The King's Cursed Bride

Dreaming

Author's Note: Image of a healer's robe shown above.

***

She couldn't feel anything beyond how his breath stirred her hair, how his gaze captured hers, how his words stirred feelings within her chest. "Yes." She spoke so softly a whispery breeze would have drowned her answer.

His gaze fell to her lips. Then he cupped her jaw with his hand and angled her mouth towards his. His arm slid around the small of her back.

Fire pierced her skin, and she jerked from his hand. No, not now.

Viltus drew back. "Carissa?"

She shook her head and closed the distance between them. She buried her hand beneath his soft waves of hair and ran her other palm along his stubbled jaw.

He splayed his palm against her back, and a shuddering whimper escaped her. He tilted her chin up as his brows plunged. "Your back... What's wrong?"

She dropped her gaze lest he see the truth within her eyes.

He rose from the bench. "Go lie on the cot."

She blinked up at him. "I'm not tired."

"I need to examine your back."

She folded her arms. If Viltus saw her back, he'd insist on her finding work elsewhere. The thought wouldn't be so unappealing if there were a multitude of other jobs available to her.

His eyes hardened to blue steel. "Carissa."

"Isn't it highly inappropriate for you to perform an examination of my back unchaperoned?"

He bent towards her. "A lack of a chaperone didn't bother you a few seconds ago. And I'm a healer. There's nothing unseemly about me looking at your back. I've seen plenty of bodies before."

She glared at him, even as heat rose to her cheeks.

"Carissa, you may go to the cot on your own two legs or I will carry you." His smirk caused her breath to hitch. "I'd personally prefer the latter, though I'll let you choose."

She rose to her feet and marched over to the cot before plopping herself down. Frustration simmered in her veins. Perhaps her curse was finding Viltus attractive, despite his imperious attitude.

Viltus trailed behind her. "Lie down on your stomach."

She scowled at him, so he knew just how displeased she was, and turned to lie down. He tugged at the laces in the back of her dress, and she stiffened.

He curled his hand around her shoulder and squeezed. "You can trust me, Carissa. I won't hurt you."

After a few more tugs on the back of her dress, then her chemise, cool air wafted over her bare skin. She shivered and pressed her cheek against the cot to hide the blush searing her face.

His fingers glided along her back, following a stinging whip mark. Then he caressed another with his thumb. His hand quivered, and he snatched it away. "Who did this, Carissa?" His voice rumbled jagged and low, and she stiffened before realizing his anger wasn't directed at her.

But if she refused to answer, it would be. She planted her elbows on the cot before lifting her chest up and twisting to glance at Viltus. She struggled to find a suitable excuse or a lie, her mouth twisting to shape silent words, but she found nothing.

Viltus' expression darkened. "Carissa."

Her jaw tightened, and she turned to stare at the cot beneath her.