don't look so panicked, Carissa." He strode to the wall and plucked her satchel up. "Your satchel is right here."

She clenched fistfuls of her damp skirt, resisting the urge to dash to him and grab it. "May I have it?"

He tilted his head, suspicion deepening the groove between his brows. "Of course." He strode back to her and settled it in her lap.

She hugged it to her chest, careful not to squish its contents. "Thank you." She should probably rid herself of the letters. Or perhaps she could try selling them again.

When she saw Viltus still watched her, she flipped open the satchel flap and slipped out a thick blanket, careful not to disturb the folded letters. She'd examine them later to see if they were still salvageable. She set the satchel beneath the cot, letting it slump on the ground, before lying down and drawing the blanket up to her chin.

Viltus' gaze rose from the satchel to her face. "You don't want a change of clothes? You might catch a chill."

She shook her head. Just the thought of changing in this one-room house was enough to keep the cold at bay.

Viltus smirked. "I see. I'll start a fire before retiring myself then."

She pulled the blanket over her head. Though exhaustion weighted her lids, she was far too aware of Viltus' movements through the house to sleep. Wood clattered. Floorboards squeaked. Boots thumped. Then there was the hiss, crackle, pop of fire. Within minutes, the warmth in the room moistened her forehead and plastered her blanket to her form.

She tugged the blanket off of her face, and the cool air cupped her warm cheeks. The sight of Viltus standing before the hearth, his chest bare, caused her breath to snag in her throat. Firelight highlighted the curvature of his arm muscles as he wrung his wet shirt out.

She twisted to face the wall as the room seemed to grow warmer still. "You should have warned me you'd be removing your attire."

At the sound of his laughter, that ticklish, fluttery feeling rose in her chest. "I was under the impression you slept. For all I know, you could have been faking sleep for the sole purpose of seeing me without a shirt."

"Oh!" Though she wanted to turn to face him and impale him with a glare, his chest was likely still bared.

"Have you never seen a man without a shirt before?"

True, some men in the city hadn't worn shirts. "Well, yes... But they weren't clean. And their torsos hadn't been so handsomely—" chiseled. She bit her tongue so hard the sting brought tears to her eyes. She hoped the concentrated wine would wear off quickly. It seemed there was little to stop her thoughts from becoming words.

"Oh, do go on."

She stifled a groan and shifted to make herself more comfortable on her side. It seemed she'd be facing away the kitchen for the rest of the night. "You would do well to be silent and swift in your changing, Viltus."

He chuckled. "But of course, your highness. I only live to serve."

She stiffened at the title. Viltus couldn't know that would truly have been her title... had the King cared enough to remember they were betrothed. She swallowed thickly. The only explanation seemed to be that the King had found her lacking.

As she drifted to sleep, one question plagued her: would Viltus find her lacking as well?

***

The metal peel clunked onto the table, and the noise reverberated through her skull. She massaged her splitting temples as she waited for the newly baked bread to cool. Even though every noise seemed to hammer against her head, Viltus slept soundly.

She'd tiptoed around him as she'd prepared breakfast, studiously avoiding glancing at his broad back, which was only half concealed by a woolen blanket. To her dismay, he'd slept without a shirt and had left his garment stretched out in front of the dying fire.

Carissa swiped the moisture from her cheek with the back of her hand and seated herself onto the creaking bench. What would she do now? Remain Viltus' wife in name only? Perhaps she could continue searching for work. To make enough breakfast, she'd scraped up every speck of oats and weevil-infested flour from the barrels. Viltus could probably make good use of an extra source of income.

"Mew."

She peered beneath the bench and chuckled. "Well, hello there."

The cat's green eyes widened. She tiptoed closer before sniffing Carissa's outstretched fingers, her pink nose twitching. Then her gaze swerved to Viltus and she padded over towards him before sitting by his side. "Mew."

Viltus remained motionless, cheek pressed to the wooden floor, lips parted in sleep, and a cow-licked tendril of hair jutting from the side of his head. He was almost adorable.

The cat strolled onto his bare back before kneading her paws against him, purrs thickening the air.

Viltus shot up and rolled to a sitting position, blanket spilling to his waist

The cat's tiny back arched as she scampered to hide beneath the cot.

Well, that was one way to wake Viltus.

He rubbed his back with a grimace. Just as she'd nearly said last night, his chest was handsomely chiseled, his skin tight with curving muscle that flexed as he moved. After a few sleepy blinks, his eyes focused on hers. "Hello."

Her gaze dropped to the floor beneath her slippers.

"You didn't leave this time."

She huffed, still not glancing at him. "Well, my last attempt to leave was rather unsuccessful."

He rose. "Oh, I disagree." Cloth rustled. "You were quite successful in leaving. Just not in surviving on your own."

The floorboards creaked with his footsteps until his bare feet were inches from hers. She curled her toes, until they were concealed by her skirt. After yesterday's trek through Zonah, her slippers were unbearably grimy, and she'd opted to remain barefoot.

Her gaze wandered upwards, and she was immensely relieved to find he was fully clothed. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

He grinned. "I do hope you get used to saying that."

She narrowed her eyes. "Don't hold your breath. You might just suffocate, and wouldn't that be a pity?"

His smile brightened as he plopped down beside her. "Ah, a morning person. I'm glad you've revealed this side of yourself. After all, you might be remaining with me for a while." His gaze darted to the metal peel and the two round caramel-colored loafs nestled on top. "You bake!"

She folded her arms, drawing herself up to her full height while sitting. "You sound surprised."

His eyes sparkled. "You do realize I was jesting yesterday, don't you? You needn't do anything to earn your keep. You're always welcome here."

She glanced at her lap, pretending the heat engulfing her was from the hearth. "Thank you... why did you come back for me?" When she glanced up, the sparkle in his eyes had dimmed. And she was sorry to see it go.

He wouldn't quite meet her gaze. "Because you weren't broken beyond repair."

What did that mean? Before she could ask, he plucked a loaf from the pan and juggled it from hand to hand as it cooled. He blew onto the loaf before pinching of a wad and popping it in his mouth.

She stifled as sigh as she rose from the bench. Suddenly he seemed content to ignore her. She strode towards the cauldron of bubbling water and oats before stirring it.

She should have been used to it by now. Just her mere appearance in the village had been enough to stifle conversation as everyone studiously ignored her and spent an inordinate amount of concentration elsewhere. The villagers had never known how to interact with her, so they'd avoided doing it at all.

She stirred the pot more vigorously, churning the slop of gruel with her wooden spoon. Why did Viltus' attention matter to her so much? Because she was suddenly dependent on him for housing and food? Or perhaps it was this faux role of being his wife.

The thought of remaining in his home all day alone, waiting for him, wondering where he was, didn't settle well with her. She spent enough time thinking of him—she needed some distance. "Viltus, I'd like to seek employment in the city."

The sound of chewing behind her suddenly stopped. "Employment? Whatever for?"

She pursed her lips and fixed her gaze on an expanding bubble in the gruel. "I could help pay for things. I wouldn't want to be a burden, after all."

"You're not."

His response came so speedily she couldn't help but smile. "But I could help."

"Carissa... I know I don't make much, but it will suffice. If you're worried about getting more flour, I'll bring some home today."

She left the spoon in the cauldron before straightening and glaring at the flames with crossed arms. "Please?"

The bench squeaked against the floorboards, and Viltus' steps padded against the floor. He stopped so close she had but to lean back to brush against him.

"No, Carissa." His soft words grazed her ear.

She turned to face him and immediately regretted it. His proximity was doing strange things to her breath, making it hitch before coming and going rapidly. But if she turned back, he'd see it as retreat.

She tilted her chin up to face him. "I thought I wasn't a prisoner here."

"You aren't." His hand slid against her face until his palm cupped her cheek, and all of her went still. "But you are under my protection, Carissa. I can't allow you to needlessly risk your life." The muscle in his cheek hardened. "That man wants you, Carissa. If you venture away from here without escort, then I have no guarantee that you'll come back."

She tugged breath into her air-deprived chest. "And why do you care if I come back?"

His thumb ghosted across her lower lip. "Because in you I see a beauty and a light that is far too rare in a place such as this." His tilted his head closer, so his forehead nudged hers and ocean blue filled her vision. "And I want to protect that, Carissa, lest it be destroyed... I want to protect you."

She remained motionless, even when his beautiful words caused her heart to thunder in her chest, even when his other hand arched against the small of her back to press her closer, even when their cheeks brushed as he lowered his mouth to hers.

A hauntingly sweet note pierced the stillness, and Viltus drew back from her, before their lips had even touched. He gazed past her, towards the direction the sound had come from.

What was the music for? And why had it caused such an abrupt change in Viltus' demeanor? She stepped towards him. "Viltus? What is it?"

Another note, a lower one, wavered against the air before thinning into silence.

His ragged breathing slowedas his expression darkened. "It's a funeral melody. Something's happened."    

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